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

by Lauren Rowe

  “Sorra?” I ask.

  Josh shrugs. “I couldn’t find a ‘Y.’”

  I bite my lower lip, simultaneously amused and touched.

  “I’m sorry, Kat,” Josh says softly. “I didn’t tell you about Seattle because there’s something wrong with me—not because there’s something wrong with you. You’re perfect in every way. I just... ” He looks up at the ceiling, apparently searching for the right words. “I just fucked up, that’s all,” he finally says matter-of-factly. “Because I’m fucked up—more than you know.” He pauses. “More than I even realized.”

  I bite my lip and nod.

  “And, in the interest of full disclosure, this probably won’t be the last time I fuck up, either. I’m not sure exactly how or when I’ll do it again, but I most certainly will. And when I do, please, just try to be patient with me. I’m trying my damnedest to ‘overcome’ every single day—I swear I am—and, mostly, I succeed. But sometimes, I can’t seem to get out of my own way.”

  I swallow hard, stuffing down the fierce emotion rising up inside me.

  Josh exhales. “I’m really, really sorry, Kat,” he says, his blue eyes begging for forgiveness.

  Oh, his eyes. I could get lost in those beautiful blue eyes forever. I begin hurriedly peeking at the undersides of tiles spread out on the table, looking for specific letters. Finally, when I’ve gathered almost everything needed, I lay my tiles down on the table: I-F-O-R-G-V-U.

  Josh cocks his head to the side, looking at my tiles.

  “I forgive you, Josh,” I say. “But I’m too impatient to keep looking for the rest of the tiles.”

  Josh lets out a long, relieved exhale, and before I can say another word, he swipes the game board off the table, scattering tiles all over the floor, pulls me out of my chair, and proceeds to maul me.

  “I’m so sorry,” he breathes between voracious kisses.

  “I forgive you,” I say, my body exploding with desire.

  “I’m not Garrett Bennetting you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I said that.”

  “Never,” he murmurs.

  In a frenzy of heat, he pulls off my clothes and guides me onto the table on my back and begins covering my body with greedy kisses. He’s everywhere, all at once. His lips are on my neck, and then my breast; my nipple’s in his hungry mouth; his fingers are brushing lightly against my thigh and then across my hipbone. I arch my back with pleasure at the urgency of his touch, his mouth, his lips.

  “I’ve been wrecked without you,” he whispers.

  “Me, too,” I say. I breathe in his intoxicating scent and shudder with desire. “I was miserable.”

  “I wanna be with you when I move every fucking day,” he says, and my clit zings like Josh just sucked on it.

  I moan loudly, already on the edge of ecstasy.

  “I can’t stand being away from you, Kat. It hurts.”

  My clit flutters and ripples wildly with anticipation.

  “Please, please don’t ever shut me out again,” he breathes.

  “Josh,” I blurt, my excitement beginning to boil over.

  His tongue finds my clit and I arch my back, shoving myself into him urgently. He groans loudly, obviously enjoying my reaction, and the sound of his pleasure sends me over the edge. I let out a low growl as my body begins clenching and rippling ferociously into his mouth, and he responds with noises that quite clearly convey his excitement.

  When I’m done climaxing, Josh begins working his way from my crotch toward my face with his tongue and lips. I’m writhing, moaning, out of my head with desire—his for the taking, in every conceivable way. When I feel his hard-on slide inside me and fill me up to the brim, I explode and melt at the same time. I reach around him and pull him into me by his muscled ass, attacking him with deep and passionate kisses. I throw my legs around his waist and lift my pelvis, synchronizing my movement with his, moaning like a cat in heat as he fucks me.

  Josh presses his lips against my ear. “My heart is on the line, too,” he whispers as his body rocks with mine.

  I gasp and claw at his back, pulling him into me as deeply as I can, my heart and body bursting simultaneously.

  “I was wrecked without you, babe. Don’t do that to me again.”

  He pulls out of me, turns my twitching, trembling body around, and bends me over the table. In a flash, he’s inside me again, pumping into me while kissing the back of my neck.

  My body’s on fire. My heart’s racing. For the first time since I peed on that goddamned stick, I feel like me again.

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispers hoarsely in my ear.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, gasping for air.

  “Don’t cut me off again.”

  “I won’t,” I grit out, just as another orgasm rips through me. “I’m all yours, Josh. Oh my God. I’m all yours. Fuck.”

  He comes behind me, clutching me fiercely as he does, his fingers digging deeply into my flesh, and then we both collapse onto the table into a mangled, crumpled heap, mutually gasping for air.

  When we’ve quieted down, he slides into his chair, his chest still heaving, and pulls me into his lap.

  My chest is pressed against his.

  My arms are wrapped around his neck.

  I rest my cheek on his shoulder, breathing deeply, fighting to quell my sudden urge to bawl and/or barf all over him.

  Finally, when I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna cry or hurl, I lift my cheek and look into his sparkling blue eyes. “Was that one of our boring ‘real life’ activities, Josh?” I ask.

  Josh laughs and makes a face like I’m a total smart-ass.

  “So what other boring ‘real life’ activities are on tap for the weekend, babe?” I ask.

  Josh strokes my hair for a moment. “Well, tomorrow we’re going hiking in Runyon Canyon and then I thought maybe we’d do a little grocery shopping and stop at the dry cleaners on the way home.” He smirks. “And then I thought maybe we’d play some late-night backgammon while guzzling club soda—and then maybe binge watch The Walking Dead. You know, just normal, real-life stuff boring people in normal relationships do. No saving the world, no cocktails, no poker chips.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a wicked gleam in his eye.

  Clearly, he’s daring me to say, “Never mind what I said in front of the karaoke bar—gimme more of the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle, baby!” But, obviously, I can’t say any such thing without Josh hopping up to make me a stiff drink. “Hmm,” I say. “That all sounds super fun. I’m totally on board. I especially like this no-booze idea—good thinking. Maybe Boring Cameron Schulz was onto something.”

  Josh scowls.

  “But maybe we don’t have to be so disciplined about experiencing real life,” I continue. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if we mixed a tiny bit of fantasy in with our real-life activities?”

  Josh raises an eyebrow. “Well, gosh, PG, I wouldn’t want you to compromise your core values or anything.”

  I narrow my eyes and flare my nostrils at him.

  He smirks.

  “What about this?” I say. “What if we skip any and all mind-altering substances for, oh, I dunno, let’s say a month, just for kicks—but we also continue fulfilling items on our fantasy-list? Kind of a nice middle-ground-approach, don’t you think?”

  Josh considers. “Kind of arbitrary cherry-picking of what we can and can’t do, I’d say. If we’re gonna do fantasies, why not have a cocktail while we do ’em? I’ve got a great recipe for a basil and lime margarita—”

  “No,” I blurt.

  Josh looks at me quizzically.

  Damn. How the heck am I going to convince Josh it’s completely normal I don’t want to drink? It’s so unlike me as to be worrisome, I’m sure. “Absolutely no booze,” I say. “As a fun challenge—to prove we don’t need it to have a great time. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Well, I think it would be good for us.”

  Josh makes a face. “Why
, exactly? I’m not sure I understand your thinking on this.”

  I scoff like it’s totally self-explanatory, even though I’m shitting a brick. “So we know we can generate fun and excitement all by our little selves, Joshy Woshy. So we know we’re addicted to each other, organically, with or without having beer goggles on.”

  “Beer goggles?” Josh says, incredulous. “You seriously think I’m attracted to you because I’m wearing beer goggles? Are you mad?”

  I giggle. “Well, no. I don’t think that.”

  “That’s utterly ridiculous,” he says emphatically. He touches the cleft on my chin with his fingertip. “But, okay, my batshit-crazy little terrorist. Your wish is my command, no matter how bizarre. No more booze for either of us for a month. Happy?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I say, exhaling with relief. Wow, I really am diabolical.

  “But poker chips are okay, right?” he asks.

  I smile. “Yes. I think we should definitely reintroduce poker chips into our fun.”

  “Well, all righty, then. Thank goodness for small mercies.” Without hesitation, he stands up from his chair, taking my naked body along with him, and carries me like a baby monkey across the house, making me squeal. In the middle of the hallway, he stops at a closet and bends down to rummage for something (still holding my body wrapped around his), and when he stands upright again, he’s got a poker chip trapped between his teeth.

  I giggle and extract the poker chip from his mouth with my teeth.

  “Come on, my little sex slave,” Josh says, licking his lips. “I predict you’ll be wearing a pair of soft cuffs in your immediate future.”

  Eighty-Seven

  Kat

  “Who are all the guys who’ll be playing?” I ask. “Will Reed be there?”

  It’s Saturday morning and Josh and I are zooming down the freeway in his Lamborghini, en route to a park where Josh is meeting his buddies for their regular Saturday-morning game of flag football—another in a long line of “this-is-what-real-life-would-be-like-if-we-lived-in-the-same-city” activities Josh has planned for us this weekend.

  “No, Reed won’t be there,” Josh says, steering his car onto an exit ramp. “He’s in London with one of his bands. But Henn will be there, plus a bunch of our old fraternity brothers. And lots of guys bring random buddies or brothers to round out the teams.”

  “I’m excited to see Henny,” I say.

  “He said the same about you. You sure you won’t get bored?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s gonna be real life, right? Exciting.”

  Josh chuckles. “Well, if you change your mind and get bored out of your skull, you can always jog around the field and get in a workout. I won’t be offended.”

  “Great,” I say, even though I have no intention of jogging around the field. If I did, I’d almost certainly have to dart behind a bush to barf my lungs out by the second lap. “I’m sure I won’t get bored, though,” I add.

  Josh slows the car and makes a right turn, and then another, and, all of a sudden, we’re in the empty parking lot of a massive football stadium.

  “Hey, I know this place,” I say. I’ve never been to this particular stadium in person, but I’ve watched enough college football on TV to know it’s the famed Rose Bowl—the legendary football stadium where UCLA plays its games. “You and your friends are playing flag football at the freaking Rose Bowl?” I ask, incredulous. “How? Are we gonna climb the fence and sneak in?”

  Josh chuckles. “No, we’re not gonna sneak in—I rented the place.” He pulls his car into a parking spot and kills the engine.

  “You rented the Rose Bowl?” I ask, my jaw hanging open.

  “Yup.”

  I can’t believe my ears. “Do you regularly rent the Rose Bowl for friendly games of flag football?”

  “Nope. First time.” He grins. “Actually, I rented the place specifically for you, Party Girl.”

  “For me?” I look at him dumbly.

  Josh reaches across my body, opens his glove box, and pulls out a laminated ID badge attached to a lanyard. “How else am I gonna play in the Super Bowl?” he asks.

  I touch the edge of the badge dangling from Josh’s hand to stop it from twirling and gasp when I’m able to read the card. It’s a press badge identifying me as “Heidi Kumquat, Reporter for ESPN,” bearing the photo from my Oksana passport.

  “Oh my God!” I squeal, my cheeks flushing. Just from this press badge alone, I know exactly what imaginary-porno Josh and I are about to act out.

  But just in case I had a sliver of a doubt, Josh promptly lays a poker chip in my palm. “Hey, Heidi Kumquat. Guess what?” Josh says, a naughty smile dancing on his lips. “I hear the MVP of the Super Bowl has a thing for blondes—and a really big dick.”

  Eighty-Eight

  Kat

  “God, they’re manly, aren’t they?” Henn asks, surveying the action on the field. “Neanderthals, all of them.”

  “You sure you don’t wanna play with them?” I ask, linking my arm in Henn’s. “It looks pretty fun.”

  “You think that looks fun? Ha! No, I came to this barbaric game just to see you, Kitty Kat.” Henn beams a smile at me that melts my heart like butter in a microwave.

  “Aw, thanks, Henn.”

  Josh races past us on the field, cradling the football in his muscular arm. He evades a potential tackler, and then another, progressing at least twenty yards before being stopped.

  Henn and I cheer like crazy and Josh looks over at us, pumping his fist.

  “So what’s new, Henny?” I ask. “You been working a lot?”

  “Yeah, I just got back from D.C., working on our little case with the feds.” He snickers. “Agent Eric asked me if you’re single, bee tee dubs.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  Henn motions to Josh on the field. “Well, duh—I told him you’re madly in love with the greatest guy ever.”

  I bite my lip but I don’t deny it.

  Henn grabs the “press badge” hanging around my neck. “Speaking of which, what the heck is this? ‘Heidi Kumquat, Reporter for ESPN’? Josh asked me for your Oksana photo but he didn’t tell me why he wanted it. Are you two crazy kids finding new and creative ways to take ol’ one-eye to the optometrist or what?”

  I decide to ignore his question. “Speaking of people falling madly in love, how’s it going with Hannah Banana Montana Milliken?” I ask.

  Henn’s face lights up. “Oh my God, she’s incredible. She keeps doing this bizarre thing no other woman has ever done in the history of time—she’s genuinely nice to me. Like, all the time.”

  “Wow. Cray,” I say.

  “Un-sane,” Henn agrees, smiling adorably. “Did Hannah say anything to you about how things are going between us?”

  “Yeah, she said you’re the man of her dreams.”

  “Are you teasing me right now? Kat, please don’t tease me.”

  “Henn, I swear on a stack of bibles. That’s exactly what she said. ‘The man of her dreams.’”

  Henn looks like he could keel over with joy.

  “Aw, you so deserve this, Henny,” I say. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Motherfucker!” Josh yells on the field after unsuccessfully trying to catch a long pass in the end zone. “That was my fault, bro,” Josh shouts to his quarterback, patting his chest. He begins jogging back toward the line of scrimmage, but makes a sudden, lurching detour toward me on the sideline. With a loud growl, Josh throws his arms around my waist and twirls me around, making me shriek. “Hey there, Heidi Kumquat,” Josh bellows. He lays an abrupt kiss on my mouth. “You know I’m trying to impress you, right?”

  “You are?” I ask demurely.

  “Is it working?”

  “Definitely.”

  Josh laughs and trots away, leaving me swooning in his wake. Or, wait, maybe I’m not swooning—maybe I’m just queasy from being unexpectedly twirled around. I clamp my hand over my mouth, suddenly feeling the urge to heave.

&
nbsp; “Hey, you okay?” Henn asks.

  I take several deep breaths, trying to calm my churning stomach. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I squeak out.

  “You look like you feel sick,” Henn says.

  I swallow hard. “I’m just a little hung over, that’s all.”

  “Ah, gotcha.” Henn returns his attention to the action on the field, apparently completely convinced by my explanation.

  For the next thirty minutes, Henn and I watch the action on the field, cheering and screaming as Josh and his friends play flag football as fiercely as any gladiators in ancient Rome, and when the game is finally done, Josh jogs over to Henn and me on the sideline. I’m expecting Josh to pick me up and whirl me around like he did earlier, but, instead, he whispers something to Henn, winks at me, and silently heads toward a tunnel on the opposite side of the field.

  “Where’s he going?” I ask Henn, admiring Josh’s supremely bitable ass as he jogs away.

  “To the locker room,” Henn says. “He asked me to bring you there in five minutes.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, trying my best to sound nonchalant.

  Henn shoots me a snarky look. “Josh had a message for you, bee tee dubs. He told me to tell Heidi Kumquat he’s such a huge fan of your reporting for ESPN, he’s decided to grant you an exclusive post-game interview.’”

  Eighty-Nine

  Kat

  “Bye, Henn,” I say, hugging him outside the locker room.

  “Enjoy your optometry appointment,” Henn says, snickering.

  “Hey, man,” I say. “Regular eye exams are critical to maintaining peak visual health.”

  Henn laughs. “Oh my God. You truly are the male version of Josh, you know that?”

  “You think?” I ask.

  “Indubitably.” He hugs me again. “Bye, Kitty Kat.”