by Lauren Rowe
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me voraciously, yet again.
Damn, I wish I could see Josh’s beautiful blue eyes right now, but the room is too dark. “Are you sure?” I ask, and immediately regret it. Why am I giving Josh a chance to worm out of his offer? Stupid Kat!
But my worry is for nothing—Josh thrills me with his immediate and confident reply: “I’m sure,” he says. “I can’t live without you. I love you more than life itself.”
I exhale and hug him fervently. “I love you,” I gasp. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“I can’t stand being away from you,” he says. “I want to sleep with you every night. I want to wake up to the sight of you every morning. I want to take care of you—to make all your dreams come true.”
“Oh my God. I’m gonna explode,” I say, tears rising in my eyes.
“When can you move in?”
“Right away.”
“Oh my God,” he says. He’s panting. “This is gonna be awesome.”
He’s shaking like a leaf. Is that anxiety or joy coursing through his veins? I wish I could see his face.
“I haven’t even met with the interior designer for my house yet,” Josh says breathlessly. “We’ll decorate the place together. It’ll be our house, Kat—with our baby—yeah, and we’ll make one of the rooms a nursery, and you can decorate it however you like and we’ll live together and raise our kid and we’ll be happy.” He’s rambling maniacally, practically gasping for air, stroking my face feverishly. It’s like the Hoover Dam has broken inside him and a pent-up reservoir of words and feelings is gushing out of him all at once. “We’ll be together because we want to be,” Josh continues, his words pouring out of him like a torrent. “Because we love each other. We won’t need a piece of paper to make our commitment official.” He abruptly stops talking. His voice quavers. “Right? We love each other and that’s all we need?” He swallows audibly. “Right?”
“I don’t need a piece of paper,” I say soothingly. “All I need is you, Josh. If you promise to love me and our baby the best way you know how, that’s enough for me.”
He exhales a huge breath. “I promise. I’ll love you and our baby. That’s what I can give you.”
“Then that’s enough.”
He’s panting now. “I want you to live with me, babe—I want you to be all mine.”
“I will be. I am.”
“Promise?” He’s trembling against me.
“I promise.”
His chest is heaving against mine. He’s literally twitching and jerking next to me. I touch his face. His cheeks are wet.
I’m flabbergasted. “Josh? Oh my God. Are you okay?”
Josh grips me to him. “I love you more than I ever thought possible. I didn’t know I could love like this. I didn’t know I was capable.”
Wetness is streaming across my fingertips.
“I love you, too,” I say, trying to calm him. “More than I thought possible. Baby, what’s wrong?”
Josh takes a shuddering breath, obviously trying to collect himself.
“Josh, honey, calm down. Breathe. You’re going off the deep end all of a sudden. This is a happy thing—nothing to cry about.”
Josh suddenly sits up in the bed, shaking, and I rub his back, trying to soothe him. This isn’t how I expected this to go. I thought I’d coax the magic words out of him and we’d hug and kiss and make love and then nuzzle noses. I don’t understand. It’s almost like he’s having some sort of panic attack. What the hell is happening to him?
“When I asked you to marry me at the hospital, you were right to say no,” he says, panting. “I was just doing the right thing. I was acting out of obligation—trying to appease my father’s ghost—or maybe flip him the bird, I dunno. But I shouldn’t have asked that—I realize now I can’t deliver on that.”
The hairs on the arms are standing up. “Sssh,” I soothe. “I don’t care about getting married. I just want you. We’re having a baby together—that’s plenty for us to deal with. Our love is enough.”
There’s a very long silence between us. I have no idea what to say or do, so I continue rubbing his back. He’s quiet for so long, I’m beginning to feel like maybe he’s regretting telling me he loves me.
“Josh?” I ask, my stomach clenching. “I don’t understand why you’re freaking out.”
Josh pauses. “My dad blew his brains out onto her wedding dress, Kat,” he says softly, barely above a whisper.
My heart is pulsing in my ears. I wait but he doesn’t elaborate. “I don’t understand,” I finally say.
“If you were my wife,” he continues, “and if I lost you, I’m scared I’d do the same fucking thing. He always said I’m just like him.”
My heart lurches into my throat. “Josh,” I whisper. “Why are you... ? I don’t understand.” I sit up next to him and put my cheek on his shoulder, still rubbing his back. “Please explain what you’re feeling right now.”
“I’ve lost everyone I love, my whole life,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Every single time I love someone, they wind up leaving me—or trying their damnedest to leave me. That’s what I’m always trying to ‘overcome.’ And now that I love you, now that I’m not holding anything back... Kat, I couldn’t overcome it if I lost you.”
“Well, then, that’s easy. You won’t lose me. Simple.”
Josh scoffs. “No, you don’t understand.”
I wait.
“What if it’s not your choice?” he finally says. “It wasn’t my mother’s choice.”
I take a deep breath. “Well, sorry to be blunt about it,” I say, “but that’s just the gamble of life, honey. Life can be a bitch and a half and there’s nothing we can do about it. Look what just happened to Colby. But I’m telling you I’m not going anywhere, if I can help it. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away and that’s all I can promise you. And that’s got to be enough, babe—I’m only human.”
Josh makes a sound I can’t interpret.
“What?” I ask.
“What if I fuck up? What then? Will you leave me then?”
“Just don’t fuck up.”
Josh scoffs. “Kat.”
I smile in the dark. “What?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Kat, I’m gonna fuck up—we both know that. How could I not? I told you—I don’t know what love looks like up close. I’m a blind man feeling my way in the dark with my hands tied behind my back. I’ll fuck it up and then you’ll leave me and then my brains will be splattered on the ceiling.”
“Well, first off, that’s just dumb,” I say. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit for your awesomeness. You’re covered in Teflon, baby, remember? But second off, I’ve got an easy fix for the whole situation.” I touch his face and I’m shocked to find his cheeks are still wet. “Oh, Josh,” I breathe.
Josh abruptly turns his face away from my touch. “What’s your easy fix?”
I kiss his broad shoulder and turn his face toward mine in the dark. “I’ll teach you what to do, honey. Problem solved. Slowly but surely, I’ll teach you how to do this love-thing. And so will my family. And so will our baby. And whenever you fuck up, I’ll forgive you and you’ll get better and better at it until you hardly fuck up at all.”
He doesn’t reply. And in the silence, I suddenly realize the Plain White T’s song on constant repeat is starting to annoy the shit out of me. I reach over to my laptop and flip my playlist onto shuffle, and “Mirrors” by Justin Timberlake randomly begins to play.
I scoot back to Josh in bed, smashing my breasts against his broad back. “Babe,” I say. “Listen to me. You can totally do this. Remember when you started the L.A. branch of Faraday & Sons? You didn’t know a goddamned thing about running a business, but you learned on the job and kicked ass and now you’re a freaking beast. Well, same thing here.”
Josh lets out a long exhale.
“Plus, it wo
n’t even be possible for you to blow your brains out onto my wedding dress because there won’t be a wedding dress. Ever. Easy peasy pumpkin squeezy. Problem solved.”
Josh doesn’t reply.
Shit, this man is a tough nut to crack.
“Hello?” I say. “You’ve gone completely mute on me, boy. At least gimme a hint about what you’re thinking.”
“I’ll give you more than a hint,” he says, his voice soft but intense. “I’m thinking I love you. I’m thinking I’m so lucky I found you. And I’m thinking I hate myself for crying like a little bitch right now.”
“I love you, too,” I say, sighing with relief. “And you’re not crying like a little bitch. You’re crying like a normal human. Finally.”
Josh kisses me passionately. He’s obviously calmed down and returned to his usual form. His panic attack, or whatever the heck it was, seems to be over.
“Okay?” I ask, stroking his hair. “All better?”
“Yeah,” he says, sounding like the weight of the world has just been lifted off him. “I’m good.”
“Honey, slowly but surely, you’ll learn how to do the love-thing and you’ll become wise and powerful and unstoppable. Okay?”
“Well, I’m already wise and powerful. I’ve told you that a hundred times. Damn, you’re a horrible listener.”
“Oh, yeah,” I coo. I touch his cheeks in the dark. They’re dry now. Sticky with his dried tears, but dry. “I know you’re wise and powerful,” I whisper. “I was just seeing if you were listening.”
“I love you, Kat,” Josh whispers.
“I love you, too—I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Josh’s breathing hitches. “Thank you for saying ‘I love you’ and not ‘me, too.’ I had no idea how awesome it would feel to hear you say those actual words to me.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I say. “Forever.”
Josh kisses me—but he doesn’t say that last word back to me, I notice.
Well, damn. I knew I was pushing my luck hoping for a promise of “forever” from Josh Faraday, but, hey, it didn’t hurt to try. Really, I should have known “forever” simply isn’t in the man’s vocabulary. It’s okay, though—I’m content. Josh has promised to be mine—to love me and make a home with me and to be a father for our child. Considering what he’s been through in his life, and how fucked up he is underneath all that glitter, I’m pretty sure that’s the most I could ever hope to squeeze out of this particular turnip.
I pull on his shoulder and guide him to lie back down in the bed with me, nose to nose, just as the song on my laptop flips to the next random song on my computer: “The Distance” by Cake.
“Oh, God, I love Cake,” Josh says.
“Me, too. I saw them last year. They were fantastic.”
“You did? In Seattle?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw them in L.A. last year,” Josh says.
“Oh my God, the dude with the trumpet—”
“I know,” Josh says cutting me off enthusiastically. “I couldn’t take my eyes off him the whole time. He was singing backup-vocals and playing keys and trumpet, all at the same time. Incredible.”
“Incredible,” I agree. I sing the chorus to “Sheep Go To Heaven, Goats Go To Hell,” one of my favorite Cake songs, and Josh laughs.
“I love that song,” he says, nuzzling his nose into mine in the dark.
“Well, I love you,” I reply.
He presses his body against mine. “That Plain White T’s song was a stroke of genius—utterly diabolical,” Josh says. “Thank you for that.”
“I’ve been dying to tell you,” I say. “I thought I was gonna explode if I didn’t finally tell you. I figured if that song plus the thing with Bridgette didn’t finally make you break down and say the magic words to me, then nothing ever would.”
“What do you mean the thing with Bridgette?”
“Yeah. The thing with Bridgette. You know. I figured the way to unlock your tortured heart once and for all was through a trap door marked ‘Sick Fuck.’” I smile smugly in the dark. “And I was right, of course.”
Josh laughs. “Oh my God. You think you manipulated me into saying ‘I love you’ tonight?”
“No. Not manipulated you—more like made a safe place for you to say it. I’d say I ‘set the stage’ for you to say it.”
“Well, guess what, Madame Terrorist? I was gonna say it tonight no matter what. So there.”
I scoff.
“It’s true. I had everything planned. I had a romantic dinner lined up at my house and I was gonna tell you tonight.”
“Mmm hmm. Sure thing, Playboy.”
“Babe. I had a violinist and a cellist—a chef and waiter. Five-star meal. Candles. I was gonna do this whole romantic thing.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet. I had no idea. Thank you. But you wouldn’t have said it unless I masterfully unlocked you—I guarantee it.”
Josh chuckles. “Nope. I was already gonna say it.”
“Hmmph,” I say, completely unconvinced.
“Hmmph?”
“Yes. Hmmph.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Nope.”
“You wanna bet?”
“We can’t bet because there’s no way to objectively prove it.”
“Oh, yes, there is.”
“Prove it, then.”
“What do I get when I do?”
“I dunno. If you prove it, then I’ll decide after the fact what you win. You’ll just have to take a leap of faith.” I roll my eyes, even in the dark. “But just because you had a violinist doesn’t prove you would have taken the next step and told me you love me. In fact, I think it’s highly unlikely you would have said it with a violinist standing there breathing down your neck.”
Josh pauses. “Hmm. You might be right about that part. But I still would have said it—maybe after dinner, when we were alone in bed.”
“I highly doubt that,” I say. “You needed an expert push from a woman who knows you better than you know yourself.”
“No, I didn’t—I was gonna do it all by myself.”
“Nope,” I say.
“Ha!” he says. “Get ready to eat crow, Madame Terrorist.” Josh sits up, turns on the lamp next to him, and lies back down next to me on his side, smiling devilishly.
“Well?” I ask. “Why are you smiling like that? All you’ve proved is that you know how to turn on a lamp. That proves absolutely nothing.”
“Look at my arm,” he whispers softly.
“Hmm?”
“Look at my arm, babe.”
I sit up and peer at Josh’s muscled arm in the dim light and instantly gasp.
Holy shitballs. Josh has a brand new tattoo on the outside of his left bicep—a golden cat with big blue eyes, long lashes, and a mischievous feline-smile on her sleek face. Wow. She looks just like me if I were reincarnated as a cartoon cat.
For a long moment, I study Josh’s tattoo in detail, marveling at it’s amazingness. The cartoon-cat version of me is wearing a pink collar adorned with a dangling “PG” charm at its center and she’s holding a martini glass filled with two olives in her slender paw. And, best of all, her bottom legs are entangled in a swirl of barbed wire that trails from her tail and wraps clear around Josh’s bicep.
“Josh,” I gasp. “You got a girlfriend-barbed-wire-double-social-suicide-tattoo!”
“Yep,” Josh says, his face bursting with excitement.
I laugh gleefully.
Josh puts his finger under my chin, his eyes smoldering. “I know I’ve gotten some questionable tattoos in my life, babe, but do you really think I’d have committed double social suicide if I wasn’t planning to tell you I love you?”
I can’t speak. It’s taking all my energy not to pass out, cry, or climax. This is the most incredible gift Josh could have given me—way better than a big, fat diamond any day. (Well, okay, not way better than a big, fat diamond, let’s not get too carried away he
re—but pretty damned close.) Certainly, in the land of Joshua William Faraday, this barbed-wire-girlfriend tattoo is the closest thing to a promise of forever I could ever hope to receive. And that’s good enough for me.
I nuzzle my nose into Josh’s. “You do realize you’re gonna have this thing florebblaaaaaah?” I say.
“That’s the idea, baby. I’m gonna love you florebblaaaah.” He laughs. “I promise.”
I laugh with him. “I was wondering why you didn’t take your shirt off during the Bridgette thing—I just thought you were being extra careful not to piss me off.”
Josh laughs. “Well, yeah, that, too.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, running my fingers through Josh’s hair. “The tattoo is incredible. I love it.”
“My supreme pleasure.” He kisses me.
Damn, my clit is throbbing like crazy. I do believe this man’s about to get lucky again.
“So, Madame Terrorist,” Josh says, pulling away from our kiss. “Do you concede?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Concede?”
“Yeah. Do you admit my tattoo empirically proves I was gonna tell you I love you, whether or not you arranged the Bridgette thing?”
I squint at him.
“Well?” he asks, a smug smile dancing on his lips.
My nostrils involuntarily flare.
“You’re seriously gonna be Stubborn Kat about this?” he asks.
I smash my lips together and narrow my eyes further.
Josh shakes his head. “You’re such a little terrorist. You know full well this tattoo proves I would have—”
I place my fingertip on Josh’s lips, shushing him. “Josh,” I whisper seductively.
He abruptly stops talking.
“In the big picture, it really doesn’t matter who’s right and who’s wrong, now does it?”
“It doesn’t matter? Ha! I’ve finally got Stubborn Kat dead to rights for once in my life.”
“Josh,” I coo quietly, shushing him again.
He shoots me a wicked smirk. “What?”
I lick my lips. “What’s the cardinal rule for bagging a babe?” I ask, reaching underneath the sheet and sliding my fingers down his abs to his penis. “What’s the most important thing I taught you and Henn about bagging a babe?”
Josh’s cock instantly responds to my touch. A lascivious smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Oh,” he says.