by Lauren Rowe
Josh’s smile could light the night sky. “I love you, Kat.”
I sigh happily. “It’ll never get old hearing you say that.”
“Hey, you know what I just realized?” Josh says. “After all your blabbing, I bet someone’s gonna say something about the baby to your parents at Jonas and Sarah’s wedding—definitely not the way we’d want them to find out.”
“Oh, shit,” I say. “Good point.” I twist my mouth. “Shoot. I guess that means I’d better tell them before the wedding.” I grimace. “Which means I gotta tell them this week.” My stomach flips over at the thought.
“Yeah, but just don’t do it tonight, okay?” Josh says. “And let’s not tell them you’ve moved in with me, either. After they get to know me a bit, that’s when we’ll hit them with all our fantastic news. No sense making them hate me the first time they meet me.”
“They’re not gonna hate you when they find out we’re shacking up—and they’re not gonna hate you when they find out you knocked me up, either. They’ll handle all of it with grace.”
Intellectually, I know I’m telling Josh the truth and not just placating him—my parents will most certainly deal with whatever I throw at them, like they always do. But that doesn’t mean my stomach’s not clenched tightly right now, imagining myself telling them I’m pregnant. The truth is, no matter how much my family has always treated me like one of the guys in some ways, I’m still my parents’ baby girl and my brothers’ Kum Shot—and there’s no doubt me becoming an unintentional mother isn’t the future my family members envisioned for me.
I look out the window of the Lamborghini for a moment, gazing at my parents’ house, lost in my thoughts.
“Hey,” Josh says softly, touching my arm. “You want me to be there when you tell your parents about the baby this week?”
“Nope. It should be just me and them.” I let out a slow exhale, suddenly wracked with anxiety. “It’ll be fine.”
Josh takes a deep breath and mimics my slow and anxious exhale.
“Wow, the two of us are really not living up to our nicknames right now,” I say. “Come on. Let’s pull ourselves together, Playboy—time to get this party started.”
Josh lets out a loud puff of air. “Maybe I should have driven the Beemer instead of the Lamborghini? You know, gone for something a little less ostentatious?”
“Babe, first of all, your Beemer’s not exactly a low-key car. I didn’t even know they made Beemers that fancy. Second, Ryan would have killed me if he found out you drive a Lamborghini and he didn’t get to see it.”
“Oh yeah? Well, Ryan can do more than see it—he can test drive it tonight if he wants. Shit, I’ll let him borrow the damned thing for a week.”
I grimace. “Josh. Pull yourself together.”
Josh makes a face. “Too much? Douchey?”
“Not douchey, honey—sweet. But a tad bit desperate. Next thing you know, you’ll be standing with a boom box over your head on my parents’ front lawn.” I snort, but Josh grimaces. “What?” I ask.
Josh shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“I was just kidding, babe. I know you’d never do something that ‘desperate.’” I wink.
“So, okay,” Josh says, rolling his eyes. “I shouldn’t hand my Lamborghini keys over to Ryan. Any other tips for tonight?”
“Yes. Madame Professor says: ‘The best way to bag a family is to be your awesome self—and the rest will take care of itself.’”
“Excellent advice. Thank you, Madame Professor.”
“You’re so cute,” I say. “I’ve never seen you nervous like this.”
“I’ve never tried to bag a family before. Babes, I can bag by the dozens in my sleep—families not so much.”
“Haven’t you ever met a girl’s family before?”
Josh shakes his head. “Not really. I’ve met parents before—lots of times—but only incidentally. That tends to happen in the circles I move in—lots of black-tie galas and bumping into people on the slopes or at birthday parties—or maybe I was fucking some girl at her parents’ vacation house in wherever and her parents unexpectedly dropped by to say hi.” He laughs. “But I’ve never been invited for ‘next level’ spaghetti with a girl’s parents and brothers on a quiet suburban street in Seattle. And I’ve certainly never brought pie.” He motions to the pie box sitting on his lap. “I feel like I’m in a movie.”
“Babe, you’ve got it backwards. Going to black-tie galas or staying at Gabrielle LeMonde’s vacation home in Aspen is the thing that’s like a movie. Pie is real life.”
“Not to me. This is amazing. I don’t wanna fuck it up.” He looks down at his black button-down shirt and jeans. “I’m so damned glad I dressed like Jonas tonight. Thanks for the heads up about that.”
“You look great.”
Josh nods decisively. “Okay. Let’s do this, Party Girl.” He grabs the bouquet of flowers off my lap and the pie off his. “Can you hand me the wine and Scotch?”
I grab the booze bottles down by my feet. “You can’t carry everything plus the pie,” I say. “Let me carry something.”
“Okay. You take the Scotch,” Josh says. “I can handle everything else.” He reaches for his door handle. “Stay put, babe. I’ll let you out.”
I sit primly with my hands in my lap as Josh moves around the back of the car and opens my door.
“Thank you, sir,” I say as Josh helps me out of the car and escorts me toward my parents’ front door. “Glenfarclas 1955,” I say, reading the label on the box of Scotch in my hand. “I know nothing about Scotch. Is that a good one? ”
Josh lets out a little puff of air. “Yeah.”
I stop short. That little air-puff raised the hair on the nape of my neck. “Hang on,” I say.
Josh stops. “What?”
“How good?” I ask.
“How good what?”
“How good a bottle of Scotch is this?”
“Good. You said your dad loves Scotch, so I got him something I was sure he’d really like.”
“Oh, jeez.”
“What?”
“Josh. Honey. Your idea of a ‘good’ Scotch is gonna be different than the average person’s.”
Josh looks at me blankly.
“Josh, how much did this bottle of Scotch cost?”
He opens his mouth and closes it.
“Josh?”
“It cost me nothing. My uncle gave it to me from his private collection.”
“Your uncle . . ? Oh, shit. Josh, what’s it worth?”
Josh winces. “Well, okay, it’s a little on the extravagant side, I’ll admit that—but not too bad. Not, like, crazy. I just wanted to be sure it’d be something your dad would really like.”
“How much is a little extravagant, honey? Gimme a number.”
“Don’t forget this is a special occasion. I’ll never again meet your parents for the first time. I just wanted to make a good impression.”
My heart’s racing. “Josh, you’re freaking me out. How much is it worth?”
“Eight.”
I inhale sharply. “Eight hundred dollars?”
Josh looks as guilty as sin.
“Eight hundred bucks for a bottle of Scotch?” I ask again slowly, incredulous.
Josh doesn’t reply, but he looks like he just confessed to murder.
“Josh, you can’t give my father an eight-hundred-dollar bottle of Scotch—especially not the first time you meet him.”
Josh grimaces.
“It was such a sweet thought, honey, but you’re gonna freak him out and make him think you’re some sort of eccentric tycoon or something—like, who’s that hermit-guy with airplanes?”
“Howard Hughes.”
“Yes. My dad’s gonna think you’re Howard Hughes—or, worse, he’s gonna think you’re trying to buy his affection.”
Josh winces like I’ve punched him in the stomach. “Shit. I just wanted to give your dad something he’d really, really like.”
�
��I know, babe, but it’s too extravagant. I’m sorry.”
Josh exhales. “Well, shit.” He looks crestfallen. “If an eight-hundred-dollar bottle of Scotch is too extravagant to give your dad, then I really screwed the pooch here.”
I pause, processing what Josh is trying to say. “It’s not an eight-hundred-dollar bottle?” I ask.
Josh shakes his head.
“Oh, Josh,” I say gasping. “Eight thousand?”
He nods. “I called my uncle to ask for a recommendation and he insisted on sending me a bottle of the good stuff from his private collection.”
“Oh my God. Josh. If my dad knew how much that bottle was worth, he’d never open it. He’d sell it and finally take my mom to Hawaii, instead.”
Josh’s face lights up. “Your parents have never been to Hawaii? What about your brothers? Do you think they’d like to go, too?”
“Josh, focus. You’re not taking the entire Morgan clan to Hawaii. We’re talking about Scotch.”
Josh laughs. “You read my mind.”
“I know I did.”
“It’d be fun, though, wouldn’t it?”
I laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“I know I am. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be fun.”
“Oh, it’d definitely be fun,” I say.
“Maybe after Colby’s feeling better and the baby’s born we could take a big family trip to celebrate both?”
I smile. This is the first time I’ve heard Josh make future plans. “Maybe.” I bite my lip, my heart bursting. “That would be incredible.”
“Then we’ll do it. It’s a plan.”
“I love you, Josh.”
I’ve never seen Josh smile quite so big. “God, I love it when you say that,” he says. “I love you, too.”
My entire body’s tingling. “Well, you’ve artfully distracted me, my darling Playboy. I was telling you to put the Scotch in the car.”
Josh’s facial expression morphs from elation to disappointment. “I’d hate to meet your dad empty-handed.”
“You’re not empty-handed, babe—you’ve got pie and wine and flowers. That’s plenty. Maybe you can give my Dad an eight-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch to celebrate him becoming a grandfather when the baby comes. You know, once he already loves you and knows you’re not a hermit-tycoon-weirdo.”
Josh’s shoulders droop. “Okay.”
I hand Josh the Scotch and he hands me the wine bottle to hold in return. “I’ll be right back,” he says, turning around and heading toward the car.
“Hang on,” I say, the hair on my neck standing up again.
Josh stops and looks at me expectantly.
“What about this, Playboy?” I ask, holding up the wine bottle.
Josh waves me off. “Oh, that’s just, you know, a Cabernet.”
“Mmm hmm. Just a Cabernet?”
“Yep.”
He’s not fooling me for a minute—he looks guilty as hell. “Like, you mean the kind of Cabernet someone could pick up at Whole Foods for twenty bucks?” I ask. “Or, maybe if they really wanna splurge, for like, fifty?”
Josh looks like I’ve just tweaked his nipple. Hard.
“Joshua?” I coax. “What kind of Cabernet are we talking about here, babe?”
Josh purses his lips. “Goddammit, Kat. I can’t be expected to follow your stupid rules. I am what I am.”
I laugh. “Did you buy it or get it from your uncle?”
“I bought it. And it didn’t cost even close to eight thousand bucks, I promise. We’re good.”
“If it’s more than a hundred bucks, it’s too much, baby. I’m sorry.”
Josh makes a face but doesn’t speak.
“It’s more than a hundred bucks, isn’t it?”
He nods. “But only slightly. How ’bout we give it to her and not mention its pedigree? We’ll just let her think it’s some Australian red I got at Whole Foods on the way here.”
“How much, Josh?”
He shrugs. “Four.”
I squint. “Hundred?”
He shakes his head.
“Josh!”
Josh makes an absolutely adorable face.
I point at his car. “Put it in the Lamborghini with the Scotch,” I say. “Jesus God, man. Have you no common sense?” But even as the words come out of my mouth, I glance at his ridiculous car that probably cost as much as a condo and feel like I just answered my own question.
Josh laughs. “Babe, but this particular Cabernet’s a really great vintage.”
I shake my head. “Oh my God, you’re so out of touch, it’s scary. You can’t give my mom a four-thousand-dollar bottle of wine, honey. I’m sorry. You’re a sweetheart, you really are, but you’re insane.”
“Shit,” Josh says, looking bummed. “Fine.” He grabs the wine from me and hands me the pie, and then traipses to his car, exhaling in resignation as he goes. “Sorry,” he says when he returns to me on the walkway again. “I was just trying to...” He trails off and doesn’t finish his sentence. He shrugs.
“I know what you were trying to do,” I say. “But it’s too much.”
Josh twists his mouth. “Douchey?”
I kiss him. “Not at all. Sweet.” I kiss him again. “God, I love you.”
Josh grins into my lips. “Say that again.”
“I love you,” I whisper.
Josh nuzzles my nose. “One more time.”
“I love you,” I coo. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Infinity.”
“I love you, too,” he says. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’m good now. Momentary blip. I’m ready to get in there and give ’em the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle.”
“They won’t know what hit ’em, baby,” I whisper.
“That’s right,” he says. He glances toward the house, unmistakable anxiety flickering across his face. “The Josh Faraday charm-bomb’s about to go off all over your family’s unsuspecting asses.” He swallows hard. “Ka-boom, baby. Let’s do this shit.”
Chapter 23
Kat
I was wrong. Ryan’s not Josh’s spirit animal—he’s his soul mate. Watching them meet was like watching one of those movies where the hero and heroine see each other across a crowded room and everyone else instantly fades away. It was insta-love of the highest order. But, just in case anyone hadn’t caught on to the immediate connection, there was no missing it when, not twenty minutes after Josh and I had entered the house, Ryan invited Josh to play foosball in the garage.
The way it went down was like this: We were all gabbing amiably in the family room, talking about I don’t know what. And even Colby, laid out with his leg in a cast and his arm in a sling and his dog Ralph by his side, was chatting Josh up. And that’s when my Dad asked Josh how a Seattle boy wound up living in L.A.
“I went to UCLA and wound up staying down there after graduation to open a satellite branch of my family’s business,” Josh answered.
“Were you in a fraternity at UCLA?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah,” Josh answered. “I lived in the house my first two years. I didn’t get a whole lot of studying done, but I got really good at foosball.”
And that was it. Cupid’s arrow had struck. Ryan lifted his head like a meerkat on the African plains, little red and pink hearts twinkling where his pupils should have been.
“Oh-no-he-di’n’t,” I said.
“Here we go,” Dad said.
“Oh, it’s on,” Dax agreed.
Poor Josh looked perplexed, clearly not aware of the Pandora’s Box he’d just opened.
“We have a foosball table in our garage,” I explained. “It was a Christmas gift from Ryan to my parents years ago—”
“Which was actually a present to himself,” Dax added.
“And now our family’s sort of obsessed with it,” I said. “It’s kind of our family’s thing.”
“Oh,” Josh said. “Well, I haven’t actually played foosball in forever.”
“No excuses,” Ryan said, leaping up from t
he couch. “You and me, Josh.” He motioned to Dax and me. “We’re gonna kick the Wonder Twins’ asses.”
“Aw, come on,” Dax said. “Don’t make me play with Jizz.”
“Hey now,” I said. But that’s all I could muster. I’m the worst foosball player in our family (other than Mom, of course), and everyone knows it, including me.
“Don’t worry, we’ll play a second game and switch up the teams,” Ryan assured Dax. “If need be, I’ll get stuck with Jizz the second game.”
“Hey,” I said again.
But Ryan just laughed.
“You need help, Mom?” Dax called to Mom in the kitchen.
“Nope! Dinner will be on the table in thirty!” Mom called back, prompting the four of us to grab our drinks and barrel into the garage, leaving Dad and Colby on the couch, semi-watching a baseball game.
As it turned out, Ryan and Josh soundly kicked the Wonder Twins’ asses in the first game, and, in the second game, after poor Josh was saddled with me (because Dax shoved me at him and screamed “You take her, for the love of God!”), my team lost again.
“Are you starting to see a pattern here, Kum Shot?” Ryan teased after my second loss. “Now let’s think. Who was the common player on both losing teams?”
“Hardy har,” I replied, feigning annoyance. But I wasn’t annoyed. Not even a little bit. In fact, I was walking on air, despite my two foosball losses. Because despite how much I typically abhor losing at anything, I felt like I’d just gained something a whole lot better than a couple of stinkin’ foosball victories: I’d gained my brothers’ approval of the man I love.
Holy shitballs, Ryan must have slapped Josh on the back at least five times during our first game and high-fived him another ten. And in the second game, when Ryan and Josh were on opposing teams, Ryan floored me by doing the one thing that conveys matriculation into the Morgan clan more than anything else: he christened Josh with a stupid nickname.
