by Lauren Rowe
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. From 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.”
Seventy-Three
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.”
I giggle.
“Wait, you do drink, right?” Jonas asks.
I give him a perplexed look.
“Kat, I’m Blane, remember? I don’t already know you’re a total lush.”
I snort. “Oh yeah. Well, yes, Blane, on occasion, I do indeed imbibe.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I don’t drink at all—I hope that’s okay. I’m a professional baseball player and I don’t drink a drop during the season.”
I burst out laughing.
“Okay good. I’m glad that means something to you. Josh gave me explicit instructions to say that exact line, but I have no idea why.” Jonas leans forward like he’s telling a secret. “But actually I’ll totally have a drink with you—you know that, right?” He winks.
“Awesome. Will Sarah be joining us? I bet she could use a break from studying. She seemed really stressed about finals when I talked to her the other day.”
“Who’s Sarah? I told you, my name is Blane.” He leans forward like he’s telling me another secret. “Actually, I tried to pull her away from her books for the night, but she’s totally freaking out about her exams next week. She said she can’t afford to go out two nights in a row so she’ll just see everyone tomorrow night.”
“What? We’re going out tomorrow night?” I shriek happily. “I had no idea.” I clap my hands and jump up and down. “Will it be all four of us?”
Jonas suddenly looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Uh.” His face turns bright red. “Fuck. Josh is gonna kill me. That’s supposed to be a surprise.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Just pretend I never said anything. My name is Blane. You look even better than your online profile. I don’t drink. I’m a professional baseball player. I’m boring.”
I squeal. “Josh is so sneaky-freaky-deaky. I thought he was coming into town on Saturday, did he tell you that? He’s meeting my family.” I squeal again, overwhelmed with excitement. “He’s such a sneaky little fucker.”
“Shit. Kat. Stop it. He’s gonna kill me. I’m Blane. I’m boring. You look better than your online profile. Gah.”
I put out my hand, laughing. “Nice to meet you, Blane. I’m super-duper excited about our boring date. Let’s go.” I step outside and lock my door and we begin walking down the pathway toward the front of my building. Well, actually, Jonas is walking—I’m careening down the walkway a good five paces ahead of him, my heart exploding with joy.
“Hey, Kat. Real quick. Hang on.”
I stop sprinting.
“Before I’m stuck being Boring Blane for the rest of the night,” Jonas says, “can I be Boring Jonas for a minute? There’s something I wanna ask you about.”
“Sure, Boring Jonas—bore away.”
Boring Jonas takes a deep breath and pulls a ring box out of his pocket. “Do you think Sarah’s gonna like this?” He opens the ring box and I’m blinded by the most spectacular rock I’ve ever seen. “Or should I have gotten bigger?” he asks.
My knees literally buckle. “Holy shitballs, Jonas. It’s flippin’ gorgeous!”
“You think she’ll like it?”
“Like it? She’s gonna sob like a baby with overflowing love for it! It’s jaw-dropping. Glorious. Fabulous. Beyond.”
“But would you go so far as to call it ‘magnificent’?”
I laugh. “Absolutely. That’s exactly what it is. Magnificent.”
“Phew. It’s big enough?”
“Jonas, any bigger and her knuckles would drag on the ground.”
He exhales in obvious relief and shuts the box. “Okay. Thank you.” He runs his hand through his hair again. “I’ve been losing my mind lately, thinking about getting this right. Josh says this is the story Sarah will be telling her grandchildren one day so I’d better not fuck it up.”
“Josh said that?”
“Yeah.”
“Josh said, ‘This is the story Sarah will tell her grandchildren’?” I ask, my chest tight.
“Yep. That’s exactly what he said.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s an incredibly romantic thing to say.” I clutch my chest, trying to get ahold of myself. “I didn’t know Josh was capable of saying something so... epic.” My heart is suddenly slamming against my chest bone, banging mercilessly, trying to lurch out of its cage. I can’t fathom Josh assuming children and grandchildren for Jonas and Sarah. That’s so... futuristic of him. “Well, yeah, Josh is right,” I manage. “Sarah will most definitely be telling your future grandchildren about your proposal one day.”
Jonas grimaces.
“But the good news is that you can’t fuck it up no matter what you do. As long as you speak from your heart, whatever you say will be grandchildren-worthy, I promise.”
We begin walking down the pathway toward the street again.
“God, I hope you’re right,” Jonas says. “I’ve been making myself sick, planning this whole elaborate speech in my head, trying to get it exactly right.”
I wave my hand in the air. “You’re overthinking it. Just tell her how you feel and she’ll be thrilled. All that matters at times like these is that you tell the one you love how you feel, straight from your heart.
Keep it simple.”
We’ve reached Jonas’ car on the street in front of my building. He opens my door for me and I settle myself inside the car.
“Thanks, Kat,” Jonas says. “I think you’re right. I’ll keep it simple and straight from the heart. Nothing too elaborate.”
“There you go. That’s all any girl could ever hope for in a marriage proposal—a simple declaration of love from the man of her dreams.”
Jonas shoots me an adorable look that clearly says, “Oh my God, I’m really gonna do this.”
“You’ll do great,” I say.
He shuts my door and walks around the car to the driver’s side.
I think this is the first time I’ve ever chatted with Jonas alone, just him and me, with no one else around. No, wait. That’s not true. This is the second time. The first was at Jonas’ house the morning after The Club broke into my apartment—the morning after I first laid eyes on Jonas’ sexy-as-sin brother. Wow, that feels like a lifetime ago. What did I say to Jonas that morning, standing in his kitchen? “Sarah thinks you’re in love with her, Jonas. Don’t crush her.” I roll my eyes at myself. Yet another whiz-bang example of my amazing ability to sense a man’s true intentions.
Jonas settles into his car seat and turns on the engine.
“So, I gotta tell you, Blane,” I say. “I don’t have high hopes for a second date. It’s a really bad sign when a guy asks for advice on how to propose to another girl on a first date.”
Jonas laughs. “Sorry. From here on out, I promise to focus all my energy on boring you to tears.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
Jonas pulls his car into traffic. “In fact, you know what I’ll do?” he says, grinning. “I’ll bore the pants off you.” He snickers.
My stomach clenches. “Josh told you everything, didn’t he?” I choke out.
Jonas laughs gleefully. “Nope. Josh gave me absolutely no details, just like I said. But I’m not a complete idiot, Kat, despite appearances. If me showing up at your apartment and handing you a fucking poker chip doesn’t somehow lead to you and Josh fucking in the bathroom, then I don’t know what would be the fucking point.”