by Lauren Rowe
But I don’t.
“Terrorist,” he breathes.
Without warning, his fingers slip underneath the fabric of my G-string and plunge right into my wetness.
Holy fuckburgers.
I cry out in surprise and extreme pleasure, pressing myself into his fingers and gyrating to the pulsing music.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers in my ear. “Stop torturing me.”
I don’t reply, but he can plainly feel how badly I want him, too. I’m absolutely dripping for him.
I moan loudly right into his ear and lick his cheek, and his body responds against mine with obvious excitement. I run my hands through his hair, grinding myself into his fingers like I’m riding on top of a big, hard cock. I inhale sharply. I can’t breathe. My body is warping. “Oh God, here it comes,” I say into his ear. “A big one. Oh God. Josh, yeah. Don’t stop. Just like that.”
A huge orgasm slams into me and I stiffen in his arms, my loud moans swallowed by the blaring music as my body clenches around his fingers, over and over.
“Oh shit,” he says. “Yeah, baby. Do it.”
When the clenching and warping and rippling stops, I can barely stand. I nuzzle my face into his neck and he holds me close, supporting my entire body weight in his arms. He presses his body into mine as he holds me, and our bodies sway together to the loud, thumping music.
A new song begins. “In Da Club” by 50 Cent.
He suddenly pulls back from me and puts his hands on my face. His chest is rising and falling sharply. His gaze is intense.
By the look on his face, I’d guess he’s trying to decide if fucking me counts as losing the bet. Or, at least, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Did we decide kissing or fucking ends our stalemate? I can’t remember now.
Sweaty bodies are bouncing and swaying all around us on the dance floor, but we’re standing stock still, looking at each other, trembling with pent-up desire. I tilt my face up to his and close my eyes, inviting him to swoop in and kiss me already. But he doesn’t take the bait.
“Fuck,” he says.
I open my eyes.
He’s glaring at me like he’s enraged at me.
He releases my face, grabs my hand, and begins dragging me across the packed dance floor. It takes effort to snake through the sea of bouncing people, but finally we’re off the dance floor, working our way through the crowded club. The restrooms are in sight—but there are long lines of people waiting to get into both sets. Is that where he was intending to take me? Or was he headed to the exit? Or maybe to the bar? Any of these destinations is equally possible, given our current location in the club.
He stops walking.
“Fuck,” he says, gripping my hand. He looks up at the ceiling for a brief moment, apparently gathering himself. “Goddammit.”
50 Cent raps his famous line about being into sex rather than lovemaking and I can’t help but sing along at the appropriate moment.
Josh chuckles. “You’re hell on wheels, Kat. Jesus Christ.”
Out of nowhere, Reed appears next to us, swatting Josh on his shoulder. “Hey, man.”
“Oh, hey, bro.” Josh glances at me, a wistful smile on his lips. “Thanks for the song.”
“Did it work?” Reed looks at me. “Did you kiss him?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“No? Uh oh. Are you losing your touch, Faraday? I thought it was a foolproof plan.”
“Hell no, I’m not losing my touch. I’m wise and powerful; you know that. This woman’s not normal. She’s made of fucking steel or something—the most stubborn woman alive.”
“Oh, she’s stubborn, huh?” Reed says. “So she’s the female version of you?”
Josh laughs. “Hey, maybe that explains why I find her so goddamned attractive.” He squeezes my hand.
Reed laughs. “So, hey, man, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He looks over his shoulder, zeroes in on some guy across the room, and motions to him. “I just signed this amazing guy to the label—a rapper-singer-songwriter-multi-instrumentalist. Oh my God, he’s so fucking incredible, man, I’m crapping myself that we got him. A year from now, mark my words, he’s gonna be the biggest thing in music.”
A blonde guy with tattoos walks up with a beautiful, dark-haired girl on his arm.
“Guys, this is Will Riley—’2Real’—one of the most talented songwriters and performers you’re ever gonna meet, no exaggeration—and his girlfriend, Carmen.”
“Aw, thanks, Reed,” Will says. “Hey, guys.”
Carmen smiles sweetly and waves at us in greeting—and she instantly reminds me of Sarah.
“This is my buddy, Josh Faraday, and his apparently stubborn friend, Kat.”
“Hey, Josh,” Will says. “Hey, Stubborn Kat. That sounds like a character from a comic strip—like some sort of bad Garfield rip-off.”
Josh laughs. “Oh no! Stubborn Kat won’t get off the couch and it’s already noon.”
“Damn it, Stubborn Kat! She won’t chase the ball of yarn,” I add. “No matter how many times you throw it for her.”
“Chase a mouse?” Reed says. “Hell no. Stubborn Kat just painted her claws.”
“Damn that, Stubborn Kat,” Josh adds.
“Stubborn Kat won’t do anything you want her to do—as usual. Aw, gosh, Stubborn Kat!” Will says.
We all laugh hysterically.
“So, hey, guys,” Reed says, “I’m throwing a little party in the penthouse suite right now. The guys in Red Card Riot just got into town for their show at the Garden Arena tomorrow night, and they’re ready to blow off some steam tonight. Plus, we’re celebrating Will coming on board. You two wanna join the party?”
Josh looks at me for confirmation and I nod furiously.
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“Hey, isn’t Henn in town with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, call that little fucker and tell him to join us.”
“I doubt he’ll come. He’s working on an important job tonight.”
“Well, shit, man.” Reed looks at his watch. “It’s almost two. Call him and see if he’s done for the night. It’s not a raging party ’til Peter Hennessey breaks out his dance moves.”
Both guys laugh hysterically.
“Oh man,” Josh says, shaking his head. “One of the simple pleasures in life. I’ll call that little fucker right now.”
Seventeen
Kat
When Josh and I walk through the door of Reed’s penthouse suite, along with Reed, Will, and Carmen, we join a raging party already in progress in the most magnificent hotel suite I could ever imagine. The interior is fit for a sheik—twice the size of Jonas and Sarah’s suite—plus, French doors at the far side of the massive main room reveal a private terrace and swimming pool outside.
I glance around, my heart racing. Insanely attractive people are milling around, lounging, laughing, swigging drinks, smoking pot, making out—and I’d say half of them are at least vaguely recognizable to me from my near-constant consumption of celebrity gossip.
Reed motions to two young guys on the couch smoking pot—a strawberry blondie with piercings and tattoos and a dark-haired hottie with striking, cobalt blue eyes—and they stride over to Reed and bro-hug him.
“Hey, man,” the dark-haired hottie says to Reed, hugging him.
“How was Dallas?” Reed asks.
“Fucking awesome,” dark-haired-hottie says. “Great crowd. It still gives me chills every time an entire arena sings along to a song I wrote.” He grins adorably.
Reed pats his cheek. “Get used to it, Baby Dino. Where are the other guys?”
“Around here somewhere. Probably passed out. It’s been a long-ass day.”
Reed addresses our small group. “Everyone, this is Dean Masterson and C-Bomb from Red Card Riot. RCR is playing tomorrow night at the MGM Grand—lemme know if any of you want tickets to the show.”
Will and Carmen instantly leap at the offer, thanking Ree
d profusely, while I jump up and down, tugging on Josh’s arm.
Josh laughs at my exuberance. “Looks like Kat’s in for sure. But I’m not sure what the fuck we’ve got going on tomorrow night—I’m in town for this thing with my brother.” Josh looks at Will and Carmen. “If it turns out I can’t go, can Kat go with you guys?”
Oh. It didn’t occur to me we might be tied up tomorrow night with our mission to take down The Club, whatever the heck that means. “Oh, no, Josh, that’s okay,” I mumble. “I wouldn’t go without you.”
“Of course, you would. You can’t miss seeing RCR—and from the VIP section, no less.”
“Fuck the VIP section,” Reed says. “I’ll take you backstage, Kat. You can watch the show from there.”
“Really?” I say. “Wow.”
“Thanks, man,” Josh says.
“No problem, bro. Just text me when you know who’s going tomorrow,” Reed says. “Jonas, Henn, whoever’s in your group. Just lemme know. Speaking of which, where’s Henn? I miss that little fucker.”
“I called him. He’s still working,” Josh says. “He said he might be able to break free tomorrow night, depending on how the work thing goes. It’s all really up in the air.”
“Okay, lemme know. So, Dean,” Reed says to the dark-haired hottie, “2Real’s been writing songs for his debut album. Wait ’til you hear what this guy writes. Fucking brilliant. Game-changing. I’m not exaggerating. You’re gonna wanna get in on this. I was thinking you two might set up a writing sesh when you’re back in L.A. after the tour? I have a feeling if you guys lock yourselves into a room together for a day, a number one hit’s gonna come out of it.”
“Sure,” Dean says. “I’d love to.”
“Sick,” Will says, his face bursting with excitement. “Looking forward to it.”
The two guys exchange numbers.
“You guys just did SNL, right?” Will asks.
“Yeah. Last week. Surreal,” Dean says.
“Were you shitting your pants the whole time?”
Dean laughs. “Totally.”
Everyone laughs.
“I’d totally shit my pants, too, no doubt about it,” Will says.
“Well, then, you’d better invest in some fucking Depends, 2Real,” Reed says. “Because you’ll be doing SNL one of these days, too—sooner rather than later, I predict.”
Will pulls Carmen into him. “That’d be so fucking insane.” His face is on fire.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” Carmen says, nuzzling into him.
Josh begins chatting comfortably with the RCR boys and Will about music and the tour, but I’m completely mute. It’s totally out of character for me, but I can’t seem to think of anything witty to say, so I figure I’d better not talk at all. How did I get here? Red Card Riot’s hit “Shaynee” was playing in the taxi on the way to Reed’s club, and now two members of the band are standing here, swigging beers and chatting amiably with Josh about their show in Dallas earlier tonight? It takes a lot to make me speechless, but, by God, I am.
Josh puts his arm around me. “Are you okay, PG?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m just... stunned.”
He laughs. “How ’bout a drink?”
I nod, though I’m already feeling extremely buzzed, truth be told.
“A martini?”
I shake my head. “Surprise me,” I say. “I love surprises.”
He winks. “My kinda girl.”
After Josh leaves, I unabashedly eavesdrop on Will’s conversation with Dean and C-Bomb. They’re talking about their musical influences with incredible passion. God, I wish my youngest brother, Dax, were here. Listening to these guys talk would be his dream come true.
After a moment, my eyes drift to Carmen and I notice she looks a little bit lost.
I move to her and put my arm around her shoulder. “Hey, Carmen. Is this party as overwhelming to you as it is to me?”
Carmen twists her mouth adorably. “I feel like a deer in headlights,” she admits. “It wasn’t too long ago I was watching Will perform at a local club for fifty people.”
“Have you and Will been together a long time?”
She nods. “About two years. What about you and Josh?”
“Oh, we’re not a couple. This is just our first night out.”
“Seriously? Wow. I would have guessed you’ve been together forever.”
I laugh. “That’s funny.”
I glance across the suite at Josh—he’s deep in concentration, making some sort of complicated concoction at the bar—and my skin buzzes at the mere sight of him.
Carmen rests her cheek on my shoulder in the most adorably affectionate way, making me think of Sarah again.
“Carmen, you remind me so much of my best friend, Sarah, it’s uncanny.”
“I do?”
I nod. “She’s the best. Gorgeous, funny, super-duper smart. Weird.” I laugh. “The sweetest girl you’ll ever meet.”
“Well, thanks. It sounds like you’ve just given me a huge compliment.”
“Definitely.”
Josh returns with two glasses and hands me a red-colored drink.
“What is it?” I ask, sniffing it. “You looked like you were busy building an atomic bomb over there.”
“It’s an original creation. I call it a Kiss,” he says, a cocky grin spreading across his face.
“Oh, really? I’ve never had one of those—at least not from you,” I say.
“I figured you were dying to taste a Kiss from me, though.” He winks. “So I decided to make your dreams come true.”
I smirk. “Gee, thanks. What’s exactly in a Kiss from Josh Faraday?”
“All sorts of stuff to make your toes tingle and your face go numb. Try it.”
I take a long, slow sip. “Whoa, it’s strong,” I say. “And delicious. Kinda curls my toes, actually.”
“That about sums up a Kiss from Josh Faraday: toe-curling.”
I motion to his cup. “Is that what you’re having, too?”
“No, I made myself something totally different—I call it The Terrorist.” He takes a sip from his cup. “It really socks a punch. Honestly, it’ll probably knock me off my feet—might even be the death of me. But something tells me it’s gonna be well worth the pain.”
Eighteen
Kat
After downing two Kisses from Josh Faraday, I’ve suddenly got a freaking fantabulous idea. “Let’s go for a swim, Joshie Woshie.”
“Yessssssssssssss, Kitty Kat,” he says. Without hesitation, he rips off his jacket and begins unzipping his pants while I frenetically pull my mini-dress over my head and kick off my shoes.
I throw my dress over the back of a lounge chair, adrenaline coursing through my veins (along with the booze), and stand with my hands on my hips like Wonder Woman in front of Josh, wearing nothing but a G-string, belly ring, black-lace push-up bra, and a smile. “Hey, Playboy,” I coo. I wink and pucker my lips at him.
He stops what he’s doing and freezes, his eyes fixed on me. “Whoa.”
I shake my ass, honk my boobs like they’re horns on the handlebars of a little girl’s bike, and cannonball into the pool with a humongous splash. When my face breaks the surface of the water, I’m treated to the hilarious vision of Josh furiously kicking off his shoes and peeling off his pants like they’re on fire.
“Come on, Playboy,” I catcall to him. “That’s as fast as you can move, you pansy-ass?”
There’s a huge splashing noise to my right. And then another. And another. Sounds like I’ve started a trend. I glance toward the splashing—it’s two guys and a girl I recognize from a sitcom—and then my eyes drift back to Josh. He’s just now in the process of removing his button-down shirt... to reveal... holy motherfucking shit on a fucking stick. Wow. Holy Washboard Abs, Batman. Holy Pecs. Holy Biceps. Holy Hot Damn. Josh Faraday is unexpectedly a freaking god among men.
Good lord. I knew I fel
t hard muscles underneath his designer suit when we were dirty dancing. And I knew the dude regularly climbs rocks and mountains with his brother. But I never could have predicted... this—this walking temple of masculine perfection. For the love of all things holy, Cameron Fucking Schulz is a professional athlete and his body doesn’t hold a freaking candle to Josh’s. Josh is a living sculpture. Ripped and perfectly proportioned. Lean in all the right places and buffed out where it counts. Holy hell.
And speaking of buffed out where it counts, Jesus Christ, those little white briefs can’t hide the extremely large package he’s got between his legs. Holy hell, I’m swooning.
And on top of all that, oh my God, as if all that goodness weren’t enough to hurtle a woman into instant orgasm, the man is absolutely riddled with the sexiest tattoos I’ve ever seen, too. How the hell did I not know he was covered in ink until now? His chest is emblazoned boldly with the swirling word “GRACE” and the word “OVERCOME” is inked across his lower abs, right above the waistband of his tighty-whities. When he pivots to throw his shirt onto a nearby chair, a tattoo I can’t make out flashes quickly on his left side—I think I saw a tree? And when he turns the other way, oh my God, to top it all off, there’s a fire-breathing dragon covering his right bicep.
A dragon?
Oh, jeez.
I’m pretty sure I told Josh dragons are top of the list of “social suicide” tattoos, along with YOLO and barbed wire and girlfriend tattoos. Why the hell did I say all that? I was just talking out my butt—babbling off the top of my head. Sometimes I’m too snarky for my own good.
Well, damn, just one look at him and it’s obvious my made-up rules were meant to be broken. This boy could sport a YOLO tattoo framed by barbed wire wrapped around a fire-breathing dragon’s neck and stamped with an ex-girlfriend’s name and he’d make it all look sexy as hell. Hot daaaaaaaa-yam, this is a sexy man. My skin’s bursting into scorching flames just looking at him, even though I’m standing in cool water up to my chest.
Josh grins at me from the ledge of the pool, obviously enjoying the expression on my face. “Why are you looking at me like that, Kat?” He pats his rock-hard abs and snaps the waist of his briefs playfully, just below his “OVERCOME” tattoo. “Haven’t you ever seen a guy in his undies before?”
