by Lauren Rowe
His face melts into total sincerity. He puts both hands on my cheeks this time and leans his forehead against mine. “Kat, I’d never blindside you, in any context. Sexual or otherwise.”
My heart is racing so fast, I’m practically yelping for air. “Because I’d only do it if the other woman was gonna be the third wheel, not me.” I can’t believe I’m negotiating the terms of this. How did this conversation go from hypotheticals to actual negotiation so quickly?
“I’d respect that,” he says. “One hundred percent. It’d be all about you. I wouldn’t lay a finger on the other woman if you didn’t want me to. Not even a pinky.”
I’m having a hard time pushing air into my lungs. “That’s what I’d want,” I say. “Not a finger. Absolutely no contact between you and the other woman. It’d be all about me and you.”
“Done.” His eyes are like lit torches.
“And you’d sit and watch?”
“I would.”
“Would you jack off?”
“If that’s something you’d be okay with.”
“Yes.”
“Then, yes.”
“But you wouldn’t come. I’d want you to be able to fuck me. Really hard.”
He shudders. “When I got to the point I couldn’t stand it anymore, I’d pull you aside and tell the other woman to leave and I’d fuck the shit out of you.”
I’m breathless. My skin is bursting with heat. I slide from my chair to sit on his lap and he wraps his arms around me. “Or, who knows,” I purr, “maybe you’d tell her to stay and watch—see what she’s missing out on?” I can’t believe I just said that. This man brings out a whole new level of naughty in me.
Clearly, Josh can’t believe I just said that, either. “If that’s what you’d want, absolutely,” he says. “Totally up to you.”
I can barely breathe. “And she wouldn’t be anyone either of us knows?” I say softly. “Nobody you know?”
“It’d be whoever you pick, babe. Anyone at all, as long as she tests clean. I don’t give a fuck who she is. It’s all about you.”
My clit is throbbing so hard, it hurts. “But what if I wind up picking someone you’re more attracted to than me? I’d be able to tell, and I wouldn’t like it,” I say.
He places his fingertip in the cleft in my chin. “That’s literally impossible.”
Holy fucking shit. I seriously can’t breathe right now. I’m trembling. I swallow hard. “We’d do it and never see her again? Because I wouldn’t want this kind of fantasy-thing to follow us into our real life.”
He chuckles.
“What?”
“You just perfectly articulated why I joined The Club.”
I make a face that says, “I see your point” and he smiles broadly.
“You’re amazing, Kat,” he says. He puts his hand under my chin and kisses me. “I think you might be perfect.” He kisses me again. And then again. “You’re kinda freaking me out, actually.”
My head is spinning. I can’t focus. I lean into him and bite his lower lip, totally aroused, and he makes a noise of surprise.
I suck on his lower lip and then pull away. “How would we find her?” I whisper, licking my lips from our kiss.
“It’d be easy to do if we set our minds to it, I’m sure.”
“We’d have to be one hundred percent sure we’d never see her again. I wouldn’t want some horny blonde bitch stalking you afterwards.” I jerk back.
“What?” He looks concerned.
“Jen.”
The aroused expression on Josh’s face instantly vanishes. “No, Kat. Fuck no. Anyone but Jen.”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “Not Jen. Her email, Josh—I want you to reply to Jen’s email. I want you to tell her you’re not interested in her. Right now. Show me.”
He shakes his head and exhales, letting his lips flap together in exasperation as he does. “Way to lick me and punch me in the balls again, PG. Jesus Fucking Christ. Madame Terrorist returns.”
“Open your laptop, Josh,” I say, punching him in his shoulder. “We’re gonna send that bitch an email right now and put her out of her freakin’ misery—and therefore put me out of mine.”
Forty-Nine
Josh
“Hey, Jen,” I say, enunciating the words as I type them onto the screen of my laptop. Kat’s sitting on my lap, her arm around my shoulder, the side of her head against mine, staring at my screen as I type. “Thanks for your invitation to your birthday weekend,” I write. I stop and look at Kat. “That okay so far, boss?”
“So far, so good,” she says. “Continue.”
“Why don’t you just write it? Something tells me you’re gonna rewrite the whole damned thing anyway, no matter what I say.”
She laughs. “Nope. This is all you.”
I roll my eyes. “Remind me why I’m doing this?”
“You mean why are you replying to Jen at all? Or why are you doing it with me looking over your shoulder?”
“Both.”
“Well, you’re replying to Jen because you’re not a total douche and she deserves a reply. She invited you to her twenty-ninth birthday party, after all. The polite thing to do is RSVP.”
I purse my lips, annoyed.
“And you’re doing it with me looking over your shoulder because this email reply is gonna give me near-orgasmic pleasure. And you like giving me pleasure, right, baby?”
I grumble.
“Aw, poor Josh has to put on his big-boy pants. Come on. Just hit her with some compassionate honesty. The more you do it, the easier it gets. Trust me.”
“I just don’t like hurting people’s feelings.”
She scoffs. “And letting her twist in the wind is gonna hurt her feelings less than an honest email? I’ve been in her shoes with guys, and believe me, a girl feels like a piece of shit when a guy doesn’t even give her the courtesy of a reply.”
“There’s a man alive who didn’t give you the courtesy of a reply?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Turned out the guy was married.”
“Ooph.”
“And I had absolutely no idea.”
“God, men are such pricks.”
She laughs. “Come on. Quit stalling. You’re so damned good at distracting me.”
“I already told her twice. Once in New York and then again on the phone after Reed’s party. She’s just deaf or dumb, I guess.”
“No, you think you told her, but you must not have.” She shrugs. “First rule of PR, Josh: failure to communicate is on the speaker, not the listener.”
I let out a loud puff of air. “I was pretty damned clear both times, Kat.”
“Obviously not,” Kat says. “She’s really into you, Josh—which means she’s hearing what she wants to hear and telling you what she thinks you want to hear. You need to shut the door and turn the frickin’ lock.” She pauses pointedly. “Unless you don’t want to shut the door?”
“Gimme a fucking break.”
She motions to the screen. “Then, type.”
I begin typing again. “I hope you have a great birthday,” I write, saying the words out loud as I do. “I won’t be able to join you. I’m...” I stop typing. “You’re gonna rewrite all of this, aren’t you?”
“Just keep going.”
“Well, shit. You write it, for fuck’s sake. What am I gonna say to the girl, ‘I’m not into you? I used you for sex? I was thinking of Kat when I fucked you’?”
Kat’s face lights up like the Fourth of July. “Oh, I like that.” She motions to the screen. “Write that.”
“I’m not gonna write that.”
“Is it the truth?”
“Well, yeah.”
“All of it?”
“Yeah.”
“Even the part about you thinking of me while fucking her?”
“Of course. I already told you that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
&
nbsp; “No, you didn’t.”
“I sure as hell did.”
“No.”
“Well, if I didn’t, lemme tell you now. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, fantasizing about you, jacking off while thinking about you—and you wouldn’t leave your date with Cameron Fucking Schulz for me and I was pissed and frustrated as hell.”
“Oh, well, that’s something different than thinking about me while having sex with Jen.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Saying you worked yourself up into sexual frustration by jacking off and thinking about me and then fucked Jen to relieve your frustration is quite different from saying you fucked her and thought of me while doing it. See the difference?”
I put my hand on my forehead like she’s giving me a splitting headache.
“Do you see the difference?”
“Yes. I see the difference.”
“Likewise, whatever you said to Jen in New York and on the phone after Reed’s party wasn’t the same thing as, ‘I am not remotely interested in you in any way, shape or form, so leave me the hell alone.’ Whatever you said to her, she interpreted to mean, ‘I am not interested in a serious relationship with you, but I will quite happily continue to casually fuck you.’”
I close my eyes, trying to escape the torture.
“You’re hilarious.”
I open my eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’re this big, strong, gorgeous guy with all the swagger and confidence in the world—but secretly you’re kind of a puss.”
“No, I’m not. Absolutely not.”
“Yes, you are. You’re scared of female emotion. You’re scared of making a girl cry. Waaaah.”
I exhale loudly. “Can we please just write the email? Seriously. I’ve already spent way too much of my time on this.”
“This isn’t about Jen. This is about you learning a life lesson, Playboy. Clearly, growing up without a mom, there was no one to teach you how to understand and communicate with women. You need some tutoring.”
I feel instantly defensive—but quickly realize she’s got a point. “You might be right about that,” I say. “I’ve never thought about it that way.”
“Of course, I’m right. I’ve got four brothers and a dad to teach me how to talk and think like a dude. But who do you have to teach you how to talk and think like a chick?”
I purse my lips, considering. “My personal assistant?”
“Doesn’t count.”
“Then no one.”
“Well, don’t you worry, honey. I’m here to save the day. So let’s try this again.” She motions to the computer screen. “Say what you really mean. Say it kindly, but say it clearly.”
I grumble, but I put my hands on my keyboard. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression when we spoke the other day,” I type. “I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship of any kind with you.” I stop, waiting for Kat’s reaction, but she’s stone-faced. I continue typing again. “In New York, I truly thought we were both up for the same thing: a meaningless one-night stand. That was probably a stupid assumption by me, given our history. In fact, I was probably being insensitive by making that assumption. I should have known your feelings might be involved. But mine weren’t.” I pause and look at Kat. “Okay?”
She touches my cheek and assesses me with earnest eyes. “You’re doing great.”
I’m floored by her sudden show of tenderness. I swallow hard and turn back to my screen. But I can’t think. My heart is suddenly pounding wildly.
“Go on,” she says. “Just tell the truth, whatever it is.”
I take a deep breath. “The truth is,” I type, “I’m interested in someone else.” Oh shit, my heart is racing. “Really, really interested. I don’t know where things might lead with her, or if she’s interested in me in return, but I’d like to find out. And that means I can’t fuck it up by being a total douche and continuing to pursue something with you.”
I look at Kat. Her mouth is hanging open.
She puts her hand on her heart.
“And, yeah,” I continue typing, “if you think I’m talking about The Jealous Bitch, you’re right. She might be a grenade that unpredictably explodes all over me, but that’s what I like about her.”
I’m practically panting. Holy motherfucking shit.
Before I’ve even turned my head to get a read on Kat’s reaction, her lips are on mine and her tongue is in my mouth and my hands are on her cheeks and her arms are around my neck and we’re kissing the hell out of each other. She presses herself into me and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close, grasping at her for dear life, whispering her name into her lips.
After several minutes, my phone pings on the table and we begrudgingly pull away from each other, our faces on fire. I look at my phone. It’s a text from Henn:
“Hey, dipshit. I can understand you wanting an especially thorough eye exam, considering who your optometrist is,” Henn writes. “But you and Kat need to get your asses down here ASAP. Meet me on the casino floor near the elevator bank in five.”
Fifty
Kat
I crawl into bed with my laptop and sigh with happiness. Yeehaw, I’m finally gonna read Josh’s application, without even the possibility of an interruption.
After Henn took my photo downstairs (after we’d finally located a simple white wall to use as a backdrop), the three of us briefly talked to Jonas, who told us the meeting with the feds is going down later today at one o’clock Washington time.
“You three need to be ready to transfer the money as early as one thirty Washington time,” Jonas warned during our call. “I doubt we’ll be asked to do it that quickly—I’m guessing the meeting with the feds will take hours—but you have to be at the ready, just in case.”
“Sure thing, bro,” Josh said. “No problemo.”
After we hung up from our call with Jonas, I suddenly felt like I was gonna melt onto the floor with exhaustion. “I’m gonna get into my jammies, get nice and cozy in my bed, and do some reading before I drift off to sleep,” I told Josh and Henn. “Nighty-night, boys.”
“Okay, Kitty Kat,” Henn said. “I’ve got everything I need now. See you in the morning.” And off he went.
“How ’bout I come to your room with you?” Josh offered, pulling me into him.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m going in alone. It’s finally time for me to find out what kind of perverted-sick-fuck-goat-fucker you really are, Joshua William Faraday. No distractions.”
Josh pressed himself into me. “Aw, come on, PG. I’ll lie next to you in bed while you read. That way I can answer any questions you might have.”
“No way, Playboy,” I replied.
“I’ll massage your feet while you read.”
I paused, considering. I really love a good foot massage. “No,” I finally said. “No more distractions. Nighty-night.”
And now, here I am. Finally. Sitting in bed in my tank top and undies with my computer on my lap, a huge smile on my face and an Avicii song blaring through my speakers (“Addicted to You,” featuring vocals by my new obsession, Audra Mae).
I quickly check my phone. I’ve been horrible about replying to texts and emails since coming to Sin City. This whole trip has been like entering some sort of Twilight-Zone-alternate-dimension. I scroll through my texts. I’ve got a text from my mom, asking me to call her so she can “hear my voice.” No rush there. And a text from my oldest brother, Colby, (addressing me as Kumquat), asking me if I’ve gambled away next month’s rent yet and telling me to call Mom so she can “hear my voice.”
There’s a text from my baby brother, Dax, (addressing me as Jizz), informing me he used the extra key to my apartment to “hang out” in my place for a few days and, oh yeah, by the way, oops, he ate all my food.
I’ve got a text from Hannah at work, telling me she misses her lunch buddy and asking me to call her whenever. I wince. Hannah’s really picked up my slack at work while I’ve been gone.
I owe her big-time.
I’ve got a text from Sarah from an hour ago, telling me she and Jonas landed in Washington D.C. and are set to meet at FBI headquarters later this afternoon. “Oh muh guh,” Sarah wrote. “I’m crapping my pants. But Jonas is cool as a cucumber about the whole thing so he’s keeping me sane.”
I smile at that last sentence. Jonas is keeping Sarah sane? Gotta love those two.
“Go get ’em, girl,” I reply to Sarah’s text. “You’re gonna blow all those fancy G-men away. The Vegas branch of our crew is standing by.”
And, finally, there’s a text from Josh from five minutes ago: “Hey, PG. Do me a favor and text me the minute you’re done reading my application,” he writes. “You don’t have to tell me what you think about it. Just tell me when you’ve read it or else I won’t be able to fall asleep.”
“Will do,” I reply. “I’m about to start reading now.”
His reply is instantaneous. “Just keep an open mind,” he writes. “Just remember when I wrote that thing, I was really upset.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t sweat it, PB. How bad can it be?”
“Um... ” he writes.
I’ve got a pit in my stomach. “I’ll text you when I’m done,” I write.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I grab my laptop, find the email with Josh’s application attached, snuggle into my soft, white pillows, happily listening to Avicii and Audra Mae serenade me, and begin reading:
Name?
“Joshua William Faraday,” he writes. And, yet again, the sight of his full name sends a shiver down my spine. “Sexy man,” I say out loud in my empty hotel room.
With this application, you will be required to submit three separate forms of identification. The Club maintains a strict “No Aliases Policy” for admission. You may, however, use aliases during interactions with other Club members, at your discretion.
“OK,” he writes.
Age?
“29,” he writes.
Provide a brief physical description of yourself.