by Lauren Rowe
“Wonderful. We’ll start with a light appetizer and drink pairing when she arrives.”
“Oh, I should have told you: my girlfriend’s pregnant,” I say. “No alcohol this evening for either of us.”
“Oh. No problem. Thanks for letting me know. Congratulations.”
The chef and waiter head back into the kitchen.
“Well, have fun,” Jonas says, slapping my back. “I’d better get home. Sarah just sent me a text saying she misses me—always a good sign.” He snickers.
“Hang on a second,” I say. “We’re not done.” I motion to a loveseat (rented for me by Theresa), and we sit.
“What?” Jonas asks, obviously anxious to leave.
“I just... ” I exhale. “I need you to understand something.”
Jonas waits.
“I have no desire to get married, not even to Kat. From here on out, just don’t give me a hard time about it, okay? It is what it is. I know Kat’s pregnant and I know we were raised to—”
“I don’t think you should ask Kat to marry you,” Jonas says, interrupting me. He levels me with his startling blue eyes.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“But you’re getting married.”
“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I don’t think you should marry Kat.”
“I’m confused.”
Jonas sighs. “Josh, I’m marrying Sarah in twenty-one days because I can’t wait a day longer than necessary to call her my wife. I’m marrying Sarah because I can’t wait to declare my undying love for her in front of God and everyone we know. I’m marrying Sarah because she’s the air I breathe, the embodiment of my hopes and dreams and my every drop of happiness. Because I want Sarah to be mine, all mine, in every possible way ’til the end of time. Because I never want another man to touch her, ever again—because even the thought of another man touching her makes me homicidal. Because I want to be there for her, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part—and I want to promise that to her in the most sacred way possible. I’m marrying Sarah because I don’t want there to be any doubt in her mind how I feel about her, not even for a moment, for the rest of her life.” He scowls at me. “And not because I think I need a motherfucking piece of paper to tell me my love is real or official.”
I swallow hard, rendered completely speechless.
“So if you don’t feel exactly the same way about Kat,” Jonas continues, his eyes burning like hot coals, “if you don’t want to make that woman your wife for all the reasons I just described, then she didn’t just do you a favor by turning down your proposal—she did herself a favor, too.”
Ninety-Nine
Josh
My heart is pulsing in my ears. I open my mouth and close it, but Jonas has stunned me into complete silence.
The doorbell rings and, instantly, the violin and cello begin playing.
“Oh shit,” I say. “You’re not supposed to be here, Jonas. You gotta get the fuck out.”
“I’ll go in the kitchen and slip out when you and Kat head into the dining room.”
“No. That’s stupid.” I sigh. “Why don’t you just say hi to her—you can congratulate her on the kumquat.”
We move to the front door together, my head spinning. I’ve never been kicked so fucking hard in the teeth by Jonas in my entire life. What the fuck just happened? I feel like I’m walking through molasses with cement blocks strapped to my ankles as I trudge to the front door. I smile at the violinist and cellist as I pass them on my way to the front door, but my smile is a façade. I seriously can’t breathe.
When I reach the door with Jonas a few feet behind me, I take a deep breath, gathering myself. I’m gonna give Kat an amazing gift tonight—a truly once-in-a-lifetime gift—and then I’m gonna tell her I love her. And that’s a pretty big fucking deal. I just need to shake off what Jonas said—the man’s clearly pussy-whipped beyond anything I could have fathomed. I just need to shake it off.
I exhale and open my front door, my heart pounding at the thought of seeing Kat after this past long, torturous week apart. This is gonna be an epic night for both of us. A new beginning. But when I swing open the door, it’s not Kat—it’s the male version of her, holding a motorcycle helmet in his arm and dressed in a black leather jacket, a pair of dark jeans, and an Rx Bandits T-shirt.
The male version of Kat puts out his hand. “Sir J.W. Faraday, I presume?”
I shake the guy’s hand.
“Hey, Josh.” The guy smiles. “I’m Dax, Kat’s brother?”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Yeah. Hey, Dax. Kat’s told me a lot about you. Glad to finally meet you.”
Dax peeks behind me into the house. “Wow. Violin and cello. Oh, hey, do you mind if I get the musicians’ contact info? I’m recording an album next week and I could totally use violin and cello on a couple of my songs.”
“Uh. Sure. Yeah. Come on in.” I open the door wide and Dax bounds into my house like he owns the place. “So where’s Kat?” I ask.
“Oh.” Dax turns around. “Sorry. I got so excited about the violin and cello, I forgot why I’m here. Kat asked me to give you this.”
He hands me a sealed envelope and my heart instantly drops into my toes.
Shit.
Kat’s not coming.
I look at Jonas and he looks as crestfallen as I feel.
Kat sent her baby brother to hand me a “Dear John” letter? Is she really that heartless? Yes, she is, unfortunately, and I’ve always known it—deep down inside, I’ve always known this day was coming. Maybe that’s why I’ve been holding back all this time with Kat—because I knew deep down in my bones this thing with her was just too good to last—that she’d eventually slip past my borders with a bomb strapped to her chest and blow me to fucking bits.
“Uh. This is my brother, Jonas,” I manage to say, my cheeks hot.
“Hey, Dax,” Jonas says, shaking Dax’s hand. “Nice T-shirt. Rx Bandits is my all-time favorite band.”
“Hey, mine, too. Ever seen ’em live?”
“Yup. Lots of times. Best live band ever.”
I’m literally shaking. I feel like crying like a pussy-ass little bitch, but I swallow it down.
“So it’s okay if I talk to your musicians real quick?” Dax says.
“Go ahead,” I say, my throat tight. I call over to the violinist and cellist. “Hey, ladies, you can stop playing. It’s not my girlfriend.”
The music ceases.
“Well, are you gonna open the card?” Jonas asks.
I swallow hard. Part of me doesn’t want to open the envelope. If Kat’s decided she’s done with me—even though she’s carrying my goddamned kid—I’m not gonna bounce back any time soon. In fact, I’m gonna be in a world of fucking hurt for the rest of my fucking life, to be honest. Visions of Kat dragging my kid to baseball games with her new boyfriend flood me—images of Kat fucking another man while my baby’s fast asleep in a crib in the other room. Fuck me. Based on the way I handled the whole thing with Emma, I can’t even begin to imagine the human pile of rubble I’m about to become after I read this note. I absent-mindedly touch my left bicep and instantly feel an avalanche of anticipatory regret. Oh my God. I can’t believe I got a fucking girlfriend tattoo mere days before my girlfriend decided to break up with me. Oh, irony of ironies—please, God, no. I shake my head at my own stupidity. Kat warned me, didn’t she? “Johnny Depp had to change ‘Winona Forever’ to ‘Wino Forever,’” Kat told me way back when. “Don’t do it.” But did I listen to her? Fuck no—of course, not. Dumbshit.
“Josh,” Jonas says emphatically, drawing me out of my rambling thoughts. “Open the fucking envelope.”
I stare at Jonas dumbly.
“Open it, for fuck’s sake.”
I open the envelope slowly and pull out the card—and as I do, something falls onto the floor.
Jonas bends down and picks it up—and when he straightens up, glory be, he’s hold
ing a poker chip in his palm, his eyebrow raised.
Relief and excitement flood me. Thank you, God. Kat’s not a heartless terrorist—well, yeah, she is—but she’s also the woman of my dreams!
I hastily open the notecard and read, my heart racing, my dick tingling.
“Hello there, my darling, beloved Playboy,” the card reads. “The doctor said my sex drive might increase dramatically due to pregnancy hormones. Well, guess what? She was right! I’m excited to see your new house one of these days, I really am, and I sure hope you didn’t go to too much trouble with dinner tonight—because there’s been a change of plans, baby! Tonight, my beloved, sexy, beautiful Playboy, we’re going to fulfill one of your all-time sick-fuck fantasies. That’s right, honey—I hope you like windows—wink!—because you’re about to fuck one any which way you please.” Kat writes the name and address of a nearby five-star luxury hotel plus a room number. “Hurry up, my gorgeous, well-hung Playboy. Your window’s waiting for you—along with her selected window dressing (another wink!). I guarantee you’re gonna love how dripping wet this window is you when you get here, baby. XOXO Kat.”
I look up from the note, my eyes bugging out. I’m rock hard. Oh my God.
“Good news?” Jonas asks.
“Call Sarah,” I say abruptly. I grab my suit jacket off the back of the loveseat. “A romantic dinner for two just fell into your lap, bro. Enjoy.” I call out to Dax over by the musicians. “Hey, Dax. Nice to meet you, man. I’ve gotta go—I’ve got an unexpected dinner date with your diabolical sister. Hopefully, we’ll have a chance to talk another time.”
Dax waves. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll have a chance to talk one of these days, Josh—maybe at the hospital when Kat gives birth to your baby?”
I stop dead in my tracks and turn around to face him, my cheeks instantly burning.
Dax shoots me an evil smile that reminds me so much of his heinous sister, it freaks me the fuck out. “Don’t worry, Sir Faraday,” Dax says, still smiling. “Kat didn’t tell anyone else in our family about your little ‘oops’—it’s just impossible for her to keep a secret from me.” He winks.
I swallow hard, words failing me.
“I won’t say a word to anyone,” Dax adds. “I promise.”
“Thanks,” I manage to say.
“I’m actually gonna enjoy watching you guys tell the fam.” He chuckles. “Ought to be extremely entertaining.”
My stomach flips over. “Yeah. Should be a real blast.”
“So, yeah, looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the future, huh? Assuming, of course, you’re planning to do more than write checks and attend your kid’s birthday parties once a year?”
“Hey, Dax,” Jonas says stepping forward, his muscles visibly tensing. “Josh would never—”
“I got this, bro,” I say, putting up my hand. “Dax, I’m gonna do a whole lot more for this kid than write checks and attend birthday parties. I’m gonna be this baby’s father in every sense of the word—every single day for the rest of my life. You can count on it.”
Dax’s face softens. “Good.” He shifts his weight. “Sorry. Just looking out for my sister.”
“Understandably,” I say. “I’d do the same.”
Dax beams me a genuine smile this time, without even a hint of evil. “You better go, man,” he says. “My sister’s not exactly patient.”
I chuckle. “That’s an understatement. She’s hell on wheels, bro. But I wouldn’t have her any other way.”
Dax nods, seemingly pleased with that answer. “You better go.”
I hug my brother goodbye—nice to know he was ready to beat the shit out of Kat’s little brother for me, if necessary—gotta love Jonas—and stride into the kitchen.
“Change of plans,” I say to the chef. “My brother and his fiancée will be dining tonight—so let the booze flow, after all.”
The chef says something but I don’t catch it. I’m too busy grabbing the keys to my rented Ferrari off the counter and racing out of the kitchen.
“Wait, Josh,” Jonas yells at my back, just before I make my escape through the front door of my house. “Hang on just a sec.”
I stop, though it pains me to do it.
I turn around to face my brother. “Jonas, please, I gotta go. Kat’s waiting, man.”
“Hang the fuck on,” Jonas says. He saunters up to me slowly, clearly enjoying torturing me, and when he finally reaches me, he opens my palm and lays the poker chip inside it. “You can’t meet Kat without your ticket to ride.”
“Oh yeah. Thanks.” I turn on my heel.
“Wait,” Jonas says.
I exhale and turn around to face him again. “What?”
Jonas leans in and lowers his voice. “I don’t know what this poker chip buys you this time, Josh, but, whatever it is, don’t even think about calling me and asking me to play Boring Blane ever again.”
One Hundred
Kat
Always the hooker, never the john? Is that how that old saying goes? Or maybe that’s bridesmaids? Well, whatever. Either way, I just paid a woman for sex—and when I did, my clit buzzed like a bumblebee trapped inside a windowsill.
“Thank you,” Bridgette says, stuffing the wad of bills I just handed her into her Fendi bag. “I sure hope this means you’re gonna follow through this time.”
“I already told you, Bridgette, last time Josh and I were just too early in our relationship—honestly, I was just too insecure. I gave Josh mixed signals and I think he felt the need to reassure me. But this time, I’m rarin’ to go. And if I’m rarin’ to go, Josh will be, too.”
Bridgette sniffs, apparently not completely convinced.
“I wouldn’t have flown you all the way up to Seattle and paid you a shitload of cash if we weren’t gonna do it this time.”
Bridgette narrows her eyes. “My time is valuable, you know. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt only because you’re so damned fuckable.” She runs her fingertip up my arm. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“I give you my word. Now, stop stressing me out, Bridgette. I’ve never done this before and I need to relax. ”
Bridgette’s eyes flicker. “I thought you said you’d done this once before in college?”
“Well, yeah, sort of, but it was amateur-hour. Second base only and I didn’t even have an orgasm.”
Bridgette’s aghast. “No orgasm? Aw, poor little pussycat. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to get you off this time.” She bites her lower lip. “How about a drink to calm your nerves?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m good.” I look at my watch. “Will you do me a favor and take off your clothes? Josh will be here any minute and I want to give him an insta-boner when I open the door.”
Apparently, I don’t have to ask Bridgette twice. I’ve barely gotten the words out and she’s already peeling off her clothes, revealing her world-famous body underneath. “You want my bra and panties off, too, häschen?”
“Not yet. I’ll take them off you later. We’ll make a show of it.”
“Ooh. Fun.” She tosses her clothes on a chair and stands before me, her hands on her hips. “How’s this?” She poses like the supermodel she is, jutting her hip and pushing out her breasts, and, instantly, every hair on my body stands on end.
Holy crap, Bridgette’s incredible. I can’t imagine any human, man or woman, straight or gay or otherwise, who wouldn’t feel insanely turned-on by the sight of her almost-naked body, especially when she’s posing like the superstar she is.
Bridgette tosses her blonde hair behind her shoulder. “And you?” she asks. “Let’s see what you’re hiding under that dress, shall we?”
“Um.” I slide my hands down the front of my dress nervously. “I think I’ll wait until Josh gets here to—”
There’s a loud knock at the door.
“Eep!” I say, clamping my hand to my mouth.
Bridgette chuckles.
I sprint to the door and look through the pe
ephole. “Holy shitballs, it’s Josh.”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“Oh my God,” I say, nervously shaking out my hands.
“What’s gotten into you? You had ice in your veins last time and now you’re acting like a mouse.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Well, yeah. This time, I’m actually gonna do it. Plus, I haven’t seen Josh all week—it’s been a bit of a rough week. He’s somehow gotten hotter since I last saw him, if that’s possible.” I peep through the door again. “Oh my god, he looks amazing. He’s wearing this incredible blue suit that fits him perfectly. Really brings out his eyes. Gah.”
Bridgette laughs. “Pull yourself together, Kat. I think I liked you better when you were Heidi Kumquat.”
Josh bangs on the door. “Kat?”
“Hang on!” I call through the door. “I’ll be right there!”
“Take off your clothes,” Bridgette says. “We’re gonna give him a show, remember?”
“Oh yeah. I almost forgot.” I peel off my clothes, revealing a hot pink lace bra and G-string underneath.
“Very nice,” Bridgette says, blatantly ogling me.
Josh knocks again.
“Hang on!” I call through the door.
Shit. I’m suddenly wracked with nerves. I’ve arranged this threesome to prove to Josh I’m the anti-Emma—that I truly love him—all of him—even the parts that make him a sick fuck. But what if he unexpectedly pulls some caveman shit on me and declares, “Nobody touches my Party Girl with a Hyphen but me!”? A counter-move like that would undeniably stroke my ego (just like it did last time), but it certainly wouldn’t get me any closer to my mission of owning Josh in a way no other woman ever has. By God, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna worm my way into Josh’s damaged heart—even if I have to sneak in through a hidden trap door marked “Sick Fuck.”
Josh knocks again. “Kat?” he yells through the door.
“Hang on!” I yell. “Don’t forget,” I say to Bridgette. “You’re only allowed to touch yourself and me, but—”
