by Lauren Rowe
Kat’s tears have dried up. She’s stone-faced and looking at me like I’ve got fingers growing out of my head.
“To be perfectly honest,” I continue, even though I know I should shut the fuck up, “I didn’t expect you to be so upset by what I wrote. I admit I didn’t wanna give you my application, but it wasn’t because I was ashamed of what I asked for, it was because I didn’t wanna have to explain all this shit about Emma to you. I’m not ashamed about The Club, Kat. I was single. It was one month of my life. No one was hurt—far from it.” I shift my weight. Shit, I think I’m digging myself an even deeper hole. “Frankly,” I continue, deciding the best defense is a good offense, “I’m shocked you’re so upset. Now that I’ve gotten to know you—or at least I thought I’d gotten to know you—I actually thought you’d be pretty understanding about everything I wrote—or, at least, about most of it.” My voice cracks, despite my best efforts to sound calm and collected. I rub my forehead. “I honestly thought you’d maybe even get off on some of it.”
Her eyes are wide.
The bell dings on the private elevator behind Kat’s back. The doors open and then close—but, thankfully, Kat doesn’t move from her spot in the hallway.
What the fuck happened to the woman who wrote me that awesome ‘application’ to the ‘Josh Faraday Club’? The woman who felt crushed when some asshole called her a slut and said she wasn’t ‘marriage material’? Where’s the girl who admitted she has a shitload of crazy-elaborate sexual fantasies, for fuck’s sake? I thought my perverted shit would be right up her alley, I really did. And where the fuck is the incredible girl who rode a Sybian ’til she squirted and literally passed out? Because I can’t imagine that girl reacting to my application with tears. I run my hand through my hair. Shit. I feel like I’m reliving that last, horrible, blindsiding conversation with Emma all over again.
“Just please tell me why you’re crying,” I say, trying to keep my voice from sounding panicked. “I truly thought you’d understand about my application.”
“Josh,” Kat begins, but then she pauses.
My stomach twists with anticipation. Here it comes. I brace myself.
“I haven’t read your application,” she says softly. “You’ve misunderstood me.”
I close my eyes. Oh, how I wish I could stuff every word I just said back into my stupid goddamned mouth. I open my eyes. Shit.
“I started reading it, yes,” she continues. “But then I called you when I got to the part about your three photos, and then I saw your ‘Sick Fuck’ folder and—oh, yeah, bee tee dubs, I permanently deleted that folder, sorry, I can be kind of impulsive sometimes.” She takes a deep breath. “And then I went into your email account to send myself that naked photo of you with the gigantic boner—oh, and I also sent myself your application, too, by the way—sorry if that pisses you off, but, whatever, I am what I am—and, anyway, while I was in your email account, you got an incoming email.” Her lip curls with unbridled disgust. “And that’s what I’m crying about, Josh: the freaking email.”
I can barely breathe. “What email?”
Her eyes water and she wipes them. “An email from Jen—your blast from the past.”
The hair on my neck stands on end.
“And let me just say this,” Kat says, her voice edged with barely contained rage. “If a woman is totally into you and you keep stringing her along, even though you’re not into her, then at some point you’re not a playboy, you’re just a flat-out prick.”
“What?”
“Unless, of course, you are into her and you’ve been peddling me a line of total bullshit this whole time—in which case, you’re not just a prick, you’re also a flat-out liar.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Kat?” I ask, dumbfounded. “What did Jen say in her email?” I pull my phone out from my pocket and frantically scroll through my inbox. And there it is—an email from Jen. I quickly read it, doing my best to see Jen’s message through Kat’s (batshit-crazy) eyes. “Oh, Jesus,” I stammer. “No, no, no, Jen completely misunderstood me,” I blurt. “I called to tell her I’m not interested in her—I swear to God—that’s what I told her.”
“Well, Jen sure seems to think you called to ‘suggest’ something along the lines of you ‘motorboating’ her ‘pretty titties’—again.” Her nostrils flare. Her face is bright red. She looks like a fucking fire-breathing dragon right now.
Shit. I look at Jen’s email again, my heart racing. “Kat, no. I didn’t suggest a fucking thing. I told Jen I wasn’t interested in her. I said I’m not in the market for a relationship.”
“Maybe you think that’s what you said to her, but clearly you didn’t. Because she clearly thinks there’s still a chance for something with you, Josh, and when it comes to you, she’ll obviously take any little crumb she can get, no matter how small and pitiful.”
“Well, shit. Hang on. Lemme read it again.”
“It makes me wonder if you’re ever completely honest when it comes to women. Do you ever just tell it like it is? Or do you always spin things to avoid hurt feelings—or maybe to keep your motorboating-options open?”
“Hang the fuck on, Kat. Jesus fucking Christ, you demon-woman, lemme fucking look at it.”
Kat presses her lips together and crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes blazing. “I don’t mind a manwhore if he’s honest about it—I really don’t—I mean, as long as he’s not running around collecting baby-mommas or STD’s—but I absolutely cannot stomach a goddamned liar.”
“Fuck, Kat. Would you shut the fuck up for a minute? Jesus, you’re a fucking lunatic.” I look down at my phone and read again while Kat silently fumes. “Okay, clearly there’s been a huge misunderstanding,” I say when I’m done reading.
“Don’t forget to take a peek at the photos she sent you, too,” Kat says. “They’re super-duper awesome.”
I’d be a fool to open those photos with Kat standing right here, I know—but I do it, anyway. Why? Because, apparently, I’m every bit the suicide-bomber she is.
I open the first photo. It’s Jen and her famous mom, their cheeks pressed together.
“Yeah, so what?” I say. “Who cares if Jen’s mom is—”
“Open the second photo, Josh.”
I roll my eyes and open the second photo. Oh. Wow. Hello, Jen’s beautiful tits. Yeah, that woman’s got some gorgeous tits, I must say. But so what? I look up at Kat, ready to tell her she needs to take a chill-pill, and she’s absolutely seething with jealousy. If she were a cartoon character, her skin would be green and steam would be shooting out her ears.
I stifle a grin, remembering Kat’s sexy little speech about how she never, ever gets jealous. The girl is all talk. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can say a goddamned word, Kat launches into me again.
“Do you always just tell women what they want to hear, Josh? That’s what I wanna know. Which leads me to the million-dollar question: Have you just been telling me what I wanna hear?”
My urge to smile vanishes. I throw up my hands, suddenly enraged. “Gimme a break, Kat. I’ve been one hundred percent honest with you and you know it.”
“I’m not so sure. You keep telling me I’m ‘the most beautiful woman you’ve ever been with’ and then I see you’ve been with a freaking Victoria’s Secret ‘Angel.’”
“So?” I ask.
“So, then I know for a fact you’re just blowing smoke up my butt.”
“Oh my God. You’re pissed I said you’re more beautiful than a Victoria’s Secret supermodel?” I take a deep breath, trying to control my rising anger. “Why are you doing this? I haven’t given you shit about Cameron Schulz or any of the guys you’ve slept with—and it sounds like there’s plenty to choose from.”
Oh shit, I shouldn’t have added that last bit. Ooph. The top of her head just popped off.
“Well, maybe you’d react differently if Cameron emailed me a photo of his balls and asked me to ‘motorboat’ them!” Her eyes bug out. “Again!�
�� she shrieks.
I stifle the urge to laugh. She’s pretty funny right now.
Kat’s still fuming. “And you wanna know the reason why Cameron’s not sending me goddamned dick-and-ball-pics?” she continues. “Because I was honest and clear with him about my lack of interest.”
“Oh, okay, sure, Kat—you’re so fucking honest all the time. Let’s talk about that cute little speech of pure fiction you made about how you never, ever get jealous unless you’re in a committed relationship. Hmm? What about that?” I scoff. “So, okay, maybe I didn’t get my words exactly right when I talked to Jen. But that was because I was trying to let her down easy. At least I was trying to be nice.”
She clenches her jaw. “What does that mean? You don’t think I’m nice?”
I pause. “No, I... I think you’re nice—really nice. It’s just that...” Why do I keep feeling like I’m digging myself a deeper hole? “It’s just that, you know, you’re a Scorpio,” I say.
She looks at me blankly.
“God wouldn’t have designed you with a stinger on your tail if he didn’t want you to use it on occasion, right?”
Her mouth is hanging open.
“But that’s okay. I like your stinger.” Oh boy. I’m really not doing myself any favors here. Okay. Once again, the best defense is a good offense. “Jesus Christ, Kat,” I say. “You’re just like my fucking brother—physically perfect and you don’t even know it. And you’re needy just like him, too.” I shake my head. “Kat, you’re absolutely beautiful. I told you. I couldn’t have designed you better myself. But you’re also insane, apparently. You’re seriously driving me crazy.”
Her cheeks flush.
There’s a long beat.
“I’m not usually this crazy,” she says softly. She twists her mouth. “Something happens to me when I get around you.” She throws up her hands. “Look, I’m being an asshole—okay? I realize that. I’m sorry.” She exhales and flaps her lips together. “I tell you what. I’m gonna go downstairs and meet up with Henn and do the photo thing for my Oksana passport, okay? And while I do that, why don’t you stay here and write a reply to Jen. Whatever’s the truth, just tell her, once and for all, as clearly as possible.”
“I’m not interested in her, Kat, like I keep saying.”
She bares her teeth. “Glad to hear it. And after I do the photo thing with Henn,” she says, “I’m gonna sit my butt down at a Blackjack table, drink some whiskey, and get control of myself. I’m sorry I lost it—that email just really threw me for a loop.”
“Why?” I ask. “I already told you I fucked Jen. And, yeah, okay, I buried my face in her tits when I did it. So sue me.” I grin. “She’s got some really nice tits.”
Kat presses her lips together.
“Kat, she means nothing to me, like I said. I only called her because I told her I would when I ran back into the party and practically ran her over trying to get your shoes and purse.”
There’s a long beat.
“I don’t get why you’re reacting this way,” I say.
Kat looks up at the ceiling and then back at me, her face suddenly awash in emotion. “Just tell me right here and now, once and for all: are you Garrett Bennetting me?” she blurts. Tears suddenly flood her eyes and she wipes them.
“That’s what this is all about?”
She nods.
I roll my eyes. “No,” I say emphatically. “Of course not. I shouldn’t even have to tell you that.”
She wipes her eyes again. “All those women, Josh.” She looks up at the ceiling like she’s trying to keep tears from spilling out of her eyes. “I don’t care if you’re a manwhore. It’s just... you can have any woman you want—anyone at all. The daughter of Gabrielle LeMonde—”
I scoff loudly, shutting her up.
“A Victoria’s Secret Angel.”
“A devil-woman with battery acid in her heart.”
Kat bites her lip, obviously trying to suppress a smile. “Emma.”
“A woman who called me a sick fuck and then promptly ran off with a dude who owns polo ponies and wears a fucking ascot.”
There’s a long beat. Kat’s eyes are unreadable to me.
“I’m obviously way out of line here—just a total head case,” she says. “I’m sorry.” She exhales loudly. “I’m gonna go get a drink and play blackjack while you reply to Jen’s email. She’s a twat and a half, don’t get me wrong, but even twats have feelings, too, and she deserves an honest response. Lemme just go downstairs and pull myself together for a bit, okay? I’m really sorry I’m acting so crazy.”
She turns around to pound the elevator call-button, her shoulders slumped.
Fuck this shit. I’m not in the mood to write an email to Jen right now. There’s only one thing I want to do: kiss my smokin’ hot Party Girl with a Hyphen.
I bound down the hallway to Kat, my cheeks on fire, a massive lump in my throat, my dick rock hard. I grab her shoulders, whirl her around to face me, and kiss the shit out of her. “I’m not Garrett Bennetting you, Kat,” I mumble into her lips. “I promise.”
Chapter 4
Kat
My kiss with Josh has ramped up to full-throttle-I-wanna-fuck-your-brains-out within seconds. Josh breaks away from me, his blue eyes darkening with heat, slams my body roughly into the wall, yanks my mini-skirt up, and pulls my panties down.
I throw my head back, shaking with my arousal, and it bangs sharply against the wall of the hallway. But even the pain of whacking my head feels fucking awesome right now. I’m absolutely hyperventilating with anticipation. “Josh,” I breathe, shoving my hand into his open pants and grasping his erection. “I’m sorry. I’m batshit crazy.”
“You really are.”
I laugh.
“I’m not like him, Kat,” he breathes. “I’d never do that to you.”
“I know. I don’t know why I’m so crazy,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay—apparently, I get off on crazy.”
He shoves his hand into his pocket frantically but comes up with nothing but the key card to Jonas and Sarah’s suite. He tries his other pocket and again comes up with nothing. “Fuck,” he says. “I must have left the condom on the table in the suite.”
“We don’t need it,” I gasp, grasping his erection with authority. “I’m on the pill. I’m clean. Just fuck me.” I’m writhing against the wall, crazed by my arousal.
Without another word, he slams me against the wall like he’s mugging me and plunges himself into me with shocking ferocity.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says, moving his hips exactly the way he did on the dance floor the other night.
I groan and shudder with pleasure and relief.
“I love feeling your pussy against my cock with nothing between us.” He bites my neck. “You’ve got a magic pussy, Kat.”
Oh, God, I love that he’s a dirty-talker.
After a few minutes of Josh’s deep thrusting and heated whispers into my ear, I make my patented just-burned-my-hand-on-the-stove sound and he growls his reply, his hips moving relentlessly.
“You’re always so wet for me. Oh shit. You’re so fucking wet.”
“I start dripping the minute you step within twenty feet of me,” I growl.
He lets out a long, low moan that’s so sexy, I convulse with excitement.
“I can’t get enough of you. I’ve never been addicted like this.”
My skin pricks all over with a sudden chill. “Oh, God,” I say. “Here it comes.” For an instant, I feel exactly like I’m gonna throw up. My insides are beginning to warp and twist. “Oh, shit.”
“Come on, baby.” He kisses my ear and gropes my breast. “Come on.”
“Oh shit!” I claw at his chest and pull at his hair and devour his lips as my body explodes with painful pleasure. Oh my God, I can’t get enough of this sensation. I can’t get enough of this man.
“You’re amazing,” he says, his voice gruff, his thrusts turning brutal. “You feel s
o good.”
I feel swept away. I can’t even remember where I am. It’s like Josh and I are flying, weightless, swirling together. I’m high on him. On his hard shaft moving in and out of me. On his scent, the taste of his voracious lips, the sound of his sensuous growls in my ear. He’s completely overwhelming me in every way.
Except, wait, I think I just heard something besides Josh’s growls in my ear.
“You feel so fucking good,” Josh says, his hips gyrating forcefully. “So wet. So tight. Oh, fuck.”
Hang on. Was that a little dinging noise? Almost like a bell?
Before my brain can answer that question with the phrase, “Yes, you dumbshit—that was the freakin’ elevator,” Henn’s strangled voice echoes into the hallway: “Oh my fuck. Gah!”
I freeze, instantly mortified at the sound of Henn’s horrified voice, but Josh doesn’t stop. To the contrary, he impales me with monster-truck force into the wall and lets out a strangled sound that quite plainly signals he’s in the midst of an extremely pleasurable orgasm.
