The Josh and Kat Trilogy: A Bundle of Books 1-3

by Lauren Rowe

  “Correct. Again, let me repeat. I do not make THE rules. I merely enforce them.”

  I laugh out loud again.

  “Whoa, did you see that?” Jonas says, swatting my knee.

  I look up and catch the instant replay of a smooth-as-silk pass and dunk on TV.

  “Sweet,” I say. But I don’t care about the game right now. I’m having too much fun playing with a certain little kitten. I look back at my phone.

  “Hey, my boss is about to get off her phone call, so I better go,” she writes.

  “Josh,” Jonas says. “Game’s over. You ready to do some Climb & Conquer?”

  “I gotta go, too,” I write. “My captor has summoned me. Hey, you’ve still got those bodyguards around the clock, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Stay safe. Have a good one, PG.”

  “You, too, PB. Have fun with your captor.”

  “Thanks. He’s always an adventure, for sure.”

  “Who are you texting with?” Jonas asks.

  I look up. Jonas has already opened his laptop. He’s staring at me.

  “Just a girl.”

  Jonas gives me a knowing look. “No sexting when you’re sitting on a couch with me. Ew.”

  “Fuck you. Come on. Climb & Conquer, baby. Let’s do this. I’m chomping at the bit to get our baby launched, put out the press release. Hey, when are we gonna tell Uncle William we’re both leaving the company, by the way?”

  “Soon,” Jonas says. “I just gotta figure some shit out first. With both of us leaving . . .” He lets out an anxious breath. “I don’t want Uncle William to feel like we’re deserting him.”

  “I know, but it is what it is. I’ll be seeing him next week at the board meeting,” I say. “Why don’t I tell him then?”

  “No, just wait,” Jonas says. “Lemme figure out the game plan first, get my strategy into place, write the press release. I really wanna tell him in person together.”

  Jonas looks so wracked with anxiety, I don’t have the heart to argue with him. “Okay, bro, whatever you say.” I pat his cheek. “No worries. But I really should go to that meeting, regardless. Are you gonna be okay if I leave and go to New York next week?”

  “Of course. You don’t have to babysit me. I’m a grown-ass man.”

  “I know.”

  There’s a long pause.

  “But thanks for babysitting me,” Jonas finally says. He exhales. “Thanks for coming when I called.”

  “I always will.”

  We smile at each other.

  “Okay, Climb & Conquer,” Jonas says. “Our baby. Let’s figure out how to give her legs.”

  “And then wings.” I rub my hands together. “It’s gonna be fucking awesome, bro.”

  “Fuck yeah, it is. I’ve got the whole thing planned in my head. Now to flesh it out and make it real.”

  Jonas launches into an animated monologue about his vision for our new company, but as excited as I am about the whole thing, my mind keeps wandering. I keep thinking about Kat, her golden blonde hair swooshing across her naked shoulders, those big blue eyes of hers staring at me as she rides me. Or sucks me off. Or as I fuck her nice and slow, my hands cupping her breasts. Shit. Just thinking about her is making me hard again.

  “Hey, are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Jonas asks. “I’m bursting at the seams to tell you this stuff and your eyes are glazed over.”

  “Sorry. Got distracted. I’m totally listening now. Shoot.”

  Jonas looks at me sideways. “Does this have anything to do with whoever you were texting a minute ago?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny,” I say. “But if it does, it’s because she’s so fucking hot, no mortal man could resist her.”

  Jonas laughs. “You’re talking about Kat, aren’t you? She’s exactly your type, man.”

  I grin broadly. “Never mind. Come on,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “Climb & Conquer. Let’s do this shit. I’ve never been more excited about anything in my entire life.”

  Eight

  Kat

  My phone beeps loudly with an incoming text. Shoot. I thought I’d turned off the ringer when Cameron and I sat down at our table. I reach into my purse. Oh. My stomach fills with butterflies—it’s a text from Josh Faraday. My eyes dart across the spacious restaurant, just in time to see Cameron slip into the men’s restroom. I look back down at my phone, grinning like a fool.

  “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I’m free at last!” Josh’s text says.

  I chuckle and tap out a quick reply. “What happened?”

  “Can I get a ‘fuck yeah!’ from the gorgeous blonde in the front row?”

  “Who me?”

  “Yeah you! Do you see another gorgeous blonde in the front row?”

  I laugh out loud. “Fuck yeah!” I type. “What am I ‘fuck yeahing’ about?”

  “Sarah just called Jonas and asked him to ‘bring her home.’ Jonas just flew out of here like a bat out of hell to get her!”

  “Fuck yeah!” I type. I can’t wipe the huge grin off my face. I look across the restaurant again, toward the bathrooms, but there’s no sign of Cameron yet. I steal a quick glance toward the bar area and lock eyes with my bodyguard Rodney. He nods and I smile.

  “Jonas kicked me out the minute Sarah called, the ungrateful bastard,” Josh writes. “Thank God! Because now I’m freeeeeeeeeee!”

  My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Sarah.

  “Jonas is coming to get me!” Sarah writes. “Woohooooooooo!”

  “Woohooooooooooooooo!” I type.

  “Woo fucking hoooooooo!” Josh replies immediately.

  Oops. I’d meant that last woohoo for Sarah. “Woohoo!” I type again, this time to Sarah. “So happy for you, girlio! Are you feeling better?”

  “A million times better,” Sarah writes. “I think I was depressed. Or high on painkillers? Or both. But I feel like me again. Woot! Can’t wait to see Jonas. I’ve been going through Jonas withdrawals.”

  “Go get him, honey. I’m actually on a date with Cameron right now. Remember him from the sports bar when we spied on Mr. Yellow?”

  “OMG! Kat! You mean the baseball player guy? Kerzoinks! Hottie! Those eyes! That smile! That jawline! Gah!”

  “I know. I gotta go. He’s in the bathroom.”

  “Okay, I gotta go, too. Jonas will be here any minute. I’ll call you tomorrow. Have fun with Mr. Razor Commercial. Bwahahahahahaa.”

  “I will. Have fun with Thor. Bwahahahahahaaaaa. I love you, girl.”

  “I love you, too.” She sends me a string of bright red hearts and I return them, relief and elation flooding me. Sarah’s back.

  I go back to the thread with Josh. “Sarah just texted me,” I write. “She’s doing a happy dance about Jonas. Woohoo!”

  “Just in time. Jonas was seriously about to lose his mind. I had to talk him down from standing outside Sarah’s window with a fucking boom box ten different times.”

  “Haha! Sarah would have loved that,” I write.

  “Why the hell do girls love that movie?”

  “Because it’s romantic.”

  “It’s lame.”

  “ROMANTIC.”

  “By any chance do you have a VAGINA?”

  “Why, yes, I DO.”

  “Well, then, that explains why you don’t know that movie is LAME.”

  I laugh out loud. “ROMANTIC.”

  “No. Standing outside a girl’s window holding a boom box isn’t ROMANTIC. It’s LAME,” Josh writes.

  I scoff at my phone. “By any chance do you have a PENIS?”

  “Why, yes, I DO.”

  “Well, then that explains why you don’t know that movie is ROMANTIC.”

  “It’s not romantic. It’s DESPERATE.”

  “Sometimes love can feel DESPERATE,” I write. “And why are we writing selected words in ALL CAPS?”

  Cameron slips into his chair across the table from me and I abruptly put my phone
down on the table.

  “Sorry I took so long,” Cameron says. “There’s a kid over there celebrating a birthday so I stopped to say hi and sign an autograph.”

  “That’s so sweet, Cameron. No worries. I was actually texting with my friend Sarah.” That statement’s not technically a lie, is it? Even though I’ve fudged the timeline a wee bit?

  “Oh, how’s she feeling?”

  “Much better.”

  “Good.”

  He picks up his menu. “Have you decided what you’re gonna order?”

  “Not yet,” I say. “I haven’t even looked at the menu yet. Sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  My phone vibrates with an incoming text, but I exercise superhuman strength and leave it sitting on the table next to me.

  “I’m really glad we were finally able to get together, Kat.”

  “Me, too. Thank you for being persistent. Sorry I had to cancel on you.”

  He shoots me a sparkling smile. “Twice.”

  “Twice. Yeah. So sorry about that.”

  As bad luck would have it, I cancelled on Cameron the first time because my place had been broken into by The Club, and the second was because Sarah had been attacked.

  “All’s well that ends well. We’re here now. But I must admit I was beginning to wonder if your dad is Tony Soprano or something.”

  I laugh. “I don’t blame you for wondering.”

  He laughs. “Glad we’re here now.”

  “Me, too.”

  I bite my lip.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Cameron is gorgeous. And charming. And charismatic. And he just made a cute joke about my dad being a mob boss, for crying out loud. That was funny, right? And I like funny. So why am I not feeling this? I felt it when I met him in that sports bar (just before Sarah dragged me out of there after Stacy the Bitch read her the riot act in the bathroom).

  Cameron purses his lips as he studies the menu.

  He’s a total catch. I just need to get my head in the game. I look at my menu. “So what looks good to you tonight?” I ask.

  “You mean besides you?”

  I smile, but I’m forcing it. All I want to do right now is read whatever text is sitting on my phone from Josh Faraday.

  A waiter approaches the table.

  “Hello, folks,” he says. “How are we doing this evening?”

  “Great,” Cameron says. “How are you?”

  With Cameron’s attention diverted to the waiter, I quickly pick up my phone and sneak a peek.

  “Well, I used all caps for the word VAGINA because that word is most definitely all-caps worthy. How it spiraled out of control from there, I have no idea. I think we should STOP. So, hey, PG. I’M IN THE MOOD TO CELEBRATE!” Josh’s last text says. “Let me take you to my favorite restaurant in Seattle. They make the best MARTINIS in the city. You’ll SCREAM WITH PLEASURE. Oh, and you’ll like the MARTINIS, too. Snicker.”

  My stomach somersaults. Oh my God. Of all the nights for Josh Faraday to ask me out. This can’t be happening.

  “And for you, miss?” the waiter asks.

  I look up from my phone. The waiter is looking at me, his eyebrows raised. My eyes drift to Cameron’s face. He’s looking at me expectantly.

  “What would you like to drink, miss?” the waiter prompts.

  “Uh. Yes. Thank you.” I clear my throat. “A dirty martini, Grey Goose, two olives, please. Thank you.”

  “Great. I’ll get your drinks and come back for your food order.”

  “Thanks,” Cameron says.

  The waiter walks away and Cameron picks up his menu again.

  “What are you drinking?” I ask. “I didn’t hear your order.”

  “Just water. I don’t drink,” he says.

  “Oh,” I say. “I didn’t realize. I can cancel my martini if—”

  He laughs. “No worries. I’m used to it.”

  “You don’t drink because you’re sober, or . . .?”

  “I don’t drink during the season.”

  I’m relieved. “How long is the season?”

  “Including spring training and post-season, if you’re lucky, about eight months.”

  What the fuck? The guy doesn’t drink for eight months of the year? “Good lord,” I say. “No drinking for eight whole months? It’s like you’re pregnant once a year.” I shudder with mock horror. Or maybe it’s just straight-up horror, actually. That sounds like a fate worse than death to me.

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Do you get weird cravings, too—like for pickles and ice cream?”

  He laughs. “Thankfully, no.”

  “I really wouldn’t knock drinking as part of a healthy lifestyle,” I say. “Vodka comes from potatoes. Potatoes are vegetables. Hence, vodka is a vegetable.” I snort.

  Cameron grins politely, but he doesn’t laugh. He looks back down at his menu. “I’m thinking the surf and turf. You?”

  Ooph. Brutal. Where’s our chemistry? Is it hanging out with Waldo? I feel like I’m pulling teeth here. Surely, Cameron must feel the same way. “Yeah, surf and turf sounds good,” I say. Oh my God, my phone is calling to me like a siren. I’ve got to respond to Josh’s invitation. “Hey, you know what, Cameron? I’m so sorry, but I just need to finish something . . .” I motion to my phone. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”

  “Okay,” he says tentatively.

  “Sarah again,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah, take your time.” By the compassionate tone of his voice, it’s obvious he thinks being there for my best-friend-Sarah-who-was-stabbed-in-a-bathroom is something admirable. And, bitch that I am, I’m happy to let him think it if it means I can get away with texting Josh for a little bit longer.

  “I’ll just be a minute. And then I’m all yours.”

  He flashes me a beaming smile. “I like the sound of that.”

  “I’m really sorry, PB,” I text to Josh quickly, my heart pounding. “I’d love to celebrate your freedom with you with the best martini in Seattle, but I just sat down for dinner. Can I take a rain check?”

  “HOLY FUCK PUT YOUR FORK DOWN!” he immediately replies. “I’M COMING TO GET YOU RIGHT NOW! Where are you?”

  I bite my lip to keep myself from giggling. “No can do. I’ve already ordered,” I write.

  “Well, then, that’s an easy one. How about I join you? Are you with friends? Make sure you order whatever you want. Dinner’s on me.”

  My stomach twists. Shit. I stare at my phone for a long beat, trying to decide how to word my reply. “I’m not with friends,” I write. “I’m on a date.” I press the send button, wincing. But I can’t figure out another way to phrase it.

  “NOOOOO!” he replies immediately.

  I bite my lip again, but it’s no use. A giggle escapes my mouth. I glance up at Cameron. He’s studying his menu intently.

  “It’s a first date,” I reply. “We were supposed to go out the night I met you at Jonas’, actually. And then it got rescheduled and we were supposed to go out the night Sarah was attacked. And now we’re here. Finally.”

  “Kat, the universe clearly doesn’t want you to date this guy. Get up and leave now! What do you need the universe to do before you start listening—send a fucking bus crashing into the restaurant?”

  I laugh out loud.

  Before I can reply, Josh sends another message. “Tell him you have to leave. I’ll send a car for you right now. It’ll be there in five minutes. Tell him NOW.”

  I make a face at my phone. On what planet would I ever ditch Cameron like that? I’m a bitch, but I’m not that big a bitch. That might be how things happen in movies (and, admittedly, in one of the many fantasy-pornos that plays inside my head) but that’s not how nice people in real life act. “I’m not gonna do that,” I write to Josh. “Cameron’s a nice guy. And I’ve already cancelled on him twice.”

  “So what. He deserved it. He’s a tool.”

  “He’s not a tool. Far from it.”

  “Yes, he is. Obvio
usly.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Yes, he is. You wanna know how I know?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Because you’re on a date with him and you’re more interested in texting me.”

  I smile broadly. Touché, Playboy.

  “Ergo, he’s a tool,” Josh writes.

  I shouldn’t do it—I know I shouldn’t—but I can’t help myself. “He’s not a tool. He’s a professional baseball player.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really,” I text.

  “Oh. Minor or major league?”

  “Major.”

  “Bah. He’s probably some benchwarmer, Kat, trying to impress you. He’s some utility player or relief pitcher who sits around waiting for someone to pull a hamstring so he can get in the game. That’s why he said ‘professional baseball player’ instead of saying his team or his position.”

  “Well, a boy in the restaurant just asked him for his autograph. Do kids ask for autographs from players who sit on the bench?”

  “No,” he writes. “Not usually.”

  I smirk.

  “Is he on the Mariners?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  “The guy says he’s a professional baseball player and you don’t ask him for what team?”

  “No, I just said, ‘That’s cool.’ I was playing it cool, acting like I didn’t care. That’s a bit of a strategy of mine with guys, if you must know. A girl should never seem too eager, especially with a pro athlete.” I attach a winking emoji.

  “Ah, clever. The ol’ ‘I don’t give a shit you’re a major league ball player’ strategy. Clever. Works every time, I’m sure.”

  “Well, it certainly worked this time, anyway.”

  “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

  “LOL.”

  “Well, does he live in Seattle?” Josh texts.

  “Why are we talking about my date?” I write.

  “I need to know what I’m dealing with. Does he live in Seattle?”

  “I’m pretty sure he does. His phone number is 206.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Cameron.”

  “CAMERON?”

  “Correct.”

  “Oh Jesus. Motherfucking fuck. Does he have dark hair? About six foot two? Looks like an ad for aftershave?”

  “Yeah! That’s him. That’s what Sarah said! She said he looks like an ad for razors.”