The Culmination (The Club Series Book 4)

by Lauren Rowe

  “I’ll send them my résumé the minute we get home.” His eyes sparkle at me.

  Oh, God, I love him. No, it’s more than love. What I feel for him is so much bigger than that tiny, overused word—I just don’t know what to call it. I lean forward. “Madness,” I say, my heart beating out of my chest.

  “Madness,” he replies.

  There’s a long beat as we look at each other, our eyes devouring each other. I never thought in a million years my life would turn out like this. I feel like pinching myself every single day. “So, what do you want to do tonight, hunky-monkey husband? I was thinking we’d hit the world-famous Thai nightclubs and let my dirty girl have some fun.”

  He scoffs. “I’d rather get locked into a world-famous Thai prison. I was thinking we’d go back to the suite and let your dirty girl take my eighteen-year-old’s virginity.”

  “Jonas, you are such a stick in the mud sometimes. Let’s go out and paint Bangkok red—let my dirty girl shake her groove thang under some laser lights—and then we’ll come back and let her take your eighteen-year-old’s virginity.”

  “I vote we just go back to the suite, play loud music, and turn the lights on and off rapidly. Same thing as a nightclub, but a whole lot more fun.”

  “Aw, come on, old man. Tonight just might be the one night in my entire life where I can run completely amok. And you want me to spend it in a hotel room?”

  “Why is tonight your one chance to run amok?”

  “Because for the first time in my life, for one tiny moment in time, I’m completely carefree. I’m not a student, chasing grades and scholarships, for the first time, ever, but the minute we get home, I’ll be starting my new job. That means right now, this one week here in Thailand with you, is my one tiny window of opportunity to go completely crazy without regard for rationality and responsibility.”

  He purses his lips.

  “Come on, baby. Let’s pretend we’re Josh and Kitty Kat for one night.”

  “You wanna pretend we’re up to our eyeballs in dirty diapers and baby-puke?”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, I should have said, ‘Let’s pretend we’re the pre-Gracie versions of Josh and Kat.’”

  “Even they don’t want to be the pre-Gracie versions of themselves.”

  “Oh my God, ain’t that the truth. I’ve never seen two people more in love with a baby in all my life.”

  Jonas grins wistfully. “Kat is a surprisingly natural mother. I never would have predicted that.”

  “I know. She’s a momma bear. Who knew?”

  “And Josh was born to be a father. He’s amazing at it.” He pauses like he was about to say something more but has decided against it.

  “Jonas, you’re gonna make an amazing father one day, too,” I say. “The absolute best.”

  His cheeks flush. “Speaking of Josh, he texted me earlier, while you were still in the shower recovering from what I did to you.” He smirks.

  “Oh yeah? How’s it going in Babyville? Is Gracie sleeping better now?”

  “I dunno. He didn’t say. He sent me a photo, though.” He pulls out his phone and shows me an adorable picture of three-month-old Gracie, already Kat’s spitting image.

  “Look at those cheeks!” I say. “Aw, that photo makes my heart go pitter-pat.”

  “Oh yeah? What kind of ‘pitter-pat’?”

  “What do you mean ‘What kind of pitter-pat’? You know, pitter-pat.”

  “But, I mean, is it a she’s-so-adorable pitter-pat or is there some other kind of pitter-pat mixed in there, too?”

  My heart is suddenly pulsing in my ears. What the hell is he hinting at? “What other kind of other pitter-pat might there be, love?”

  “Well.” He swallows hard. “It could be, at least partially, a let’s-make-a-baby-together-Jonas pitter-pat.”

  Whoa. I know Jonas wants kids one day, theoretically, and so do I, but neither of us has ever expressed any kind of urgency about starting a family. I only just graduated law school and took the bar exam last week, for Pete’s sake. I’m only just about to start my new career as an attorney, helping women alongside my mom—my lifelong dream. Making a baby is the last thing on my mind. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a she’s-my-adorable-niece-and-I-love-her pitter-pat, at least for now,” I say slowly.

  Much to my surprise, disappointment flickers across Jonas’ face. He takes a long swig of his drink and looks out the window at the twinkling city beneath us.

  “I only just took the bar exam, baby,” I say, a note of apology in my tone. “I’m finally gonna be an attorney after years and years of hard work. Baby, I’m finally gonna start working for Gloria’s House when we get back—the thing I’ve been working toward for so long.” I swallow hard. Why does he look so disappointed?

  He nods.

  “Jonas, are you...?” I begin. “Are you saying you want to start a family... now? Like, right now?”

  “No, of course not.” He purses his beautiful lips.

  I exhale.

  “Well, maybe.”

  My mouth hangs open.

  He laughs. “You should see your face right now.”

  I close my mouth.

  “Oh, I dunno, baby,” he says. He runs his hand through his hair. “Seeing Josh and Kat with Gracie... And the way I feel about that puking, pooping, crying little pile of goo—I didn’t know I could love someone the way I love Gracie.” He shrugs. “She makes me want a mini-Sarah of my own.”

  “Wow.” He never ceases to astonish me. “You’re serious?” I say. “You’re completely ready?”

  “I’m ready whenever you say go.”

  “Really?” I say, incredulous. “Whenever?”

  He nods.

  “Like if I said tonight? If I said, ‘Let’s make a baby tonight while I’m taking your eighteen-year-old virginity,’ you’d say yes?” I snicker. Surely, I’ve just called his bluff.

  “Absolutely,” Jonas says—and, oh my God, he sounds completely serious.

  “Holy shitballs, Jonas. I’m not ready tonight,” I say, my heart leaping into my throat. “I was just trying to freak you out.”

  He shrugs. “I’m not freaked out. Whenever. Just let me know.”

  I stare at him, my mouth hanging open, yet again.

  He exhales. “I’ve never been a part of a family before, Sarah. Watching Josh and Kat with Gracie, it makes me realize how much I want to be.”

  My heart is pounding in my ears. I take a long sip of my champagne. “Wow,” I finally say. “I feel like my ovaries just exploded.”

  Jonas laughs.

  “Holy crappola, baby, my ovaries are suddenly popping out eggs in rapid-fire succession, like a pitching machine at a batting cage,” I say. “It must be some primal survival instinct kicking in—a desirable male specimen has selected me to carry his spawn and my ovaries start popping like popcorn.”

  “You’re the one who should work for Hallmark,” Jonas says. “‘Baby, you’ve turned my ovaries into Jiffy Pop. Happy Valentine’s Day.’”

  We both explode with laughter. I don’t know if it’s objectively all that funny or if we’ve simply had too much alcohol, or if we’re just excited and nervous about this new semi-revelation, but for several minutes, neither of us can talk or eat, we’re laughing too damned hard. When we’ve calmed down, he signals to the waiter to pour me yet another glass of champagne. “Drink up, dirty girl,” he says. “If we’re not gonna make a baby tonight, we might as well have some awesome shit-faced sex.”

  “Yes, sir. Rio two point oh, coming up.” I dutifully take a sip of my champagne. “So, did Josh say anything at all or did he just send the photo of Gracie?”

  “He was actually texting to tell me his buddy Reed is in Bangkok right now. Remember Reed from Josh and Kat’s wedding?”

  Gosh, hmm, let me think if I remember Reed from Josh and Kat’s wedding. Ha! Every woman at that wedding, from age eight to eighty, married or single, deaf, dumb, or blind, remembers that Hottie McHottie-pants from Josh and Kat
’s wedding. But that’s not what I say to my husband, of course. I’m not a sadist—or a total dufus. “The one who has the record label?” I say nonchalantly, taking a bite of my octopus.

  “Yeah. Well, one of the artists from his label just shot a music video in Thailand.”

  “Oh, that’s cool.”

  “Yeah, so they’re gonna do some big promotional appearance in Bangkok tonight. Some sort of VIP thing.”

  “Oh, wow.” I take another bite of my food. “Reed seemed like a cool guy.”

  Jonas takes a bite of his food. “Yeah, he’s a good guy. And you can stop trying to play if off like you didn’t think he was hot. Every woman who’s ever encountered Reed has always drooled all over him. I’ve seen it firsthand many times.”

  I laugh. “I didn’t notice his physical appearance whatsoever. I just liked talking to him about music.”

  Jonas laughs. “Josh has been friends with Reed since college—and, trust me, the two of them together were dangerous to women’s health. He was one of the guys Josh flew into Bangkok, actually. I got to know him a bit when we kayaked in Cambodia together.”

  “Oh, that sounds fun.”

  “Okay, put it on your list, pretty baby.”

  I grin. Jonas is being literal. He’s ordered me to keep a running list of any place I want to see and anything I want to do, and he’s sworn he’s gonna check every single item off the list for me ’til the day we die.

  “So, anyway,” Jonas says, putting his drink back on the table, “Josh asked Reed to put our names on the list.”

  “The list?”

  “The guest list for the VIP promotional-appearance-thing tonight,” Jonas says. “It’s at some high-end nightclub.”

  I slam my fork down on the table. “Jonas Faraday! You’ve been playing with me this whole time. Ha!” I hoot. “Well, why the heck are we still sitting here, baby? Let’s go!”

  Jonas looks mortified. “Well, hang on a second, baby. No, I wasn’t playing with you. Not at all.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “No. I don’t wanna go to the stupid party. I was thinking we’d just go back to the room after dinner and—”

  “Oh my God, Jonas, hale naw. We aren’t gonna be sexual hermits in frickin’ Bangkok when our names are on a VIP guest list at a swanky nightclub!”

  He sighs and rolls his eyes.

  I rub my face. “Aw, come on, Jonas Introverted Faraday. God knows I love you. I adore you. But, baby, I just climbed rocks and caves with you for four frickin’ days—not that I didn’t love every second of it—but now I’m ready to shake it like a Polaroid picture.” I squeal. “Come on, love. Let’s paint Bangkok red.” I bump up and down in my chair, clapping my hands.

  He laughs. “Yeah, but the question is do you want to go?”

  I laugh.

  He looks out at the skyline, his face awash with discomfort.

  Oh God. Poor guy. Asking poor Jonas to go to a VIP party at a nightclub is like asking a fish to climb a tree, as he so often says. But I can’t help myself. The truth is I want to go to this party more than I care about my beautiful husband’s discomfort, just this once. “Babe, the bar exam was two solid days of hell,” I say, arguing my case. “And I had to study for months and months before that. And law school was three long, hard years. And I worked my way through college with two jobs.” I throw the back of my hand over my forehead in mock despair. “And I had to walk uphill both ways to get to class every single day.”

  He grins, his resolve clearly melting.

  “Come on, love. Suck it up. Have some shit-faced fun with your silly little wife.”

  He sighs. And the look on his face melts my heart.

  Oh, my Sweet Jonas. My sweet, complicated, introverted, beautiful Jonas. I let out a long exhale. Oh, well. I tried. Why force the man of my dreams to do something he hates? Surely, there are worse things than staying in a luxurious suite in Bangkok with the hottest man alive. “You know what?” I say, smiling at him sympathetically. “Never mind. I’d take a night alone with the sexiest man alive over a Thai nightclub any day.”

  He visibly relaxes. “Thank you. I’ll make sure you have the orgasm of your life.” He winks.

  “As usual.” I beam at him.

  We both take big bites of our food, sip our drinks, and look out at the skyline for a few moments.

  “But just out of curiosity,” I finally say, “who’s the rock-star-guy Reed is partying with? The one that’s in Thailand to shoot a music video?”

  “No one famous. I’ve never heard of him.”

  “What’s his name?”

  He looks at his phone and reads the name.

  “Holy shitballs!” I blurt, tossing my fork onto the table with a clang.

  “You’ve heard of him?” Jonas asks, taken aback.

  “Jeupucha culo! Of course, I’ve heard of him! He’s the biggest name in hip-hop right now. Oh my fucking God. He’s at the top of the charts!”

  Jonas laughs.

  “Oh, Jonas. He’s huge right now. He’s got that monster hit—that song ‘Crash’? You know the one? It’s on the radio nonstop.”

  Jonas shakes his head again.

  “Oh, yes, come on, you know it. ‘Crash into me with that thang, back it up and do it again.’ Ring a bell?”

  “No. Sorry. You know I hate hip-hop.”

  “Baby, I’m always singing it in the shower. I can’t get it out of my head. They play it at my spin class all the time.”

  He shrugs.

  “He just performed it on Saturday Night Live a few weeks ago. He’s that white-guy rapper everyone is calling ‘the new Eminem’? Except he can actually sing and he seems happy?”

  Jonas shakes his head again.

  “Oh my God, oh my effing God. Is he performing ‘Crash’ tonight?”

  “I dunno. Josh said he’s here to perform with some Thai rap group—who knew such a thing existed? They did some sort of collaboration and now they’re promoting it.”

  I squeal. “Oh, is it Thaitanium?”

  “Is what titanium?”

  “Is the Thai rap group he collaborated with called Thaitanium?”

  Jonas laughs. “How the fuck do you know the name of a single Thai hip-hop group?”

  “You’d be shocked at what’s rattling around in my head.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I didn’t ask the name of the Thai hip-hop group—no human other than you would ever ask the name of the Thai hip-hop group.”

  My entire body is electrified. “This is so exciting. Oh my effing God.” I’m panting with excitement. “Come on, love. I know you’ve heard the song a thousand times.” I sing him the insanely awesome hook to “Crash” and Jonas shakes his head. “Come on. It’s on every commercial these days—oh, it’s on that commercial for Nike. You know that one with that famous basketball player?”

  “You mean LeBron James?”

  “Yes! It’s on that commercial with LeBron James.”

  “Nope.”

  My cheeks feel flushed. I’m a giddy fool. “Jonas, you seriously need to broaden your musical horizons.”

  “This coming from the woman who owns every One Direction album.”

  “Hey, don’t disrespect my One-D—I’m still heartbroken about Zayn leaving the group.”

  He laughs.

  “Okay, sexy-pants. New plan,” I say, my jaw setting with determination. “We’ll go back to the room, have some hot monkey sex—any which way you please, lord-god-master—”

  “As usual.”

  “Right. As usual. And then we’ll head out into the depraved Bangkokian night to party like Josh and Kat. What do you say?”

  “I say, ‘Please, God, no.’”

  “Jonas, my love.” I grab his hand across the table. “My darling, dearest love of my life. I would die for you. I’d give you my kidney. And, yes, I will most definitely bear your gorgeous babies in the very near future—but for the love of God I am not willing to hang out in a hotel room when we’ve been invited to hang ou
t with the hottest hip-hop star on the entire planet whose song is my frickin’ ringtone right now.” I pull my phone out of my purse, scroll into my settings, and press play on my ringtone—and the catchy hook of “Crash” blares from my phone.

  Jonas raises his eyebrows.

  “He’s. My. Ringtone. Jonas.” I can only imagine how my eyes are bugging out of my head right now.

  Jonas nods slowly. “Okay, baby. Looks like we’re going to a nightclub tonight.”

  I squeal. “Thank you, Jonas. And thank you, Baby Jesus.”

  Chapter 17

  Sarah

  It’s like someone decorated a Las Vegas nightclub with Asian décor and then threw it into a Thai-techno-hip-hop blender and pressed the button marked “high.” And then threw up. Holy moly, this place makes my head spin and my eyes glaze over. Or maybe it’s all the champagne coursing through my veins that’s making me feel this strange brand of motion sickness—because, holy hell, there’s a lot of champagne inside my body, people—or maybe it’s the fact that one of the biggest stars in pop music just walked up to me, politely asked if the seat next to me on the couch was taken, and promptly sat down when I mutely shook my head, my mouth agape. Oh my effing God.

  “I’m Will,” he says politely, putting out his hand.

  I already knew the guy’s real name is William (thanks to some frantic research on my phone during the cab ride to the club), but I’m surprised he’s introducing himself to me that way instead of by his rapper moniker. According to Wikipedia, twenty-four-year-old William “2Real” Riley is a rapper, singer, songwriter, and musician who grew up in the surprisingly tough neighborhoods of Long Beach, California, heavily influenced by such varied artists as House of Pain, Sublime, Run D.M.C., the Beastie Boys, Johnny Cash, and, much to my surprise, Jonas’ all-time favorite band, Rx Bandits (also from Long Beach). But given the man’s unique and yet oh-so-catchy musical style, his unorthodox list of musical influences doesn’t surprise me at all.

  “Nice to meet you, Will,” I say in a trembling voice, shaking his hand. “I’m Sarah Faraday.” So far, I’ve managed to keep myself from shrieking with glee. I think I have, anyway. Did I just shriek with glee? Oh shit. I clear my throat. “My brother-in-law is Reed’s friend from college—Josh Faraday?”