by Lauren Rowe
My heart swoons vicariously for her. She’s gonna flip out.
“So things are good between you two?” I ask.
Sarah absently touches the platinum bracelet around her wrist. “Things couldn’t be better. I didn’t know I could love someone this much. It physically hurts—like I’m literally straining my heart muscle.”
I bite my lip. “I’m so happy for you.”
Sarah smiles sheepishly. “Thank you. I’m happy for me, too. So tell me about you and Josh. You guys were on fire in Las Vegas. Like, kerzoinks. Whenever we were all together, I kept looking around for fire extinguishers, just in case.”
I laugh.
“You like him?”
“Yeah, I’m gone—Gone, Baby, Gone. I’m Ben and Casey Afflecked.”
Sarah squeals. “And Josh? Is he Gone, Baby, Gone, too?”
“Well, all signs point to yes. Not all words, mind you, but all signs. I’ve definitely gotta read the tea leaves a bit when it comes to Joshua William Faraday.”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Those Faraday boys sure weren’t raised to talk about their ‘fucking feelings.’”
I sigh wistfully. “You can say that again.”
“Aw, sounds like you’re a smitten kitten,” Sarah says.
I twist my mouth. “Sarah, I’m not smitten. I’m head over heels in love with him.”
Sarah’s eyes widen. “Holy crappola, girl. I’ve never heard you say that before.”
“I’ve never said it before. But I am.”
“Have you told him?”
I shake my head. “I’ve told him he’s the sexiest man alive. And that I think he’s awesome and I’m addicted. But we certainly haven’t traded the magic words—we haven’t even called each other boyfriend and girlfriend yet.” I roll my eyes. “It’s the weirdest thing. We’re so intimate on the one hand—so close and open and honest and connected—it’s insane how connected—and yet we’re so closed off in some ways. Like there are these unwritten rules.” I shrug. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I get it—believe me—more than you know. Well, have you had the whole ‘let’s not date other people’ conversation, at least?”
“Yeah. But not in the usual way. It came up through this weird back door.”
Sarah grimaces.
“Oh, Sarah. You and your fear of anal.” I laugh. “I wasn’t being literal. I meant it came up because we were talking about doing all sorts of freaky sex-stuff and we decided to be exclusive for that. It wasn’t like, ‘Oh, darling, my heart simply can’t beat without you. I’m ready to take our intimate and budding romance to the next level.’”
Sarah makes a commiserating face. “Same with Jonas. He invited me to be the ‘sole member of The Jonas Faraday Club.’ He never said, ‘Let’s be exclusive.’ Everything’s always in code with that guy. But, really, is there some official way a guy’s supposed to ask to be exclusive? It all gets you to the same place in the end, right?”
I shrug. “Yeah, that’s true. And he did say he doesn’t want anyone touching me. He said it makes him crazy to think of someone else with me.”
“Well, see? There you go. He’s telling you. And he flew you down to L.A. for a long weekend, and now he’s up here to see you the very next weekend. That sure screams ‘girlfriend’ to me.”
“Under normal circumstances, I’d agree. But I don’t know for sure.”
Sarah grabs my hand. “Kat, you’re overthinking it. I saw you two in Vegas. The chemistry is through the roof. He’s totally into you.”
“I know he is. He’s made that clear. I’m not blind. It’s just that our relationship is so sexual—which is fan-fucking-tastic, don’t get me wrong. But I just can’t tell if it’s all about the sex and excitement and here-and-now for him or if he wants something more. You know, something a bit more permanent.”
“Here’s a crazy idea: just ask him. Talk like adults.”
“Pfft. Yeah, because that’s what you did, right? I seem to recall Jonas not saying the three magic words after Belize and you were like, ‘I don’t need no stinkin’ magic words. He told me in a super-secret code and that’s just great with me.’”
Sarah makes a face. “That’s true. I did say that.”
I motion like she’s just made my point.
“Okay, I get it,” Sarah says. “Well, then. Here’s a different approach. How about you get yourself stabbed in a bathroom at U Dub? That’ll jumpstart a conversation about your fucking feelings in a New York minute.”
“Hey, there’s an idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“God only knows if Jonas ever would have told me he loves me if external forces hadn’t intervened.”
“Well, I’m gonna pass on getting stabbed, thank you very much. But how about this as an ‘intervening external force’: Josh is meeting my family on Saturday night.”
Sarah squeals. “No way. Really? You’re sicking the Morgan clan on the guy? Holy hell, now that’s a frickin’ ‘intervening external force’ every bit as powerful as a hitman in a bathroom. Holy hell, the guy doesn’t stand a chance coming out of that night all in one piece. By the end of the night, he’ll be like, ‘Just tell me what you want me to say! Please! I’m sorry!’”
I laugh. “I know, right?”
Sarah looks thoughtful for a minute. “You know, I really wouldn’t get too hung up on expecting Josh to say certain words or make conventional promises to you. If Josh is anything like his brother, then he’s way more fucked up than you even realize. I think their childhood was just utterly crippling in a way we can’t completely understand. I’ve got my own issues, for sure, as you know, and they pale in comparison to what Jonas has had to overcome in his life.”
A vision of Josh’s “overcome” tattoo suddenly leaps into my mind.
“Even with all my fucked up stuff, I always had my mom, teaching me how to love,” Sarah continues. “Who did Jonas and Josh have? I don’t think either of them has ever learned the first thing about how to express emotion or love in a healthy way. They literally don’t know how to love or be loved.”
I process that for a moment. “When we were talking about my mom, he said, ‘I’ve never actually witnessed a wife roaming in its natural habitat.’”
Sarah laughs. “Josh said that?”
I nod.
“Poor Josh.” Sarah touches her platinum bracelet again. “Same with Jonas. He doesn’t understand conventional, fairytale commitment. We never talk about the future or make any long-term plans. He’s just not capable. He’ll never, you know, ask me to marry him or anything like that—and I totally accept that.”
I can barely keep a straight face.
“I just take what I can get in the here and now and that’s enough for me. But I trust him with my life and I’ve learned to just let go and enjoy what we have. Jonas has already promised me forever the way he knows how,” Sarah continues. “He gave me this engraved bracelet and he’s got a matching one—and he got tattoos in my honor—one in Spanish and one in English.” She chokes up. “The most beautiful and poignant words you ever saw.” Her eyes are brimming with tears. “And that’s enough for me. More than enough.” She wipes her eyes and smiles.
I squeeze Sarah’s hand, smiling to myself. Of all the tattoos I babbled off-the-cuff about being “lame” and “prohibited” to Josh, the “girlfriend” tattoo is by far the one I regret the most. It’s absolutely awesome—whether the relationship winds up working out long-term or not. I was such a fool. “You can’t get much more ‘forever’ than a guy getting a tattoo for you,” I say. “Florebblaaaaaah,” I add.
“Floreblaaaaaah?” Sarah asks.
“That’s as close as Josh comes to saying that word.”
Sarah laughs and wipes her tears again. “Maybe you can just decide to ‘hear’ what Josh is telling you with his actions, and not get too bogged down in needing particular words or assurances?” she suggests. “Maybe he’ll never give them to you, Kitty Kat. Maybe he just can’t.” She wipes her eyes aga
in. “I’m a firm believer that actions speak louder than words, anyway. And from what I can see, Josh has been screaming about his feelings for you from the rooftops.”
“Thank you, Sarah.” I exhale. “You’re right. I’ll do my best to just be happy about right now and not look forward. Unfortunately, I’m not nearly as patient or kind as you are.”
“Well, you might not be as patient as me but—”
“I’m not.”
Sarah laughs. “But you’re every bit as kind. You’ve got a heart of gold, my sweet. Just tap into that golden heart and cut Josh a bit of slack. He’s damaged, you know—just totally fucked up—but he’s also a sweetheart. Just listen to his actions and forget about ever hearing the words. He’s a freaking Faraday, after all. Normal rules don’t apply.”
My cheeks flush. “Thanks, Sarah.”
We stare at each other for a moment, smiling.
“So, I gotta know,” Sarah finally says. “What the eff was the dealio with tonight? Jonas left, saying he was taking you for drinks because Josh wanted to act out an imaginary-porno with you? What the fuck?”
I blush. “That’s how Jonas described it?”
“Yeah. I was studying so I was like, ‘Have fun, dear.’ And then after he left, I looked up from my book and I was like, ‘Wait. Did I just hear that right?’”
I laugh. “Yeah, Josh and I like to get a little freaky-deaky. But don’t worry, Jonas was just our ignorant pawn—an unwitting extra in our movie. No Jonas Faradays were harmed in the making of our imaginary porno.”
“So what was the plot of this imaginary porno? And what was Jonas’ part in it, if you don’t mind me asking? Did he ‘come to fix the kitchen sink’ wearing a huge tool belt?”
I giggle. “No. Jonas’ part was very G-rated, I assure you.”
“You’re making me very intrigued—and very uncomfortable.”
“No, I swear. It was harmless.” I laugh. “I have this fantasy—well, I had this fantasy—I’ve now officially checked it off the list—that I’m on a date with some boring guy, like, you know, a guy I met online named Blane or whatever, and—”
“Blane?” Sarah says, aghast. “Blane’s not a name—that’s an appliance!”
“Exactly!”
We share a long laugh.
“I love Ducky,” Sarah says.
“So, anyway, Blane and I are at a bar, and while poor Blane is babbling about something excruciatingly boring, I catch eyes with the hot bartender and it’s like ka-boom.”
“It’s on like Donkey Kong.”
“Exactly. So I excuse myself to go to the restroom and on my way I slip a note to the bartender—you know, total slut move—”
“Total.”
“He meets me in the bathroom and fucks the crap out of me and then I return to my date like nothing happened.”
“Oh my God. Hawt.”
“Isn’t it?” I shudder. “So hawt. Gah.”
“And extremely freaky-deaky.”
“This coming from a girl who processed sex club applications?”
“People weren’t nearly that creative in their applications, believe me. You’d be shocked how same-same people are. Most people aren’t hankering to star in imaginary-pornos. They just want their dick sucked by a pretty girl.”
I laugh. “Sarah,” I say. “So unlike you to talk like that.”
Sarah bats her eyelashes. “Jonas is bringing out my dirty girl lately. I’m spinning out of control.”
“Good. It’s about time.”
“So my sweet Jonas was Boring Blane, huh?” She makes a frownie face. “That’s so mean—you guys are such meanies.”
“I didn’t do it to him. Josh arranged everything. Jonas just showed up on my doorstep and handed me a poker chip.”
“A poker chip?”
“Oh. Yeah. That’s Josh’s code for ‘Let the imaginary-porno begin.’”
“Oh my gosh. You guys are crazy.”
I shrug. “I told you. We’re freaky-deaky.”
“Well, I’ll have you know Jonas isn’t boring,” Sarah says, sniffing the air. “He’s really funny and smart and very, very interesting. In fact, Jonas is the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”
I laugh. “I believe you. It wasn’t me who cast Jonas as Blane—it was his mean brother.” I make an apologetic face. “Are you mad?”
“Mad? No! I’d much rather you cast my boyfriend as the date you ditch than the hot bartender you screw in a bathroom.”
We both laugh.
“Speaking of which, did you snag your hot bartender or what?”
“Of course. He didn’t exactly play hard to get.”
“Was he actually tending bar or just sort of standing near the bar, pretending?”
My eyes blaze. “Oh, he was actually tending bar, all right.”
“Really? Wow.”
“I don’t know how he arranged it—the guy’s a magician—but when Jonas and I got there, Josh was behind the bar serving drinks like effing Tom Cruise in Cocktail. In fact, there was one woman who was just about ready to jump his bones.”
“Oh. You made mincemeat out of her, I imagine.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, Kitty Kat.”
“Meow.”
Sarah giggles. “What bar was it?”
“Oh, you’re gonna laugh. The Pine Box.”
Sarah throws her hands over her face. “No!”
“Yes. The whole time I was having flashbacks to when you and I watched Jonas with that bitch.”
Sarah shakes her head. “Why would Jonas take you there?”
“Actually, it was really sweet. While we sat there on our date, he gave me a detailed play-by-play of when he first saw you behind that stupid menu.”
“He did? Aw.” Sarah visibly swoons. “Jonas is so sweet.”
“Well, yeah, he might be sweet, but he’s a date from hell. What guy goes out on a date and babbles the whole time about falling in love, sight unseen, with another girl? What a jerk. Who could blame me for screwing the hot bartender in the bathroom?”
Sarah makes a truly ridiculous face. “I can’t believe you had sex in the bathroom at The Pine Box.”
“Aw, come on now. Don’t be a Judgy McJudgy-pants, girl. I thought you said Jonas has been helping you find your dirty girl. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with engaging in a little bathroom sex on occasion. You should try it some time, little Miss Goody Two-shoes. You might like it.”
She snickers. “Well, gosh, thanks for the tip, Kitty Kat. Maybe I will. One day. If I can muster the courage.”
There’s a beat. Sarah’s the absolute worst at playing it cool. She looks like a cartoon character with a secret.
I smirk. “So I take it from that ridiculous expression on your face you and Jonas have already had some über-hot bathroom-sex, huh?”
Sarah bursts into hearty, snorting laughter and her face turns bright red. “At The Pine Box!”
Seventy-Seven
Kat
I’m absolutely screaming with laughter.
Henn and Hannah are onstage right now, delivering a straight-up redonk karaoke version of “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease. I knew these two would be magic if I could get them together, I just knew it, but even I couldn’t have predicted how truly destined for each other they’d be. John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John have absolutely nothing on these two in the made-for-each-other department. They’re utter perfection.
I hear Sarah squeal with laughter to my right and I glance at her. She’s dancing in her chair and singing along as she watches Henn and Hannah onstage.
God, this is the best night ever. Better than any fantasy.
Yes, being Josh’s million-dollar whore was pretty damned exciting; and, yes, having him pick me over a supermodel felt pretty damned good; and, of course, being bound and fucked in a sex dungeon was freaking hot, too; and yesterday’s tryst in the bathroom with that Hottie McHottie-pants bartender was ridiculously scorching, not to mention the look on th
at woman’s face when I emerged from the bathroom and left with two hot guys. But, as titillating and sexy and hilarious as all that stuff has been, none of it is what I thought about while missing Josh and getting down with my battery-operated boyfriend this week. Nope. When I crawled into my empty bed at the end of each long and lonely day this past week, aching for Josh a thousand miles away in Los Angeles, I fantasized about one thing and one thing only: Josh making love to me to that James Bay song.
And today at work, whenever my mind meandered to daydreams of Josh (as it so often did), what did I dream about (besides the way he made love to me last week to that James Bay song)? Sex dungeons? Bartenders? Ski masks? Nope. I thought about how excited I am to introduce him to my family tomorrow night. And to sing the “Fish Heads” song at the fish market—an activity we’ve planned for tomorrow, perhaps after a leisurely brunch (after we’ve spent our first night together in my bed).
I lean into Josh’s shoulder and breathe in his scent and he wraps his arm around me. I look up at him and grin and he beams a heart-stopping smile at me.
When Josh picked me up at my apartment two hours ago, dressed to kill in a trim black Armani suit and sunglasses, I immediately checked out his palms, expecting to see him carrying a poker chip. But, nope.
“No poker chip?” I asked as we waltzed down the walkway hand-in-hand toward his car.
“Not right now. But you never know when a sneaky guy might whip one out, so you better keep on your toes, Party Girl.”
I peel my attention off Josh’s striking face and watch Henn and Hannah singing the final lines of their song. Man, they’re killing it. They’re milk and cookies. Bert and Ernie. Macaroni and cheese. Peanut butter and jelly. I lean into Josh’s shoulder again and squeeze his hand and he squeezes right back.
Maybe Sarah was right. This is enough. I’ve been overthinking. I don’t need promises. All I need is the way I feel right now.
Henn and Hannah traipse happily off the stage toward our table, getting high-fives and cheers from everyone they pass, while a large guy with a bushy beard assumes the stage to belt out “Living on a Prayer.”