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

by Lauren Rowe

  I continue waiting, holding the CD player over my head.

  But, still, no Kat.

  Shit.

  A feeling of pure desperation floods me. Is she really gonna ignore me out here? I’m putting my fucking heart on the line for her. But wait. What if Kat hears the song but doesn’t put two and two together? What if she thinks it’s just some drunken asshole, passed out in his car, playing the oldies station much too loud? I quickly stride back to the sedan and bend down to the driver.

  “Hand me my phone,” I say. “I’m gonna send my girl a text.”

  “You want me to disconnect it from the stereo?”

  “No,” I reply. “Keep the song going. I’ll just reach over you real quick.” The driver pulls my phone toward me, as far as it will go with the connection cord attached, and I lean over him and tap out a text to Kat: “Come out to the street, Kitty Kat. There’s a hound dog out here with his tail between his legs.” I press send on my message and quickly reposition myself with the boom box again.

  A few seconds later, a shirtless guy with a beer belly marches out of the apartment building, a lit cigarette in one hand, a beer can in the other.

  “What the fuck, man?” the guy shouts. “I’ve got a baby trying to sleep in there.”

  “I’m doing Say Anything for my girl, man,” I say. “I’m in the doghouse.”

  The guy makes a face like I’ve just blurted I have no penis.

  “Dude, I got no choice,” I continue. “My girl’s a fucking unicorn.”

  The guy nods and takes a long drag off his cigarette. “She likes that movie, huh? The one with the boom box?”

  I roll my eyes. “She thinks it’s ‘romantic.’”

  The dude laughs heartily and takes a few steps back, apparently ceding center-stage to me. “This I gotta see,” he mumbles.

  A brunette woman comes out of one of the apartments, a look of complete annoyance etched onto her face—but when she catches sight of me, her face melts. She quickly disappears into the apartment building and returns with another woman in tow, and when the second woman sees me, her face melts, too. Well, shit. I’m glad these two women think I’m so fucking adorable, but they’re not my intended audience. Where the fuck is Kat? Could she be asleep already? Or maybe in the shower? Did she not see my text?

  My arms are getting tired. I didn’t expect to have to do this for so long.

  I shift my weight. Shit. In the movie, the girl looked out her window right away, didn’t she? What the fuck is taking Kat so goddamned long to come out here and put me out of my misery?

  A guy’s face appears in the window of the front apartment. He turns to say something to someone behind him and an instant later, a second face appears in the window, laughing at me.

  Well, let them laugh. As long as Kat comes out here and sees me and forgives me for crushing her, I don’t care if the whole world laughs at me tonight. All I care about is setting things right with Kat—making her understand my failure to tell her about Seattle had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.

  “Hey, sir,” the driver says to me above the music. “You just got a text. I don’t think she’s coming out.”

  I lower my boom box and turn around to face him, my heart beating like a steel drum.

  “She replied to your text,” the driver continues. He motions to my phone.

  I lurch over to the car and grab my phone, my eyes bugging out of my head.

  “I’m not playing hard to get or being a terrorist,” Kat’s text says. “I can’t see or talk to you tonight. Please just give me a couple days to think and regroup and figure a few things out.”

  Eighty-Four

  Kat

  “Happy birthday to youuu!” everyone at the table sings and Colby blows out the thirty candles on his carrot cake.

  “Thanks, everyone,” Colby says. “The cake looks great, Dax.”

  Mom begins taking the candles off Colby’s cake and cutting slices for everyone while Dax assumes ice-cream-scooping duties.

  “None for me,” I say when Mom offers me a thick slice.

  “Are you feeling okay, honey?” Mom asks. “You look a bit peaked.” She hands Ryan the piece of cake she’d offered to me.

  “I’m fine. I just went a little crazy at the karaoke bar with friends last night,” I say. “Shouldn’t have had that last martini.”

  Mom shoots me a scolding look. “You weren’t driving, I hope?” she asks. She hands a huge slice of cake to Keane.

  “Nope,” I say.

  “And whoever was driving wasn’t drinking?”

  “Correct,” I say.

  “Never drink and drive,” Mom says firmly. She slides a noticeably slim piece of cake to Dad. “Just get that Uber-thingy on your phone and they’ll pick you right up.”

  “You mean the Uber app, Mom?” Dax asks, shooting me an amused look.

  “Yep. It’s called Uber. They’ll pick you right up.”

  “Wow. Sounds neat-o, Mom,” I say, returning Dax’s smile. She’s so cute.

  “Did you hit ’em with your karaoke-specialty last night?” Keane asks. He puts his hand on his heart and breaks into a full-throated chorus of “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

  “Of course,” I say. I toss my hair over my shoulder. “And I nailed it, too.”

  “Aw, you cheated on me, Baby-Gravy?” Ryan asks. “I’m devastated.”

  “Sorry, Ry,” I say. “The opportunity presented itself and I had to take it. I thought you’d understand.”

  “Well, I don’t understand,” Ryan says. “That’s our thing, Kum Shot.”

  “Stop with the semen-nicknames,” Mom says. “You know I hate that.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Ryan says. “But I think your disciplinary efforts would be better spent telling Ebenezer Splooge over there not to stab me in the heart with a rusty blade.”

  “Aw, come on,” I say. “I couldn’t let the moment pass me by. YOLO, brah. That’s how I dooz it.”

  Ryan scoffs, utterly miffed.

  “YOLO,” Dax mutters with disdain. “I wanna strangle the genius who came up with that.”

  “What’s ‘YOLO’?” Dad asks, happily chomping on his little morsel of cake.

  “‘You only live once,’” Dax answers, practically holding his nose.

  “Oh, carpe diem isn’t cool enough for the kids these days, huh?” Dad says.

  “That’s too long to text,” Mom says, taking a bite of ice cream. “They shorten everything these days, honey. ‘LOL! OMG!’” She throws up her hands, apparently imitating a spazzoid-teenager at a mall.

  Derby Field! Namibia!, I think to myself, my heart panging.

  “So who sang my part for you last night?” Ryan asks. “Whoever the bastard was, I guarantee he didn’t even come close to doing this.” He breaks into singing the ‘Turn around, Bright Eyes’ part of the song with hilarious gusto.

  I laugh despite myself. Ryan can always make me laugh, no matter how dark my mood. “You’re right. The guy who sang it didn’t even come close to doing that.”

  “So who was this douchebag who deigned to poach on my sacred karaoke-territory?” Ryan asks, stuffing a huge forkful of cake into his mouth.

  “Language, Ry,” Mom says. “Please, honey.”

  “Just this guy I’ve been seeing,” I say. “Sarah’s boyfriend’s twin brother.”

  “Whoa. That’s a lot of possessive nouns,” Keane says.

  “The twin brother of Sarah’s new boyfriend,” I clarify.

  “Yeah, I got it, Protein Shake. I was kidding,” Keane says. He rolls his eyes. “I’m dumb but I’m not that dumb.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  Keane winks at me, apparently not genuinely offended.

  “You’ve been seeing someone?” Ryan asks.

  I nod.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Josh Faraday,” I say.

  “Also known as the one and only porn king ‘Sir J.W. Faraday,’” Dax says reverently, and I swiftly glare at him, n
onverbally telling him to shut the fuck up.

  “What?” Mom asks. “You’re dating a porn king?”

  “No.” I shoot bullets at Dax, the little fucker. “Dax is just being a little shit.”

  “Kat,” Mom says, rolling her eyes. “Language. Come on, guys. Not at the table. Please. Can we just pretend to be civilized through one birthday meal?”

  “Sorry, Mom.” I bat my eyelashes. “Dax is just being a little pill.”

  “Thank you,” Mom says. “That’s my little lady. Keep it clean, people.”

  “Always, Mommy,” I say sweetly.

  “Always,” my brothers chime in with mock solemnity.

  “Hey, no porn kings, Kitty,” Dad says. “You know that.”

  “Yes, dearest patriarch,” I say. “I know the rules. We all do. No dating porn kings, porn stars, pimps, hoes, felons, junkies, or strippers.” On that last word, I shoot Keane a snarky look and he smiles broadly. We kids all know Keane’s recently been raking in the cash (one dollar bill at a time) as the Morgan Family’s answer to Magic Mike, but our parents certainly don’t know that. “Don’t worry, Pops,” I continue. “This Josh guy isn’t a porn king or a pimp. He runs an investment-something-or-other with his brother and uncle. He’s a respected member of society, I assure you.”

  “Oh, is this the boy from Las Vegas you were telling me about?” Mom asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “But he’s not from Las Vegas, Mom—he’s actually from Seattle, though he lives in L.A. now.”

  “Wasn’t that guy supposed to come to dinner tonight?” Colby asks.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Mom says. “I forgot about that. Why didn’t he come?”

  “Something unexpectedly came up at work and he had to fly home to L.A.” Heat flashes into my cheeks at my lie. “He told me to tell Colby ‘Happy Birthday’ and that he’s sorry to miss the party. He was especially sorry to miss out on your spaghetti, Mom—I told him it’s legendary.”

  Mom smiles.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll meet Josh one of these days soon,” I say breezily, smiling at Mom, even though my stomach is turning over. Considering he’s gonna be the father of your grandchild.

  “Damn,” Dax says. “I was looking forward to seeing if J.W. Faraday is as pretty as his picture.” Dax addresses the group. “I saw a photo of this guy the other day and he’s even prettier than Ry, if you can believe it.”

  Keane scoffs. “Pfft. Nobody out-pretties our Pretty Boy.”

  “Fuck you, Peen,” Ryan says. “I keep telling you: I’m not pretty, I’m ‘ruggedly handsome.’”

  “Language,” Mom says. “Good lord, guys. You’re a bunch of sailors. Where did I go wrong? And don’t call Keane that name. It’s disgusting.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Ryan says. He addresses Keane again. “Eff you, Peenelope Cruz. How’s that, Mom?”

  Dad belly laughs and Mom shoots him a scolding look.

  “It’s funny,” Dad says sheepishly, still laughing.

  “Well, I’m sorry Josh couldn’t make it this time,” Mom says, peeling her scolding eyes off Dad. “Please tell him he’s always welcome here. I’ll make my ‘legendary’ spaghetti for him whenever he’s able to come.”

  “Thanks, I’ll tell him.” Right after I tell him I’m pregnant with your grandchild.

  My eyes drift aimlessly around the table and finally land squarely on Colby’s ruggedly handsome face. He’s staring right at me with flickering eyes, looking at me like he can see right through me—and the moment our eyes connect, my cheeks burst into flames.

  “Sorry Josh couldn’t make it tonight,” Colby says evenly. “I know you were excited to introduce him.”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” I manage to say, tears pricking my eyes. “Maybe another time.”

  Colby holds my gaze for a long beat until finally shifting his attention to Dax.

  “This cake is great, Dax,” Colby says. He rests one of his muscled forearms on the table. “Thanks for making it.”

  “Actually, I was hoping the cake would put you in such a great mood, you’d let me borrow your truck tomorrow? I gotta haul some gear.”

  Colby chuckles. “Sure. But only for a couple hours. I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  “And thanks for the spaghetti, Mom,” Colby says. “It was fantastic, as always.”

  “You’re welcome, honey. I made extra sauce so you can take some home with you and put it in your freezer. The birthday boy always gets extras.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Can I have extras, too, Mom?” Keane says. “I’ve been living on Taco Bell.”

  Mom laughs. “Yes, I made extras for you, too, Keaney—and also for Kitty Kat. It’s in the fridge with your names on it.”

  “What about me?” Ryan says. “You’re not gonna give extras to your favorite kid?”

  “You got extras last time,” Mom says. “I’ll make extras for you and Daxy next time. And, by the way, you’re all my favorite kid.”

  “Keane got extras last time,” Dax says. “He shouldn’t get ’em this time.”

  “Hey, that’s right,” Ryan says. “And the time before that, too. Why does Keane always get extras?”

  Mom grabs Keane’s hand. “Because Keane always needs them.”

  We all roll our eyes and Keane shoots us a “fuck you” look. “Thank you for understanding that, dearest mother,” Keane says, flashing a mega-watt smile. “You’re an exceptional caregiver to us all.”

  We all roll our eyes again, even Dad.

  Mom has obviously caught wind of all the eye-rolls going on around her. “Stop it, guys,” she says. “I know Keane’s a brown-noser—I’m not an idiot.”

  Everyone bursts out laughing, even Keane.

  “But it doesn’t matter. The boy needs extras. He can’t even boil water.”

  “And who’s fault is that?” Dax says. “Whatever happened to personal responsibility?”

  “You’re an enabler, Mom,” Ryan says. “Plain and simple.”

  “Don’t listen to ’em, Mom. You’re doing great,” Keane says.

  Mom squeezes Keane’s hand again. “Look, I’ll be the first to admit I parent each of you guys differently. For each and every one of you, I’m the mother you specifically need.” She looks at Keane adoringly. “And when it comes to extras, Keane needs them.”

  The table erupts.

  “Enough,” Mom says firmly. “No arguing about extras, guys.”

  We all grumble quietly for another long moment, especially Ryan.

  “Hey, Ry, you can have my extras,” I say. “I don’t need ’em.”

  “Nah, it’s okay,” Ryan says. “I’ll happily steal extras from Peenelope Cruz with a clear conscience, but I won’t steal ’em from Spunky Brewster. I’ll wait my turn.”

  Mom’s face lights up. “Spunky Brewster? Finally, a sweet one. Now was that so hard?”

  Ryan’s expression is absolutely priceless right now. “No, Mother Dear,” he says piously. “It wasn’t. In fact, it was really quite easy.”

  Mom looks at me lovingly. “I love it. It sure fits our Kitty Kat. I can’t think of a better word to describe her than spunky.”

  My brothers are absolutely dying right now.

  “Yep,” Ryan says, his nostrils flaring. “That’s our Kitty Kat for you: full of spunk.”

  Everyone at the table bursts into raucous, tear-filled laughter except for poor, clueless, adorable Mom who’s obviously never heard that particular slang term for cum before.

  “What?” Mom asks, her eyes wide. “What’s so funny? Am I being dumb?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Dad says, laughing his ass off.

  “Am I being dumb?”

  Dad shakes his head. “I’ll tell you later, Louise.”

  But we all know he won’t tell Mom a goddamned thing. Not a single one of us, including Dad, would ever dream of throwing our hilarious Captain Morgan under the Mom-bus—he’s just too goddamned entertaining.

&n
bsp; “So when’s your next gig, Dax?” Dad asks, obviously trying to change the subject. “Anything I might be able to catch?”

  Dax wipes his eyes from laughing. “Uh, sure, Pops. Friday we’re playing at that Irish pub downtown, and Saturday we’re playing at a street fair in Bremerton...”

  Normally, I love hearing every last detail about Dax’s upcoming gigs, but at the moment I can’t concentrate on what Dax is saying—not when my oldest brother is staring me down, drawing my attention like a magnet.

  When my eyes lock onto Colby’s, he makes a sympathetic face—and, just like that, my eyes water. I look away, my lower lip trembling. Damn, that Colby—even when Josh isn’t here, Colby can sniff him out.

  As if on cue, my phone buzzes with a text from Josh.

  “Are you at Colby’s birthday dinner?” Josh writes.

  It’s all I can do not to scream in frustration. For crying out loud, it was only last night I told Josh I needed a few days to think and regroup after being blindsided at the karaoke bar. What does he think has changed in twenty-four little hours? (Okay, yes, in point of fact, every goddamned thing in my life has changed in twenty-four little hours, thank you very much—but Josh doesn’t know that. And, anyway, discovering I’m pregnant with Josh’s accidental spawn has only made me feel less prepared to talk to him any time soon, not more.) Gah. If only I could talk to Sarah. She always helps me find clarity in the midst of any shit storm. Unfortunately, though, talking to Sarah isn’t an option, at least not for a few weeks. She’s starting her final exams on Monday and right after that, she’s heading off to Greece to get engaged (unbeknownst to her).

  I tune back into the conversation at the dinner table. Ryan and Colby are talking about the second season of True Detective.

  “I agree it isn’t as good as the first season,” Colby says. “But I don’t know why people are trashing it. It’s still one of the best shows on TV.”

  “It’s just that the first season was so epic,” Ryan says. “Everyone’s expectations were just so high after that.”

  Under-promise and over-perform. That’s what Josh once said is one of his many life mottos. Is that what Josh was doing by not telling me about Seattle? Under-promising? I’m guessing yes. So, hey, maybe I should take a page out of Josh’s under-promising playbook and hold off telling him about the accidental Faraday gestating inside me for a bit? Given the timing of when we were in Las Vegas together, there’s no way I’m out of my first trimester yet, which means my chances of miscarriage are still relatively high (especially, I’d think, in light of my boozing and weed-smoking and Sybian-riding).