The Revelation

by Lauren Rowe

“And you’re smart, too.”

  “Yep. That’s me. Sweet and smart.” I snort. “That’s what everyone always says about me.”

  “You don’t think you’re sweet and smart?”

  I pause. “I think I’m sweet with the people I care about, but you’re not gonna hear anyone say, ‘Oh, that Kat—she never says an unkind word about anyone.’”

  We both laugh at the ridiculousness of anyone saying that about me.

  “And I’d say I’m witty. Sometimes clever. Often diabolical. But, no, based on my college transcripts, not particularly smart.”

  “Fuck that shit. You’re smart. Which is why your new company’s gonna kick ass. Speaking of which, when are you gonna quit your job and stop waffling?”

  “I dunno. It’s one thing to have a faraway dream about something you might wanna do ‘one day’ and another to all of a sudden be expected to make it happen overnight.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m not as entrepreneurial as I thought. Damn, that’s a big word.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  I make a “duh” face. “Failure.”

  “Bah. Fuck failure. It’s what happens right before success.” He flexes and kisses his arm again. “I should know. I’ve failed a lot.”

  I purse my lips, unconvinced.

  “Don’t be scared. I’ll help you. You can’t fail with the muscle and charm of Joshua William Faraday behind you.” He flexes his other arm and kisses it.

  “Yeah, as long as I don’t need help in, say, a month?”

  He makes a face of pure annoyance.

  “Seriously, thanks for the offer,” I say. “I appreciate it. It’s just a huge decision—definitely not one to make while high as a kite.” I pause, not remembering what I was just about to say. “This is only the fourth time I’ve smoked pot in my whole life. Did I tell you that? Last time was in college. I haven’t done this in florebblaaaaaaah.”

  “Really? A party girl like you? I’m shocked.”

  “Well, Sarah’s the one who named me ‘Party Girl with the Heart of Gold,’ don’t forget. Everything’s relative, I guess—compared to Sarah, I’m Keith Richards.”

  He laughs.

  “So do you smoke a lot, Playboy? You seem much more composed than I am right now—your tolerance must be pretty high.”

  “Nah, these days hardly ever. I’ve just got too much shit to do to put my brain on mental lockdown for hours on end. Back in the day, though? Oh my God. I was baked my entire first year at UCLA. I’m shocked I didn’t get kicked out of school, I was such a fucking screw-up. I finally cleaned myself up that first summer, thank God—and then I had a bit of a wobble again right after graduation, before I’d figured out what the fuck to do with myself—but then I finally pulled myself together for good at twenty-four. That’s when Jonas suggested I open an L.A. office of Faraday & Sons. I followed his advice and it was exactly what I needed—it gave me some purpose in my life.”

  “How did you pull yourself together that first summer?”

  “I went to Jonas Rehab. We backpacked together through Asia and some other places that summer. Funny thing was, Jonas had just gotten out of the psych hospital, and I was supposedly on that trip to help him—but he’s the one who helped me, by far.”

  “How? What’d he do?”

  “He was just Jonas. There’s nothing like being around Jonas Patrick Faraday and his constant ‘pursuit of excellence’ to make a guy realize he’s a total flop-dick.”

  “Is that when you got your dragon tattoo? You said you got it in Bangkok, ‘drunk and high as a kite.’”

  “Damn, you’ve got a good memory.”

  “I remember everything you’ve told me.”

  “Yeah, it was on that trip—about a week in. Remember how in the beginning of The Karate Kid he starts off being a little punk? That was me the first week of my trip with Jonas. We’d been climbing all week and I was like, ‘I’m sick of this wax-on-wax-off shit, man; I wanna party,’ so I flew Reed and some homeys into Bangkok while I left my dorky brother to climb more rocks on his own up north.” Josh shakes his head. “I was such a little prick to leave Jonas like that—such a total fucking douchebag. Inexcusable.” He sighs. “So, anyway, when Jonas and I met up again a few days later in Cambodia, I knew I’d fucked up, and I just was like, ‘Okay, Mr. Miyagi, I’m ready now. Teach me the art of karate.’”

  I laugh.

  “Jonas had just come from climbing all alone for days and he was this savage beast—just, like, oh my God, this golden god—and I looked like something the cat barfed up. I took one look at Jonas, and one look at my pitiful self, and realized it was time for me to stop being a total asswipe-douchebag-waste-of-space. And that was that. Jonas and I became this unstoppable duo—two savage beasts crushing it across three continents. The Faraday Twins. The ladies never stood a chance.” He laughs.

  I snicker. “Oh, I bet. I can only imagine how women across three continents soaked their panties over The Faraday Twins.”

  “Oh, shit, it was like stealing candy from a baby. Well, actually, not at first because Jonas was the biggest dork in the entire fucking universe.” He rolls his eyes. “But, oh my fuck, even when Jonas was a total train wreck, women still practically threw themselves at the guy everywhere we went. Once, this woman was sitting next to Jonas at this bar, and when she got up to leave, she left her room key in front of him. And Jonas stood up and held up the key and shouted to her across the bar, ‘Excuse me, ma’am! You forgot your room key!’” Josh buckles over laughing. “Classic Jonas. But then I started coaching him and he got way better. The trick was not letting him talk—making him the ‘something shiny.’ That was always our best strategy.” He winks.

  I laugh. “Josh, you’re not exactly the ‘something dull,’ you know.”

  “Meh, I’m a good-looking guy—I’m not gonna pretend I don’t know that. But Jonas is, like, supernatural. People always fall all over themselves when he walks into a room. He’s just got this weird magic about him no one can resist. I think it’s the fact that he’s obviously so fucked up. People love that shit.”

  “Well, I think you’re every bit as magical and fucked-up as your brother and then some.”

  He laughs.

  “I’m serious. I swear to God, if I’d been one of the girls who encountered you and Jonas during your travels, I would have gone for you, hands down.”

  “Really?”

  “Heck yeah. You’ve got that mischief in your eyes I can’t resist. Jonas is sweet and crazy, but you’re the bad boy—and I can never resist a bad boy.”

  “Oh yeah? I’m a bad boy, huh?” He runs his fingertips up my bare thigh.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say.

  “Well, guess what? This bad boy’s suddenly hungry again, baby. You got any sweet potatoes over there? I’m thinking about macking down on some sweet potatoes a la pussy.”

  “Oooh, sounds delish.” I smear the requested food all over my pelvic bone and clit. “Bon appetit, monsieur.”

  Josh leans down and laps up the mashed potatoes off my pelvis, making me writhe, and then he devours my clit like a starving man on a Snickers bar. It feels insanely awesome, but there’s just no way I’m gonna reach orgasm.

  After a while, Josh sits up from between my legs and stares at me. “Nothing?”

  I shake my head. “Feels fantastic, but I can’t get there. Too stoned.”

  He leans back. “Well, at least we look good, huh, PG?”

  “Damn straight, we do, PB.” I flex my bicep and kiss it.

  Josh laughs. “Okay, it’s official,” he says. “This sucks. No more weed for you. It’s been fun and all, super-duper fun, you’re hilarious—but it’s now abundantly clear I’m the idiot who turned a Ferrari into a fucking lawnmower. I should be taken into the woods and shot for doing that.”

  I shrug. “You didn’t do it. I’m the one who sucked on the joint.”

  “No, I’m the one who pulled it out and said, ‘Hey, PG, ya wanna?’ But I’ve officially learned my lesson. Fro
m here on out, I’ll never do anything ever again to keep my beautiful Ferrari from hitting top racing speeds like she was built to do.”

  I sigh. “Probably for the best. But we had fun, though, didn’t we?”

  “Fuck yeah, we did. Good times were had by all.” He smirks. “So, hey, PG, whaddaya say we take a shower and clean all the spinach and sweet potato out of your cooch and then roll around naked in my bed for a while? I wanna see if I can get my little Ferrari’s engine revving to full-throttle again, against all odds.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Everything’s fun with you, babe.” He kisses the top of my hand, pulls me up, and leads me toward his bedroom like a rag doll. He lets out a long, happy sigh. “Another fantasy checked off the list,” he mutters softly, seemingly to himself. He makes a sloppy checkmark with his finger in the air.

  “We just fulfilled a fantasy?”

  “Fuck yeah, we did. The very best one.”

  “What was it?”

  Josh beams me a goofy smile. His eyes are droopy and glazed. “Hottest Girl Ever Turns Out To Be Coolest Girl Ever.” He makes another checkmark in the air with his finger. “And she says we’re gonna be happy, happy, happy florebblaaaaaaaaaaaaah.”

  Chapter 32

  Kat

  My phone beeps with a text just as I’m walking through the front door of my apartment. I put down a stack of mail on my kitchen counter and check my phone.

  “Hey, PG,” Josh writes.

  My heart explodes the same way it does every time I see the name “Josh Faraday” land on my screen.

  “Hey, PB,” I write back, grinning broadly.

  Oh my God, being away from Josh this past week has been torture—I’ve literally been counting the hours until he lands in Seattle to visit me and meet my family. Just forty-eight more to go. Gah.

  “Are you home from work yet?” Josh writes.

  “Just got home this very second.”

  “Cool. A package is being delivered to your apartment in exactly five minutes. You’ll have to sign for it personally. Wanted to make sure you’ll be there.”

  “Five minutes? Lucky I’m here.”

  “I’m a lucky guy.”

  “Are you hiding in the bushes outside my apartment watching me?”

  “No. But that’s a good idea. Note to self.”

  “Why not bring this package with you when you come on Saturday?”

  “Nope. This particular package had to be delivered to you TODAY.”

  “Ooooooh! Is it youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?!!” I write.

  “LOL,” he writes. “No. Sorry.”

  “Derby Field,” I reply. “Darn.”

  “I gotta go. Just wanted to make sure you’ll be there for my package. T-minus four minutes.”

  “So mysterious! Gimme a hint, PB.”

  “Okay, one hint: good things come in very large packages.”

  “OMG!!!”

  “Namibia!!! What?”

  “It’s youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!”

  “Nope.”

  “Darn. I thought I was so smart. Waaaaah.”

  “LOL.”

  “Derby Field.”

  “Haha. Bye, PG. See you in two days. Can’t wait. Enjoy your package.”

  My heart melts. “Bye, PB. Can’t wait.” I add a heart emoji and a kissing emoji.

  I stand and stare at my phone for a minute.

  Oh my God. I’m a smitten kitten. A fish on a line. Done-zo, as Sarah would say. And the amazing thing is that Josh seems to feel the same way about me. Of course, I still don’t know where I stand with the guy beyond next week. There are no labels allowed, no relationship-status updates, no declarations of serious feelings—ha!—nothing ever assumed, planned, or implicitly promised more than ten days out (it’s kind of hard to put florrebblaaaaaah on the calendar). But still, as long as I stay in the moment and don’t wonder what might happen a month from now, everything’s fantastic. Better than fantastic.

  But damn. Not looking to the future is easier said than done when you’ve fallen in love with someone as amazing as Josh. In fact, that’s all I seem to want to do—fantasize about the future—about one day living in the same city, sleeping every night in the same bed, maybe even planning a trip to Europe for next summer with a little of my finder’s fee money. But in what world can a woman be the first one to say “I want you to be mine and only mine forever and ever until the end of time” and not have everything implode after that? And that’s especially true when the man you wanna say it to is the raging commitment-phobe, Joshua William Faraday. And so, I’ve made a pact with myself to keep my big mouth shut and just enjoy the ride.

  The doorbell rings. I look at my watch. Damn. Josh’s deliveryman is freaking prompt. I lope to the front door and open it—and, lo and behold, The Terminator is standing on my doorstep in a T-shirt and jeans, his hand in his pocket.

  “Jonas?” I look past him into the walkway. “What are you doing here? Is Sarah here, too?”

  Jonas holds up a poker chip.

  “No way!” I shriek, instantly elated. It doesn’t matter what specific fantasy Jonas is here to kick off—all that matters is what that poker chip clearly implies about Josh’s current geographical location: that boy is here in Seattle!

  Jonas hands me the poker chip and rolls his eyes. “Hi, Kat. I’m Blane,” he says, his tone oozing with complete disdain. “Great to finally meet you. You look even more beautiful than in your online profile.”

  I throw my hands over my blushing face with embarrassment and glee. Just from these few words, I know exactly what imaginary-porno Josh and I are about to act out and how I’m supposed to play along. Oh my freaking God.

  Jonas makes a face like he’s being tortured. “Is any of what I’m saying making any sense to you? Josh gave me the exact script, but if this isn’t making any sense to you—”

  “No.” I laugh. “It makes perfect sense. I know exactly what this is.”

  In fact, I’ve got zero doubt about what’s on the fantasy-fulfillment docket for tonight: we’re gonna do my “slut who ditches her boring date to have sex with the hot bartender in the bathroom” fantasy—a scenario I explained to Josh in detail during our last night together in Las Vegas (along with my other fantasies, too). “And in this fantasy,” I explained to Josh that night, “I’m on a first date with some random guy—like, some accountant I met on Match dot com or whatever—and it turns out he’s The Most Boring Man in the World. He’d probably be named Blane.”

  “Blane?” Josh said. And then he quoted the exact line from Pretty in Pink I was referring to—about Blane being an appliance, rather than a name.

  “Oh my God!” I squealed. “I guarantee no other man on the planet could quote Ducky from Pretty in Pink.”

  “I’m wise and powerful, babe,” Josh said. “I keep telling you.”

  I laughed.

  “So what happens next in this particular fantasy?” Josh asked. “Something tells me it doesn’t end well for poor Blane.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I’m on my date with Blane and he’s talking my ear off about taxes or politics or whatever, and I keep locking eyes with the hot bartender. So, after a bit, I excuse myself to go to the restroom. And on my way, I slip the bartender a note on a napkin that says, ‘Bathroom in five.’”

  “Whoa,” Josh said. “You little minx.’

  “Hot, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  “So then I fuck the bartender in the bathroom and when we’re done, I go right back to my sweet but boring date like nothing ever happened. When Blane and I leave the bar, the bartender winks at me as I pass by—but we don’t exchange phone numbers or anything like that—we both just know it was a one-time thing. Blane takes me home and I kiss him on the cheek and thank him for a lovely evening like the proper young lady I am. And then I never see him again.”

  “Where the fuck do you get this shit?” Josh asked.

  “Well, this particular fantasy came about as a total ‘what if’
on a real-life boring date.”

  Josh laughed.

  “But that’s the thing, I have these little pornos playing in my head all the time, but I’d never actually do them. Believe it or not, I’m actually not as big a slut as I seem.”

  “I don’t think you’re a slut,” he said earnestly. “Not at all. Well, not any more than I’m a slut. Am I a slut?”

  “Yeah, a little bit.”

  Josh laughed. “No, I’m not. Not nearly as much as I seem.”

  “Then we’re even.”

  Jonas clears his throat, drawing my attention back to my present-day doorstep. He looks remarkably uncomfortable. “So you ready to head out?” he asks. “I’ve been given strict instructions to take you for cocktails and to be extremely boring.” He rolls his eyes again.

  “What did Josh tell you about tonight?” I ask, my cheeks suddenly feeling warm. God help me if Josh told Jonas everything about my imaginary-pornos.

  “Josh didn’t tell me a thing,” Jonas says.

  I exhale with relief.

  “All he said was, ‘Kat’s got, like, a thousand crazy pornos playing in her head at all times and I need your help setting the stage for one of them so we can act it out tonight.’” He shrugs.

  I cover my face. “Gah! Josh said all that? Jonas, that’s not exactly ‘not a thing.’ Oh my God, I’m completely mortified. Jesus.”

  “Aw, don’t worry about it, Kat. That’s literally all Josh said. He didn’t give me any details. He just told me to show up here and be ‘super-duper boring’—which, he said ‘should be like falling off a log’ for me. I told him to go fuck himself, but then he went ballistic on me, screaming about every fucking favor he’s ever done for me through the history of time—which is a lot, I must admit—so I was like, ‘Fine, motherfucker! Stop acting like me! I’ll do it—if only to make you stop screaming at me like a fucking lunatic.’ And then he laughed his ass off and was like, ‘Ha! Welcome to my world, motherfucker.’”

  I laugh. “So you’re here to ply me with alcohol and bore me to tears, then?” I ask.

  Jonas shrugs. “Yeah, talk about asking two fishies to swim, huh? You get to drink and I get to be boring.”