Sleet Kitten: Book One of the Sleet Series

Iwasn’t sure it was possible for one friend to laugh so much at the expense of the other, but Meghan proves that threshold is much higher than I imagined. I just finished telling her the entire story. No detail too small to be ignored.

“Meghan, you’re supposed to be helping me, not laughing to tears over my dumb life.”

Sighing, Meghan says, “I don’t think it’s actually as bad as you think it is. I mean, it’s funny as shit, you drinking with his ‘mama,’ ” (she says mama in her deepest man-voice.) “But you got to spend time with the Jackson Wilder. And you went to his game! And duh, he clearly likes you.”

“Uh, I doubt that.”

“You shut your pretty mouth. He’s lucky to spend time with you. You’re brilliant and funny and gorgeous and kind. He may be some sort of big hotshot athlete, but he seems to be smart enough to know a good thing when he finds it. I know hockey players get a bad rep for being a bunch of big muscle-headed Neanderthals, but I’ve always heard that Jackson was a civilized one.” Shaking her head she mumbles, “I can’t believe you had to Google him.”

I shrug. “Well, even if he doesn’t hate me for last night, I can’t ask him about it. I don’t have any way to reach him.” I hold up a hand to stop her before she says what I’m sure she’s going to say. “And I’m not just showing up at his place. That would be stalkerish. Plus, the building has security. I can’t just go knock on his door.”

“That’s so hot.” I don’t know if she’s talking about the fact that his building has security, or if she’s just talking about Jackson himself. About ten minutes ago she started an image search on my laptop for Jackson Wilder, so she could drool over him while we talked. I can’t even be mad. He is hot. I drool over him too.

Even if I don’t know what to do next, I do feel better after having shared my story with Meghan. Now my experience is at least documented in the memory of one of my friends. So when I’m an old lady, and I say I almost dated a famous person, I can, sort of, prove it.

As we put away the remnants of brunch, there’s a knock at my door. Looking at each other, Meghan raises her eyebrow in a well-answer-it! gesture. Opening the front door, I find a little white box wrapped in green ribbon. A box identical to the one I received from Jackson yesterday, only smaller. 

Carrying it to the table I can feel my heart rate pick up. This has to be a positive sign. Right?

I can feel Meghan watching me, but I’m not sure I can form a sentence right now. I just stay silent and pull the ribbon off the box. Opening the lid, I find a short stack of laminated cards. Pulling out the top card, I see a photo of Mary. Flipping it over, I see that the back has been printed with Mama—Mary Wilder. Reaching in for the next card I find a pretty blonde and on the back it reads Sister—Stephanie Wilder. I don’t even try to contain the stupid grin that spreads across my face. This guy. He is so many things, but right now the only word that comes to mind is wonderful. Jackson is wonderful.

Pulling out the rest of the stack, I find cards for his late father, his ninety-four-year-old grandmama, his best friend Luke, and his childhood dog Puck. The man has made me real-life flashcards of the important people in his life. 

At the bottom of the box is another one of his white envelopes.

 

Sweet Kitten,

I’m sorry that we didn’t get more of a chance to talk last night. Since extenuating circumstances keep getting in our way, I’d like to have a chance to control our environment. Please tell me you’re free for dinner tomorrow night, at my place. If you’re up for it, I was thinking we could give The Godfather another try.

In the meantime, I thought I’d put together some study material for you. I know how much you like to read.

Sincerely,

Mama’s Boy

Meghan shocks me out of my daze by shouting, “Holy shit, you’re totally falling for him!”

I blink. “What? No? No. That’s not a thing. I barely even know him.”

“Oh don’t try that ‘I don’t even know him’ bullshit on me. You are great at reading people. You slept in his arms, for shit’s sake. And let’s not forget that you are basically besties with his mom by now.”

“Shut up!” I say, laughing. “Okay, so I like him. Who wouldn’t? But we still have a lot to learn about each other.”

“Yeah, like if he knows how to use his hockey stick in the bedroom,” Meghan says with an exaggerated wink. I scoff, but she ignores me. “Seriously, if you could’ve seen the look on your face as you read that letter, you’d know what I’m talking about. You have it real bad for Jackson Wilder.”

As I blush, I’m saved from responding when my text chime goes off. 

Picking up my phone I see it’s from a new number. Opening the message, that now familiar buzzing is back in my belly.

Hello, Kitten. I hope you slept well last night. I trust my box of study materials has arrived. If you’re open to joining me for dinner tomorrow, how does 7:00 sound?

Holy shit. 

“Holy shit!”

“What is it? Is it Jackson?” Meghan asks.

I hand her the phone.

“You’re going.” She doesn’t ask it, she tells me.

“Of course, I’m going,” I say. I still feel a little bit like I’m waiting for the just kidding part to come. Meghan is right, I feel myself falling for this guy. And it isn’t because he’s stupid-handsome. Well, it’s not only because he is stupid-handsome; I do enjoy that part. I like him because he’s funny, and clever, and he’s sweet to his mama, and he’s sweet to me, and when we’re together I can sense that edge of possessiveness that I think he has. 

Now look, I am a huge proponent of equality for all, women’s rights, and non-gender roles. But I can’t help it that I get all turned on when he gets worked up about some other guy giving me attention. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be with some jackass who’s popping off over every conversation I have with another man. But knowing how riled up Jackson got when Luke was pretending to hit on me, that was hot. And I’m not sorry to say that I thought about that scene when I got home last night. I thought about it in detail. Twice.

“Wow, Earth to Katie. Want to quit fantasizing about your man candy long enough to text him back?”

I shrug. “What can I say? You’re right – he is man candy. But okay, yes. I need to reply.” Tapping my fingers on the table I stare at my phone. “Wasn’t this supposed to get easier as we got older? Why do I feel all awkward about telling a guy I’ll have dinner with him?”

“Don’t overthink it. Just do it.”

Taking Meghan’s advice, I pick up my phone, tap out a response and hit send.

Me: I think I can shuffle my schedule around to make room for you. Can I bring anything?

In the amount of time it takes me to save his number in my phone, he’s texted back.

Jackson: Just your lovely self.

Jackson: Was that too much? Let me try again…

Jackson: I’ll order something for delivery. Just bring your smile.

Me: I’m rolling my eyes so hard, I’m not sure I’ll be recovered in time for dinner tomorrow.

Jackson: Hm, that can be dangerous. If it still pains you, I can kiss it and make it better.

The mental image of him kissing me anywhere blanks out my mind. 

Shaking my head, I snap back to the present.

Me: Is there any chance I might run into one of your relatives along the way? Maybe one who isn’t in my study guide?

Jackson: The threat is minimal. I’d say Defcon 5. Or 1. Whichever is the lowest risk.

Me: Copy that.

Jackson: I’ll let you get back to studying. Until tomorrow, Kitten.

Looking up I glance around for Meghan, only to find her standing right behind me so she could read the messages. I didn’t even notice her getting out of her chair. Her eyes are wide and she’s clutching her hands in front of her chest.

“Ohmygod, you guys are so goddamn cute!”

“Glad you think so. And yeah, sure, feel free to read my messages.”

She huffs, as if it would be ridiculous to wait for permission. “I expect to hear a full report back on how many bases you round tomorrow night.”

Throwing my napkin at her I say, “Okay, time for you to go. Thanks for laughing at me all afternoon. Now I need to go figure out what to wear for this date. Wait, is it a date? He never said date. He said dinner.”

“Obviously it’s a date.”

“You can’t say obviously. What if he just feels bad, about me feeling bad, about the whole Mother Mary Thing.”

“Ohmygod. First, that’s not what this is. Second, you need to stop calling it the Mother Mary Thing. Third, if that guy wanted to pity fuck me, I would let him pity fuck me. All. Night. Long.” Meghan sighs. “Man, I can’t wait to write about this in my diary.”

I roll my eyes as I stand from the table. “You and that damn diary. I swear, one of these days I’m going to find it. And I’m going to read it.”

Shooing Meghan out the door I decide that I won’t worry about whether it’s a date or not. I’ve got to imagine that after the catastrophe of last night, things can only get better.