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

by Lauren Rowe

  “Oh my, my, my. Are you gonna apply to the Josh Faraday Club, by any chance?” She shoots me a naughty smile.

  “Ooooh, I like that, Sarah. Why, yes, I do believe I am,” I say slowly, my skin tingling.

  “Did Josh ask you to apply to his club?”

  “No. He has no idea. This is gonna be a surprise—or more like a blindside.” I glance furtively across the room at Josh. He and Jonas are chatting calmly about something on Jonas’ laptop. “This is gonna be a diabolical tactic to get two suicide bombers to finally lay down their bombs and make nice—very, very nice.”

  “Well, I’m sure it’ll work like gangbusters. The day Kat Morgan can’t get a man to bend to her mighty will, the rest of us might as well crawl into bunkers and await the End of Days.”

  “I’m not so sure this time, to be honest. Josh is the hardest nut to crack I’ve ever encountered. The Most Stubborn Man in the World.”

  “So he’s the male version of you, then?”

  I nod slowly, not taking my eyes off Josh across the room.

  Sarah laughs. “Well, that’s a scary combination. Definitely sounds explosive.”

  “That’s what we are—even against our mutual interests.” I begin to say something more but wind up yawning, instead.

  “Aw, honey, you better get some sleep,” Sarah says. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

  “Yeah, I’m about to fall over.”

  I get up and stretch.

  “Oh, are you heading out, Kat?” Josh asks, his head whipping up from his work.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ve gotta get some sleep—I’m about to crash and burn.”

  “I’ll walk you to your room. Hold on just a sec.” He turns to confer with Jonas about something.

  “Enjoy getting blown to bits, girl,” Sarah whispers. “Ka-boom.”

  “Nah. There are no explosions on the agenda tonight,” I say. “Tonight, I’m gonna get good and rested so I can write my application to The Josh Faraday Club first thing tomorrow.”

  Sarah smiles at me suggestively. “I’ll send you those questions ASAP.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m gonna start working on my ‘application’ the minute I wake up.”

  Sarah doesn’t reply. Something across the room has grabbed her attention. I glance across the room. Oh. Correction. Someone has grabbed Sarah’s attention. Oh my, that’s quite a look Jonas is giving Sarah right now—it’s downright primal.

  “I’ll send those questions to you as soon as I can, Kitty Kat,” Sarah says absently, not taking her eyes off her smoldering boyfriend. “Something tells me my hunky monkey boyfriend is gonna distract me from writing those questions for you for at least the next few hours.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Josh

  My phone beeps with an incoming text, waking me from a dead sleep. Jesus. Is it night or day? My body clock is totally fucked up.

  I grab my phone and check the screen with one eye. Shit. Jennifer LeMonde.

  “Hey, Josh,” Jen’s text says. “I’m still waiting on that phone call you promised me. I’m available now.”

  Fuck. When I sprinted back into Reed’s suite the other night to grab my clothes and Kat’s stuff, I practically bowled Jen over.

  “Did you really say all that stuff about me?” Jen asked, marching behind me in a huff as I grabbed my clothes off a nearby lounge chair. “You think I’m an ‘airhead’?”

  “No, I don’t think you’re an airhead,” I said, even though I think she’s an airhead. “I’m sorry, Jen,” I continued. “I’d love to explain everything to you, but I’ve gotta run right now. I’ll call you later. I never called you an airhead, I swear. Kat put words into my mouth.”

  “Wait,” Jen said as I gathered my clothes up, frantic about where Kat might have stumbled off to with no shoes, purse or phone, wandering around all by herself in a fucking casino at the break of dawn. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’ll call you later, Jen. I promise,” I said. “But right now I gotta go.”

  “Do you promise to call me?” Jen asked.

  “Yeah.”

  And then I promptly didn’t call her. Because I’ve been busy. And obsessed with Kat. And because... I’m... a dick.

  Fuck.

  I press the button to place a call to Jen, despite the fact that every fiber in my body revolts against the idea.

  She picks up immediately. “Hi,” Jen says stiffly. “So nice to finally hear from you.”

  “Hi, Jen,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I’ve been really busy.”

  “Mmm hmm. You still in Vegas?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “I’m at the airport now. Heading to New York. My mom’s got a show opening tomorrow night.”

  “You mean on Broadway?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t know your mom did live theatre.”

  “She doesn’t. This is her first time. She’s shitting a brick.”

  “Well, I hope she breaks a leg. How was the RCR concert the other night?”

  “Great.” She exhales. “So did you say all that stuff about me or not?”

  “No.”

  “None of it?”

  “Well, I said we had meaningless sex, which we did, as I’m sure you’ll agree.” I pause, waiting for her to agree, but she doesn’t. “Jen,” I continue, flustered, “Kat knew I was with you in New York when she said all that shit. She was just mind-fucking you for the purpose of fucking with me.”

  There’s a beat.

  “Well, then, she’s an even bigger bitch than I thought,” Jen says coldly.

  “Yeah, she tore you a new one, for sure. I’m sorry about that. Kat can be pretty intense. She was just jealous.”

  “Why’d you tell her about our night in New York in the first place? I take it you didn’t just meet her in Las Vegas?”

  “Yeah, I met her before.”

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No, she’s not my girlfriend. It’s kinda hard to explain what she is.”

  Jen snickers. “Well, it’s interesting you told her about me. That wasn’t very nice of you.” I can hear her smiling across the phone line. “No wonder she was jealous.”

  Shit. This is totally backfiring on me.

  Jen’s voice shifts into full flirt mode. “So, hey, enough about The Jealous Bitch. Why don’t you come to New York with me? I’ll take you to the premier of my mom’s show and to the after-party and—”

  I take a deep breath. “Jen, no. That’s what I’m calling to tell you. I thought we were on the same page last week in New York—both of us just having some meaningless, drunken fun. I’m sorry if you were up for something different than that.” I clear my throat, suddenly extremely uncomfortable. “I should have been clearer with you, Jen. I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m sorry if I... misled you.”

  Oh my God. I’m suddenly realizing something: Kat might have had a point the other night when she called me a douche. It’s distinctly possible I didn’t make my intentions clear enough to Jen last week—even though I could plainly see the girl was way more into me than any casual hook-up ought to be. And, if I’m really digging deep into the honesty bin, I probably left things way too open-ended with Jen, just like Kat said I did, simply because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings... or... actually, because I didn’t want to deal with her feelings at all.

  “Josh,” Jen says. “I’m not looking for anything deep from you. Let’s just hang out and see if—”

  My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I pull back to see who it’s from.

  “I hit the motherlode,” Henn writes. “All hands on deck!”

  “Oh, shit. I gotta go, Jen,” I blurt, pressing the phone back into my ear. “Something really important just came up. Sorry. Gotta go.”

  “What?”

  “Look, Jen, I’m sorry about the other night at the party. Kat’s got a bit of a temper, it turns out.” The image of Kat stomping like a toddler down the hallway, d
ripping wet, barefoot, her incredible ass-cheeks hanging out of her black G-string, pops into my mind. “She put words into my mouth. I absolutely didn’t call you an airhead. That’s what I wanted to tell you—and also that I’m not at all interested in a relationship. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I really gotta go.”

  Thirty

  Kat

  I take a deep breath. I’ve got a full flock of butterflies flapping around in my stomach. Our Ocean’s Eleven crew is scheduled to meet at ten to head over to the Las Vegas branch of the FBI, Sarah’s report in hand, and by God, I’m determined to give Josh my application before then. I take another deep breath, turn up the volume on the Audra Mae and the Almighty Sound song I’m now officially addicted to (“The Real Thing”), thanks to Sarah, and place my hands on my keyboard. Here goes nothing.

  “The following is my application to The Josh Faraday Club,” I type onto my screen. “All answers will be one hundred percent honest. (And bee tee dubs, some of this stuff is kind of personal, so please keep it in confidence.)”

  Name?

  “Katherine Ulla Morgan,” I write. “But everyone just calls me Kat.” I take a deep breath. I never tell anyone about this. I can’t believe I’m writing this. “I’m named after my dad’s mother Katherine and my mom’s Swedish grandmother Ulla. Pretty name, huh? Katherine Ulla Morgan. Yeah, it’s pretty until you realize my initials spell ‘KUM.’ Let me repeat that, in case you’re not understanding the full implication: my initials spell the word ‘KUM’ and I have four brothers. Which means that, in addition to being called Kat and Kitty Kat my whole life, I’ve also been called charming things like... wait for it... Kum Shot, Jizz, Splooge, Pecker-Snot, Man-Yogurt, Dick-Spit, Schlong-Juice, Jerk-Sauce, and, oh, so many more clever and classy things only boys would ever dream up.

  “The only one of my brothers who’s never joined in on the semen-infused nicknaming is my oldest brother, Colby—and I’m pretty sure I know why. As family lore goes, my clueless mother had originally wanted to give Baby Colby her grandfather’s name as his middle name, but thanks to a family tradition on my dad’s side (whereby the first-born son is given the middle name of Edwin), Colby narrowly escaped being named Colby Ulysses Morgan. And so, perhaps in adherence to the philosophy ‘But for the grace of God go I’—a philosophy you’ve expressed a strong affinity for, too—Colby’s always stuck to calling me ‘Kumquat.’ (As a side note, my second oldest brother Ryan ultimately wound up with the dreaded ‘Ulysses’ moniker as his middle name, but being called ‘RUM’ and ‘Bacardi’ and... wait for it... ‘Captain Morgan’ hasn’t exactly scarred him for life.)

  “So, there you have it. I’m KUM. What you choose to do with the truth about my name is entirely up to you. But be warned: if you’re suddenly feeling an irresistible urge to call me Cream-of-Sum-Yung-Guy or Baby-Gravy or Protein-Milkshake, you won’t be the first. There’s literally no semen-related name you could sling at me that I haven’t already been called a hundred times in the ‘comfort’ of my own home or in the hallways of middle school (where, for three long years, we were most unfortunately required to mark our full initials onto the hem of our P. E. shorts).

  “Beginning in high school (when I thankfully was no longer required to display ‘KUM’ on my P. E. shorts anymore), I started lying and saying my middle name is Ella. And to this day, I never tell anyone the truth about my middle name, just in case they’re apt to put two and two together and start calling me Nut-Butter or Trouser-Juice or Man-Chowder or Spunk.

  “Why, you might wonder, am I telling you of all people my KUM-tastic secret after all this time? I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that, judging by the way Sarah and Jonas have benefitted from playing the honesty-game right from the start, I’m eager to give the game a whirl, too. With you.”

  Age?

  “24,” I type.

  Provide a brief physical description of yourself.

  I stare at my computer screen for a moment. Josh is already quite familiar with almost every square inch of me—I mean, jeez, the man has seen me throw a tantrum in my underwear and shoved his fingers up my wahoo on a dance floor. But, still, I might as well answer the question.

  “I have blonde hair, blue eyes, and a VAGINA,” I write, giggling to myself.

  With this application, you will be required to submit three recent photographs of yourself to your intake agent. Please include the following: one headshot, one full-body shot revealing your physique, and one shot wearing something you’d typically wear out in a public location. These photographs shall be maintained under the strictest confidentiality.

  I pull out my phone and take a selfie-headshot, crossing my eyes and puckering my lips. Next, I strip off my clothes and stand in front of the full-length mirror in my hotel room and snap a quick shot of myself in my bra and undies—a sight he’s already well acquainted with. And, for my last required shot—“something I’d typically wear in a public location”—I throw on my sequined dress from the other night, kneel at the toilet and pretend to be barfing into it while holding my phone above my head and snapping a photo.

  “I’m attaching all three required photos with this application,” I write. “Enjoy!”

  Please sign the enclosed waiver describing the requisite background check, medical physical, and blood test, which you must complete as a condition of membership.

  “If you want to do background and credit checks on me, knock yourself out. But if you don’t want to expend the effort, let me tell you exactly what you’d find out: I’ve never been convicted of a crime (though I’ve broken the law a time or two and not gotten caught, heehee); I’ve got two credit cards, one of which is maxed out (and which I’m planning to pay off with my craps winnings); I’m paid up and current on my rent at my apartment; I’m one payment behind on my car loan (which I’m also going to pay off with my gambling winnings); and I’ve been employed at the same PR firm for almost two years.

  “The last time I checked, my credit score was around 660, which is decent but not stupendous. It’s possible it’s gone down slightly recently because of that missed car payment. I swear to God, I’m normally really responsible when it comes to paying my bills, I really am, but when my place was trashed by The Club, there were several things I needed to replace and I just didn’t have enough cash to go around for all that stuff plus my car payment, too. I was planning to make a double payment this month (because I’m supposed to get a raise when I hit my two-year anniversary at work), but now, thanks to you and Jonas (and some lucky dice!), I can pay off the whole car loan in one fell swoop. (Thank you so much!)

  “You know, writing this makes me realize I haven’t adequately thanked you for that craps money. I think I was just sort of stunned and also maybe a little uncomfortable with how easily I took it from you. I probably shouldn’t have said yes so fast, if at all, but I couldn’t stop myself. Not having a car payment or that Visa bill hanging over my head every month is going to be so effing amazing, I can’t begin to tell you. So thank you again, very, very much. I’m really grateful. And thank you also for arranging everything so I could stay here in Las Vegas to save the world with our Ocean’s Eleven crew and keep my job. Your generosity is truly mindboggling, Josh. I’ve never met anyone with such a big and generous heart. The way you take care of everyone around you, including me, is admirable and beyond attractive and sexy. I want you to know I’m grateful and blown away by your incredible thoughtfulness. Thank you.

  “Okay, back to the application. What would you learn about me if you called my ex-boyfriends? Well, probably that I’m a wee bit crazy (sorry!), overly dramatic at times (sorry again!), and stubborn (news flash!). But I can also be bighearted, especially with the people I care about, devoted to my friends and family, funny, and outlandishly serious about having fun. (I think maybe I’ve got a little Jekyll and Hyde thing going on?)

  “You’d also find out I’ve had only three serious boyfriends in my life—one in high school and two in college. Besides those three ‘serious’ b
oyfriends, I’ve also had other ‘relationships’ that have lasted anywhere from one night to, oh, about three or four months maximum, but, for purposes of this application, I’m only gonna bother telling you about the three boys I’ve cared enough about to bring them home to meet my family:

  “My first serious boyfriend was in high school—a guy named Kade. Kade was two years older than me and oh man did I love, love, loooooooooooooove him. Holy shitballs, I loved that boy. I used to write ‘Kat + Kade’ on all my notebooks and practice writing my signature using his last name. Kade was the star quarterback on my high school’s football team, and when he went away to college on a scholarship, he decided he needed to have the ‘full college experience,’ which, roughly translated, meant he didn’t want to be tied down by having a sixteen-year-old girlfriend pining for him back home. Of course, my adult self realizes that was absolutely the best decision for both of us, but at the time I didn’t think my heart would survive the horrible pain.

  “My second serious boyfriend was Nate. I met him at a fraternity party in college. He was sweet and funny and completely in love with me from day one. He was also smart and athletic and a truly good person. He wanted to become a doctor and work with Doctors Without Borders, not even kidding. And on top of all that, the boy was objectively perfect-looking, too (one of those can’t-find-a-bad-angle types). Plus, he was head over heels in love with me, which I found an attractive trait in a boyfriend. Oh my God, how Nate worshipped me. He always talked about how the second he saw me, he just knew we were meant for each other. ‘It was love at first sight,’ he would always tell people, and I always wondered if he noticed I never said, ‘For me, too.’

  “The truth was I didn’t love Nate the way he loved me, and I knew it in my bones. I never felt that thunderbolt he felt when he saw me, though I was physically attracted to him (because, like I say, he was objectively gorgeous). Maybe I should have listened to my gut and cut ties with Nate sooner, but I was young and I kept thinking the passion would come. It had to, right? Nate was perfect in every way. And sure enough, as time went by, I loved him more and more. I truly adored him for the wonderful guy he was, how funny he was, how endlessly thoughtful and sweet and good. But I never, ever fell in love with Nate. And I knew it. I didn’t practice writing my name using his last name. I never ached for him when we were apart—hell, I didn’t even think about him when we were apart, to be perfectly honest. I never got butterflies when we held hands or kissed or had sex, though all were exceedingly pleasant. And I most certainly didn’t feel an ounce of jealousy at the thought of him with another girl. Not an ounce. And yet Nate made it abundantly clear he lived to make me smile, yearned to touch me every chance he got, dreamed about me, and for sure envisioned me as his future wife.