by Lauren Rowe
“You must have misheard me. I don’t even know that strange word. What I actually said was, ‘Florebblaaaah.’”
I roll my eyes.
Josh flashes me a goofy grin. “Aw, come on, baby. My douchebaggery is my charm.”
“Mmm hmm.”
He sighs audibly. “Oh, Kat, Kat, gorgeous Kat. Are you gonna wait for me or not, Gorgeous, Stubborn Kat?”
“Hmm? Sure, I’ll wait.” I grab the remote control and pause the movie, freezing Michael Cera grabbing Rihanna’s ass in This Is the End. “Go ahead.” I motion toward the bathroom.
“No, no. I don’t mean wait for me to go to the bathroom. I wanna know if you’re gonna wait for me?”
I stare at him for a long beat. “You mean florebblaaahhhhhh?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Dude, what are you talking about?”
He bristles. “Never mind.” He grabs a bottle of Patron from the floor next to him and takes a swig.
My stomach twists. How does this man make me feel so freaking good and so flippin’ insecure all at the same time? Last night in the sex dungeon, after he’d untied me, Josh made love to me so passionately, so urgently, I felt that crazy electricity coursing between us again—that same supernatural electricity as the prior night in Josh’s bed—and I thought my heart was gonna burst with joy. But, afterwards, did we talk about what we were both so obviously feeling toward each other? Nooooope. Of course not. Because, it seems, talking about our ‘fucking feelings’ is off limits with Joshua William Faraday.
“You mean will I wait for you to pull your head out of your ass?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Josh says without hesitation. “Exactly.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait. You’re definitely worth the wait.”
He smiles broadly. “Thank you.” He hands me the bottle of tequila.
“But I won’t wait three fucking years, I’m telling you that right now, motherfucker.” I take a swig from the bottle.
“Well, how long will you wait, then?” he asks.
“I dunno. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On what happens between now and then,” I say.
He nods. “That’s a very deep statement, Kitty Katherine.” He runs his hand through his hair and I’m assaulted with the words “Welcome to” flashing me from underneath his bicep. “Hand over the tequila, babe.”
I hand him the bottle and he takes a swig.
“I’ve never done this with a woman before,” he says.
“Done what?”
Josh motions to the tequila and the half-eaten food and the TV. “Partied with a girl like she’s a dude.”
“You call eating vegan creamed spinach out of my cooch ‘partying like a dude’?”
He bursts out laughing. “You’re so fucking funny, Kum Shot. You’re as funny as any of my friends. Funnier.”
“Yeah, I’m hilare. And don’t call me Kum Shot.”
“I could do anything with you and have fun. We could go to the fucking dry cleaners and it would be fun.”
“Dude, who wouldn’t have fun at the dry cleaners? Those motorized racks are rad. Or here’s an idea,” I say. “We could go to the fish market and sing the ‘Fish Heads’ song. Now that would be fun.”
“I don’t know the ‘Fish Heads’ song.”
“No? Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, shit, boy, Google it now. Search ‘Fish Head song YouTube.’” I lean back into the leather couch and spread my naked legs wide, surrendering completely to the chemicals coursing through my bloodstream. “You’re welcome, motherfucker.”
“I like it when you say motherfucker,” he says.
“Motherfucker.”
“Sexy.”
“Come on, Joshua. Google. ‘Fish Heads.’ Song. YouTube.”
Josh grabs his phone off the table and the moment the unmistakable vocals begin, he laughs his ass off—which, of course, makes me laugh, too.
“How did I not know about this?” Josh asks when the song ends. “Best song ever. Oh my God. When I visit you in Seattle next weekend, I’m gonna take you to Pike’s Place Market just so we can sing this song at the top of our lungs.”
“At the stall at the very end? Where the guys throw the fish?”
“Of course.”
“Aw, that sounds like a fun date. You really know how to razzle-dazzle a girl, Playboy.”
“I told you that from day one, didn’t I? I said, ‘Get ready for the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle.’ But did you believe me? Noooooo.”
“Oh, I believed you. I just pretended not to believe you.”
“What was the point of doing that, may I ask? You knew how our story was gonna end. Why torture me?”
I shrug. “I had no idea how our story was gonna end—I still don’t.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Do you?”
He pauses. “No, actually. I thought I did. But now I realize I only knew the ending of the first chapter—not the ending of the story.”
“What’s the ending of the first chapter?” I ask.
“We fuck like rabbits.”
“Oh, that’s a good ending.” I exhale. “Well, if I tortured you in Vegas, then I’m not sorry. You were too frickin’ cocky for your own damn good. You had to be taken down a peg.”
“Ha! Liar. You were dying to get into my pants from minute one. You were like, ‘Gimme your application, Playboy!’ And I was like, ‘I’m gonna fuck you first and then give it to you, Party Girl!’ And you were like, ‘Yippee! Yes! Please fuck me!’”
“Is that what I sound like? A chipmunk?”
“Yeah, and I sound like Mr. T. ‘I pity the fool!’”
“Well, you’re delusional. You were the one dying to get into my pants. When I kissed Henn, you practically had a stroke.”
“Ooph. Totally. But the worst was thinking about you with Cameron Fucking Schulz.” He grunts. “Even stoned, thinking about him fucking you makes me wanna break that guy’s Captain-America-fucking-face. No one touches my Party Girl with a Hyphen but me. Fuckin’ A.” He swigs from his bottle again.
I bite my lip. “Wow. Sounds pretty serious, dude.”
He bites his lip in mimicry of my gesture. “It just might be.”
“It might be?” I ask coyly.
“Yeah. It might be.”
“Can’t I at least get a probably out of you?”
Josh makes a face that says, “Sorry, come back later.”
I scrunch up my face. “You suck balls, Josh. You suck big ol’ donkey balls. God, you piss me off.” I grunt loudly.
“Whoa! Where’d Stubborn Kat come from all of a sudden? Don’t stress me out, Stubborn Kat. This is a stress-free zone. I’m chillaxing.”
I glare at him.
He flashes a toothy grin. “I’m a drifter, baby. It’s part of my charm.” He flexes his arm and kisses his bicep. “You know you can’t get enough of me.”
“Yeah. Pretty sure I can. Pretty sure I just did.”
He laughs. “Aw, why you so mad all of a sudden, Stubborn Kat? What’d I do to piss you off this time?”
I grunt with exasperation. “Why the fuck do you even have a calendar-app on your goddamned phone, Josh? That’s what I wanna know. You can’t keep straight what you’ve got planned for the next week? Hmm?”
“What?” He laughs. “You’re making zero sense. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I huff. “It doesn’t matter. Blah, blah, blaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.”
“What are you ranting about, you nutjob?”
“Never mind. Forget it.”
“Okay. Forgetting is something I’m good at.” He looks around at the half-eaten trays of food around us. “You hungry again, babe?”
“Hmm. I might be able to eat a little something-something.”
“Green beans? Some sort of squash-thing? What’s your pleasure, Party Girl?’
“Squash a la dick, please,” I say.
“Excellent se
lection.” He smears himself with a trail of veggies from his tattooed chest down to his tattooed waistline and then down his dick and balls—and then he lies back, his arms behind his head, his muscles bulging, his douche-y underarm tattoos on full, douche-y-McDouche-y-pants-display, and flashes me a lascivious grin. “Bon appetit, beau bébé.”
Without hesitation, I lean in and lick up every morsel of food off his pecs and abs and his “Overcome” tattoo and finally work my way downtown—and I’m not even the slightest bit grossed out as I do any of it. In fact, I find the entire experience highly enjoyable. When every crevice, ridge, crease, bulge, wrinkle, and fold of him is clean as a whistle, I continue licking and sucking on his hard-on for quite some time, doing my damnedest to give him the Katherine Morgan Ultimate Blowjob Experience, but although Josh seems to be enjoying himself tremendously, he doesn’t seem even close to climaxing.
“Dude. That is some serious stamina,” I finally say, sitting up and loosening my jaw. “Are you made of steel?”
“Sorry, babe. I’m too stoned to come. It feels amazing, though. But, yeah, you could stick a Dyson on there and I’m not gonna blow. Sorry.” He laughs and pulls me into him for a kiss. “Jesus, Kat. You’re so fucking beautiful, you make me wanna punch a professional athlete.”
I laugh. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you make me wanna roll you in Nutella and lick you from head to toe.”
“Will you please remind me to buy a huge jar of Nutella tomorrow?”
“Sure thing. As long as you remind me to remind you to buy a huge jar of Nutella tomorrow.”
We laugh hysterically.
“Shit,” Josh says. “I can barely remember my own name right now. I’m so fucking high.”
“Your name is Joshua William Faraday and you’re the sexiest man alive.”
“Thank you, Katherine Ulla Morgan. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. And you’re smart and sweet and funny, too. Best girl ever, ever, ever. Florebblaaaaaaaaaaaah.”
“Wow. Can you write my eulogy, please?”
“No, because I don’t want you to die. People always seem to die around me and I hate it.”
I make a sad face. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m over it. Just please don’t die, Kat.”
“I’m totally down for that plan—I promise to live florebblaaaaaaah.”
“Cool. Let’s live florebblaaaah, just you and me. We’ll eat healthy, gourmet food sent to us by my dear brother and we’ll fulfill each other’s sick-fuck-fantasies and we’ll be happy, happy, happy florebblaaaaaah.”
“Okay. Cool. Where will we live and be happy, happy, happy florebblaaaaaah?”
“Seattle, of course. Where else?”
I sigh wistfully. “That would be amazing. I wish we both lived in Seattle so bad.”
“‘Twould be amazing,” Josh says. “Hey, did I mention you’re sweet? Because you are.”
“Yep. That’s what you said.”
“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 c
andy 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.”