Not that I’m in the mood to meet either of them, but at least they’re a distraction.

  Hayley sizes them up with a single look, flashing a friendly but distant smile before they have a chance to say hello. “We’re kind of in the middle of something right now. Sorry.”

  The two men slink off and make eyes at two women a few tables away.

  Now, that is Hayley. She can draw men in like flies to honey, but when she’s not in the mood to entertain their advances, she has no trouble telling them to move along.

  She then turns back to me, all business.

  “As I was saying”—she pulls the olives from her martini, sliding one from the skewer with her teeth—“you’re talking to me now. And I know what’s really going on. You’re right; I was flippant. I apologize.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you’re kidding yourself.”

  “And there it is.”

  “Well, you are! The whole reason you haven’t written a new book in months is because you’re hung up on Matt. If you really like Matt, why not come out and tell him?”

  “Because he’s Matt. Because he’s the guy who constantly picks on me. Because we have nothing in common. Because he’s my neighbor. You know once we were over the honeymoon period, everything would fall apart, and we’d be forced into uncomfortable conversations in the hallway. And I wouldn't get to see Phoebe anymore. How miserable would that be?”

  “Why do you assume things wouldn’t work out?”

  “Besides the fact that we are completely different? Look at my track record. For the last year and a half, I’ve allowed myself to date several men, and I’m never good enough for them. Something always comes between us. Why would I think it would be any different between Matt and me?”

  “I feel there is so much to say about all that, but let’s not go down that rabbit hole. Instead, let’s talk about your work. You were so freaked out about the change in direction, and then you practically jumped at the chance to spin the wheel before the cowboy because you liked being busy. Now, it's been six months, and you don’t even want me to bring up the spinner. What are you going to do about that? If you’re just going to be friends with Matt, there's no reason to let him stand in the way of your career.”

  Man, I should’ve known better than to think I could win this one. “I wish I could make you understand. My feelings for him are all jumbled up.”

  She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I do understand. I really, truly do. And it sucks. But my job as your best friend isn’t just to be a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes, I have to nudge you in the right direction. In this case, the right direction is making sure you see the big picture for what it is. You have to start working again. At least talk things over with Maggie, see how she feels about you going back to writing purely from your imagination.”

  “I’ve already done that.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “And?”

  “And she argued that messing with success is never a good idea. The fresh inspiration I’ve gotten from each of the men I’ve dated has kept my writing … how did she describe it? Exciting, compelling.” I have to snicker as I raise what’s left of my drink. “Apparently, I’m not exciting or compelling when I’m writing strictly from my imagination. I guess all the people who read my first few books didn’t know what they were talking about when they posted such glowing reviews.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Maggie. Didn't you tell me she asked if she was pushing too hard at one point?”

  “Yeah, well, I guess now that she’s given me six months off, she’s not so concerned anymore.”

  The fact is, Maggie’s patience is waning. Every single tick of the clock reminds me that I’m wasting time, that my publisher expects certain things from me in return.

  “So, I guess it’s time for this, huh?” Hayley reaches into her bag, fishing for the spinner, and places it on the table.

  I’ve come to both love and hate the spinning wheel she put together for me when this whole crazy experiment started.

  But it’s for my career, and she’s right. I’ve worked too hard to let things fall apart just because I have a crush on someone. The more I think about it that way, the easier it is for me to adjust to the idea of finding somebody new to date.

  Even if I’d rather be dating the infuriating, fascinating, annoying, sexy-as-sin, and sweet-when-he-feels-like-it guy across the hall.

  I rub my hands together. “Okay, let’s see who the lucky guy will be this time.” Wow, that almost sounds hopeful and positive. If things ever do go permanently south in my writing career, maybe I could take up acting instead.

  When my next trope appears, we shoot each other a skeptical look.

  “Hockey?”

  She shrugs. “Well, sports romance is a big deal. Even I know that, and your books are the only fiction I read.”

  “But hockey? That’s, like, the one sport I know the least about. It takes place on the ice. That’s the extent of my expertise.”

  She giggles. “Well, you could always show up to a practice and announce you don’t know anything about the sport. I’m sure there would be plenty of men willing to explain it to you.”

  “Oh, joy. I can’t wait.” I roll my eyes but laugh anyway.

  Hey, this is my life. This is what I do. Nobody ever said it would be easy.

  “So, you’re committing to this? Finding a hockey player for your next book?”

  I stick my tongue out at her and make my voice sound nasally. “Yes, Miss Hayley.”

  “And you’re going to give it your all because you’re Kitty fucking Valentine and that’s what you do?”

  It’s not so easy to make a snarky response when she puts it that way. “Yes, I’m going to give it my all.”

  “Atta girl. Now, get your butt out of here since I know you’re dying to go check on Matt.” She pops an olive into her mouth and grins. “Don’t even pretend like you’re not.”

  “I wish you weren’t such a know-it-all.” I grab my things and let Miss Always Right pay the bill. I need to get Matt some wellness supplies.

  See? How the heck am I supposed to date somebody when Matt keeps creeping into my heart more and more each day.

  CHAPTER TWO

  By the time I reach the apartment, Matt’s awake and watching TV with Phoebe curled up beside him on the couch. He looks suspiciously cleaner than before, like he dragged himself into the shower for the sake of seeing me.

  Though I could be imagining that.

  It’s easy to let my imagination run away with me after that kiss. The most unexpected kiss I’ve ever received in my whole life, which is saying something since I’ve been on the receiving end of a few unfortunate kisses.

  Those kisses usually took place in dimly lit clubs and bars though and once during a concert when the guy was so drunk that he mistook me for his girlfriend.

  Matt’s kiss took place in broad daylight, in his kitchen, while we were both stone-cold sober. There was no mistaking me for anybody else.

  He offers a sheepish smile. “Thanks for looking out for Phoebe. She would rather be in pain than pee in the house.” This earns her a kiss on top of her head. She gazes up at him in adoration.

  “She’s well-trained.” I hold up a bag. “Pho? I thought it might help.”

  “Oh, thank you. I was just wondering if I should get up and fix something.”

  “You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well.” I set things up on the coffee table before going to the kitchen to get him something to drink.

  “I don’t do well with being taken care of. Besides, aren’t guys supposed to be tough?”

  Sometimes, it’s too much effort to even hide an eye roll. This is one of those times. “Gimme a break. I know you can be stubborn, but that’s a little much, even for you.”

  “Stubborn, huh?”

  “I get to call you that when I bring life-saving food and set it up for you.” I nod toward the dog. “And when I take valuable time from happy hour to walk your dog.”

  “Oh, you went out earlier?” He looks me up and down. “You do look nice.”

  Darn it, I wish he wouldn’t hand out casual compliments like that. Back in the pre-kiss days, I would’ve made a snarky comment about how bad he must think I look the rest of the time.

  I didn’t put a ton of effort into my look for the evening since I knew I was going to get an earful and not much else.

  Now? I have to turn my attention to the soup I’m pouring out for myself, so he won’t see how flustered that tiny compliment made me.

  “Thanks. Hayley approved. So did the guys who tried to pick us up.”

  A quick glance in his direction reveals his tightening jaw. So, maybe I shouldn’t have added that part, but I can’t help myself when the opportunity is right there in front of me. We haven’t talked about that moment in the kitchen since things went south with Paxton, which is probably for the best.

  Even if it leaves me with a ton of questions. I don’t think I can be blamed for testing the waters, seeing where he stands.

  “She shut them down though. She’s good at that. Tons of practice.” I can’t leave the poor guy hanging when he’s not feeling well.

  “Yeah, I can see how she’d attract a lot of attention.”

  I wait, staring at him. When he doesn’t continue, I arch an eyebrow. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What am I, chopped liver?”

  “Nope. You’re not going to trick me into giving you a compliment.”

  “I didn’t know I needed to trick you.” I wave an arm, indicating the soup and multiple containers of toppings and proteins. “Look at all the trouble I went to, and you can’t even give me a teeny compliment?”

  “I already told you, you look nice. I’m a one-compliment-per-night sort of guy.” He takes a noisy slurp of his soup, which is heavy on jalapeños and Sriracha. “And thank you for this.”

  I toss him a tissue box since nobody’s sinuses can stay packed after all that heat. “So, tell me, how long have you felt sick?”

  “A few days, I guess. I have plenty of sick and vacation time banked, so it’s been easy to lose track of which day it is.”

  When he mentions that, I can’t help but think about the weeks I’ve spent not working. It was one thing when Maggie forced me into a short sabbatical, but this has been ridiculous. I haven’t been able to talk about it with Matt either since I haven’t wanted to explain just why I’ve been unwilling to date somebody new.

  Sure, I could use Paxton as an excuse with Matt since, of all people, he knows how betrayed I felt. But it’s one thing to tell a fib based in reality over the phone or through email when I’m talking with Maggie. It’s a whole other story when I have to lie to somebody’s face—especially when they are part of the lie, whether they know it or not.

  “It’s easy to lose track of time when you aren’t working,” I reply. Settling for a vague answer.

  “And when you feel like you’ll never be able to breathe through your nose again. Colds are the worst.” He blows his nose noisily, as if punctuating that statement.

  “And here I was, thinking you were avoiding me.”

  “No, nothing as dramatic as that. Though you’ve been quiet lately too. I figured you were busy, working on the next book.”

  Why does everything with Matt feel like it’s so much more important now? Like everything has extra meaning, deeper significance? Back in the day, I would’ve happily talked about my work. If not happily, eagerly. Openly. I wouldn’t have felt this twinge of awkwardness, wishing he hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Well, I haven’t started the next book yet.” I swirl the noodles around in my bowl before taking a mouthful. Chewing is easier than talking.

  “You haven’t? What’s going on? I mean, I thought it was weird for you to not mention it, but …”

  “Honestly, I’m tired. Tired of dating and writing about tropes. I miss the days when I could just write what I wanted. Sweet romances that filled readers’ hearts with joy. You once asked if it was worth it, and I said it was. That I was happy to be getting out and meeting new people, but I’m not sure my emotions can take this roller-coaster ride for much longer.”

  “That makes sense. Honestly, I give you credit for not throwing in the towel after that last debacle.”

  “Yeah, that was bad. Of all the guys, that one hurt the most. But I’m tough.” I flex a bicep for good measure, grunting.

  He only shakes his head, snickering at me. “Whatever you say, Valentine. But you can’t break your contract either.”

  “This is true, which is why I really need to start on the next project. That’s why I went to happy hour with Hayley. We picked the next trope.”

  “You sound unhappy.”

  “Not unhappy. Just not looking forward to having to learn about hockey.”

  To my surprise, his eyes light up. “It’s a hockey book? I know all about hockey. I love hockey. Did I ever tell you I used to play?”

  “No, you didn’t. I had no idea.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard me yelling at the games over here before.”

  “I’ve heard yelling, yeah, but I never knew what you were yelling at.”

  “So, what, you don’t know anything about the sport?”

  “I know there’s a puck and ice involved.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” A smile plays over his lips as he picks up the remote and flips on the TV. It’s hooked up to the internet, so it takes no time for him to pull up videos from various games.

  “I didn’t mean for this to turn into a lesson.”

  “I don’t mind—unless you have something else you would rather be doing.”

  The sad part is, I don’t. Even though he’s sick and I’m deliberately keeping my distance and even though spending time with him isn’t so great for my mental health since all I can do is question everything that comes out of his mouth anymore, I would still rather be here than across the hall, staring at a blank page on a computer screen.

  “Well, if you think you’re up to it.”

  The next thing I know, we’re watching snippets of one game after another with Matt explaining the technique and skill behind what looks to me like a bunch of guys batting a puck around on the ice.

  “When do they start fighting?”

  He laughs, which unfortunately turns into a coughing fit. “You do realize, fighting isn’t actually part of the game, right?” he asks after he can breathe again.

  “Of course, but isn’t it always more interesting when they do?”

  It’s like they heard me somehow. Suddenly, two players start throwing fists, and the crowd absolutely loses their mind while referees do their best to break things up. By the time it’s finished, I’m wincing.

  I’m supposed to date somebody who might be involved in something like that? I’m not sure my heart could handle it. Do I really have to even date a hockey player? Maybe we could just be friends and hang out, and I could interview players. I mean, sex is sex. I can come up with that, right?

  Noticing my pensive look, Matt turns to me. “I’m sure whoever you end up with, he will be more than happy to explain the finer points to you.”

  I glance at him from the corner of my eye, unsure of whether there is a deeper meaning to what he just said. Oh, to go back to the days of being able to assume he was being snarky and not having to give it any further thought.

  “I’m sure. Though honestly, I’m at my wits’ end, trying to figure out how to meet a hockey player. What am I supposed to do? Put an ad in the newspaper? Or online somewhere? Wanted: one hockey player who won’t mind his life being used fictitiously in a romance novel. Maybe that’s how I should’ve approached this all along. It might’ve been easier.”

  “Probably, though can you imagine the sort of responses you would get?”

  I shiver, remembering the copious amounts of unsolicited dick pics I got when asking if anyone knew an actor.

  “Hey, didn’t you find that doctor you dated on a site?”

  “While I found some doctor potentials on that site, that’s not how I met Jake. You should remember.” I hold up the ankle I sprained, thanks to Phoebe tripping me on the stairs.

  “Oh, right. That was the day I was sure the nurses at the hospital thought I’d hurt you.” He rubs his temples, grimacing. “How could I forget?”

  “I have no idea, but thanks for taking care of me.” I quickly look away before he thinks my comment is more than a simple thank-you.

  When my phone rings, the sight of my grandmother’s name on the screen makes my hands tremble. Ever since her heart attack, I freak out a little whenever I get a call from her home number. Grandmother prefers we have our lengthy conversations in person, so I can’t help but be nervous when I see her number appear on my phone.

  “I realize we are a few days out from our normal weekly tea, but would you mind stopping in tomorrow afternoon?” The sound of her voice—confident, strident, full of energy—helps me breathe easier.

  That’s unexpected. The woman is nothing if not a stickler for routine. “Is everything okay?”

  “Why is that the first thing you ask?”

  “Because you’re a creature of habit, and I literally can’t remember the last time you called an unscheduled visit because it’s probably never happened.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Of course not. I’ll be there. But you can’t blame me for being concerned.”

  She clicks her tongue, chuckling. It seems like ever since she got together with Peter, her former longtime butler, she’s become a different person. Sure, she can be sharp and dismayingly judgmental, and she has very definite opinions about my life and how I choose to live it, but there’s a brightness to her now that wasn’t there before. She can laugh at herself and at life, which I never thought was possible for her.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, dear.”

  “Good-bye, Grandmother,” I say before setting my phone down.

  “Why did you immediately assume there was a bad reason for her to want to get together tomorrow?” Matt asks after I’ve ended the call.