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

by Lauren Rowe

  “Keep an eye on things, though, would you? Just so we know if there’s ever something we should be concerned about. Jonas is already starting to doubt his decision to leave Oksana standing—we should probably give him periodic assurances that everything’s still quiet.”

  “No problem.”

  “So what are you working on now that The Club stuff is all done?” I ask.

  “Oh, I just did a really fun job.” He tells me about a large department store chain that recently hired Henn to try his mighty best to breach their own computer system for the purpose of testing their security. “It was awesome,” Henn says. “They truly believed they were impervious to hacking. They’d supposedly hired ‘the best cyber-security team money could buy’ to protect their data, but I dug around and broke ’em wide open in less than a day. I waltzed into my first meeting with their supposedly ‘expert cyber-security team—’” He snorts loudly with glee. “And I was like, ‘So, hey, folks, great to meetcha. Oh, by the way, I got into your piddly-diddly system four different ways from Sunday in about six hours—here, here, here, and here,’ and they totally shit their Depends.” He sighs happily. “God, I love my life.”

  I chuckle. “And how’s everything else? Things with Hannah good?”

  “Better than good. Awesome. She’s moving to L.A. next month.”

  “Really? Wow. That’s fantastic.”

  “Yeah, the long distance thing is killing us, man. And since Kat’s decided to put her PR company on the back burner for a while to become a mommy, Hannah’s decided to look for a PR job in the entertainment industry.”

  “Awesome. Hey, you should ask Reed if he knows someone who might be able to help her with her job search. Reed knows everyone.”

  “Yeah, I already talked to him. He’s on it.”

  “Good.”

  “So how are things with Kat? Have you two been nesting, getting ready for baby?”

  I glance at Kat across the room. She’s dancing with Sarah again, wiggling like she’s got ants in her pants, throwing her tiny belly around with abandon. “I’m gonna ask Kat to marry me.” I pat my pocket. “Got the ring right here.”

  “No shit?” Henn hugs me. “Awesome. When are you gonna do it?”

  “As soon as you get me that info.”

  “Ah. Interesting. What does one thing have to do with the other?”

  I briefly explain how I’m planning to propose to Kat, using the information Henn’s gonna get for me.

  “Very cool,” Henn says. “Okay. I’ll put a rush on it, boss.” He grins. “Wow. I never thought I’d see the day Josh ‘YOLO’ Faraday would get married and settle down.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day, either. And now it’s all I want.” I bite my lip. “Let’s just hope Kat says yes.”

  Henn waves his hand dismissively at me. “Bah. Just dick it up and she won’t be able to resist you.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ve recently learned the whole dick-it-up-strategy might not be quite as effective as I originally thought.” I steal another look at Kat. “At least not with Madame Terrorist.”

  “I’m really happy for you, Josh,” Henn says.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “You’ve definitely come a long way from the dude who got YOLO inked onto his ass-cheek over a quote from Happy Gilmore.”

  “God, I hope so. Hey, what was that quote we were arguing about, by the way? I can never remember what it was.”

  “Oh, it was really deep and profound. Grandma in the nursing home asks Ben Stiller if she can trouble him for a warm glass of milk because it helps her sleep. And he goes, ‘You could trouble me for a warm glass of shut the hell up!’”

  I laugh. “Oh, shit. Really? No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “I got YOLO stamped on my ass over that?”

  Henn nods, laughing. “You were positive Ben Stiller says, ‘You could trouble me for a tall glass of shut the fuck up.’”

  I shake my head. “God, I was such a little punk. Please tell me I’m not that big a tool anymore.”

  Henn puts his hand on my shoulder. “You were never a tool, Josh—you’ve always been the greatest guy ever, right from day one. And you’ve only gotten better with age. You’re a fine wine, man.”

  My heart pangs. “Thanks, Henn. Back at you.”

  He smiles.

  “Okay, well, this fine wine had better get back to his adoring public,” I say. “Thanks again for coming—and thanks for the favor.”

  “Any time,” Henn replies.

  We bro-hug again and then Henn slips into the crowd, saluting me as he goes.

  My eyes drift to where Kat was dancing with Sarah a moment ago—but she’s not there. I reflexively look at my watch. Oh shit—it’s been way longer than twenty minutes since Kat and I made our “date.”

  I practically sprint toward my office in the back of the gym, getting stopped at least ten times along the way by well-wishers, and finally manage to slip unnoticed through a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” Once inside my darkened office, I beeline to the bathroom in the back and rap softly on the door. “Kat?” I whisper.

  The door opens a crack and in one fluid movement, Kat grabs a fistful of my shirt and yanks me forcefully into the bathroom.

  “I just made myself come while waiting on you, Playboy,” she whispers, furiously unbuckling my belt, her eyes on fire. “You’re such a naughty boy for making me wait.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, my dick throbbing with anticipation. “My pregnant whore is feeling horny, huh?’

  She reaches into my pants and strokes my hard-on furiously. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “Heidi Kumquat’s on fire. She’s aching to give you your money’s worth, baby.”

  “God, I love you,” I growl, my body jerking as she works me with her hands.

  “I love you, too,” Kat says. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” She fondles my balls. “And I love your dick.”

  Without further ado, Kat kneels down and swirls her tongue on the tip of my cock—right into my little hole—making me jolt. “Oh my fuck, Kat.”

  She looks up at me from under my straining cock and smiles. “I never knew I could love someone the way I love you, Joshua William Faraday,” she purrs—and then she takes the full length of my cock into her mouth and proceeds to deliver a blowjob so intense, it makes me grip the sink ledge to keep from falling to my knees.

  “Oh, God, I love you,” I growl, trying to hang on. I grip her hair and press myself farther into her open throat. “You’re worth every fucking penny, baby,” I choke out, my passion reaching its boiling point. But even as I’m saying those words—because, of course, those are the magic words Kat loves best when she’s giving me head—what I’m actually thinking is something new for me while in the midst of receiving a mind-blowing blowjob: If a guy needs more than this to be eternally happy with one woman, then he’s either crazy or just a greedy-ass motherfucker.

  One Hundred Fifteen

  Kat

  “Blood pressure looks good,” the nurse says, removing the cuff from my arm. “Sit tight for a bit and Dr. Gupta will be right in.”

  “Thank you,” I say. I exhale and squeeze Josh’s hand. “I’m nervous.”

  Josh kisses my forehead. “The kumquat’s gonna be fine,” he says softly. “Hey, Sarah Cruz. Hit us with some ‘Would You Rather?’ questions. Kat’s nervous—we gotta distract her.”

  “Okay, Josh Faraday,” Sarah says. “But under the circumstances, I’m gonna keep it family-friendly.”

  “Boo!” I shout.

  “Yes, Kat,” Sarah says sternly. “Playing X-rated ‘Would You Rather?’ in this crowd would hurtle us into TMI territory on a bullet train.”

  I laugh. “Probably true.”

  “Okay, then,” Sarah says. “Would you rather be hideously ugly but extremely wealthy, or spectacularly good looking but dirt poor?”

  We all ponder that for a moment.

&nb
sp; “Jonas?” Sarah asks. “What say you, love?’

  “In which of these scenarios do I have a better shot at snagging you?” Jonas asks.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’d love you rich or poor, gorgeous or hideous.”

  Jonas shrugs. “Then I don’t care. You pick. As long as I have you, I’m good.”

  Josh shoots me an annoyed expression, and, in reply, I pretend to stick my finger down my throat.

  “Is it your life’s mission to make me look like a prick?” Josh asks Jonas. “Because I was about to say rich and ugly.”

  “Aw, come on, babe,” I say. “Good looking and poor, all the way.”

  “No, babe. If I’m rich and ugly, I can wine and dine you, which means I’d still bag you. Best of both worlds—I’d still be rich and I’d still have you.”

  “You’d bag me even more if you were dirt poor but looked the way you do, I assure you.” I wink. “ If you wanna wine me and dine me when you’re dirt poor, just make me one of your orgasm-inducing PB&Js.”

  “Kat,” Sarah chastises, putting her hands over her ears. “Family friendly, remember?”

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “Ask another one, Sarah.”

  “But this time don’t lob a softball at your husband that makes me look like a total prick, Sarah Cruz,” Josh adds.

  “I don’t think it was Sarah’s question that made you look like a total prick,” Jonas says.

  I look at my watch and shift on the examination table, making the wax paper crinkle underneath me. “Where’s the doctor?”

  “Okay, Kat. Listen up,” Sarah says. “Would you rather have balls hanging from your chin or a two foot tail that wags every time you feel excited?”

  We all laugh at the ridiculousness of the question.

  “Hey, I thought these were supposed to be hypothetical,” Josh says, and we all laugh again.

  “Okay, okay,” Sarah says. “That was a dumb one. Here’s a good one: would you rather be a wildly successful artist who makes totally uninspired crap you abhor creating, or a starving but brilliant artist who makes art that feeds your soul?”

  “Wildly successful artist who makes total crap,” Josh says without hesitation.

  “Yeah, baby!” I shout, high-fiving Josh. “Me, too. Totally.”

  Sarah and Jonas look at each other, absolutely dumbfounded.

  “Are you joking?” Jonas asks. “You’ve only got one soul, for fuck’s sake.”

  Sarah high-fives Jonas. “You tell ’em, baby.”

  “There you go again, making me look like a prick,” Josh says.

  “Aw, screw them,” I say. “Let Jonas and Sarah be soulful arteests while you and I make oodles of cash off our bottle-cap-pipe-cleaner sculptures. And while they’re eating Kraft Macaroni & Cheese in their rat-infested hovel in SoHo, surrounded by their frickin’ art, we’ll head to Cabo on our private jet and ‘feed our souls’ while making love on a white-sand beach.”

  “You’re a fucking genius, babe,” Josh says.

  “You truly can’t keep it family-friendly if your life depended on it, can you, Kat?” Sarah says.

  “Oh, come on, Cruz. That was PG-rated at worst,” I say. I look toward the door. “Where the heck is Dr. Gupta? She doesn’t normally take this long.”

  “Okay, listen up, Party Girl,” Josh says. “Would you rather be the star player on a football team that loses every game of the season or warm the bench on a team that wins the Super Bowl?”

  “Hmm,” Sarah says. “Play on the losing team, I think. What do you think, my love?”

  “I think I’d rather sit the bench on the winning team,” Jonas says. “Because, ultimately, I’d aspire to become the head coach—so this way, I’d have the opportunity to watch and learn from the best.”

  We all burst out laughing.

  “What?” Jonas asks. “That’s my honest answer.”

  “Oh, Jonas,” Sarah says. She touches his cheek tenderly and her diamond rings sparkle under the lights of the examination room. “I love you.”

  “Okay, I’ve got one,” I say. “Would you rather be stuck on a desert island for the rest of your life all alone or with someone who talks incessantly?”

  “I’d rather be stuck on a desert island with you, babe,” Josh says sweetly.

  “Aw, that’s lovely, honey—but you gotta pick one of the choices.”

  Josh raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I did pick one of the choices.”

  Everyone bursts out laughing, even me, just as the door to the examination room opens.

  “Oh, wow,” Dr. Gupta says. “There’s a party going on in here.”

  “Hi, Doctor,” I say. “You remember Josh—my baby-daddy?”

  Josh blanches. He hates it when I call him that, which is why I keep doing it.

  “And this is my best friend, Auntie Sarah, whom you’ve met before,” I continue. “And Sarah’s husband, Uncle Jonas, who also happens to be Josh’s brother.”

  Dr. Gupta shakes everyone’s hand and introduces us to the technician who’ll be conducting the sonogram. “So are you ready to see your baby?” Dr. Gupta asks.

  We all respond enthusiastically.

  I lie back on the examination table and the technician spreads some gel on my baby bump. “My heart is racing,” I say, putting my hand on my heart. “I’m really nervous.”

  Josh leans down and kisses my forehead. “The kumquat’s gonna be fine.”

  The tech puts the wand on my belly and moves it around and, suddenly, we’re met with the unmistakable image of an actual baby.

  “Holy crap,” I say. “That’s a baybay!”

  “Oh my God,” Josh says. “Definitely not a kumquat.”

  “Quite different than the first sonogram, isn’t it?” the doctor says. She begins pointing out various body parts, all of which, she says, look perfectly formed and right on track.

  “Oh, thank God,” I say, sighing with relief. “I was really worried I’d hurt the poor thing with too much partying before I knew.”

  “Well, this should put you at ease, then,” the doctor says, patting my hand. “So, do you want to know the baby’s gender?”

  “Heck yeah,” Josh says. “That’s the dangling carrot we used to lure Uncle Jo Jo and Auntie Sarah to this shindig.”

  “Do you already know?” I ask.

  “I sure do. The baby’s legs are spread wide and I’ve got an unimpeded view.” The doctor pauses for effect. “Any guesses?”

  “Girl,” Sarah says calmly.

  The doctor nods. “Yep. Congratulations. You’re having a baby girl.”

  Tears spring into my eyes.

  “Oh my God,” Josh breathes. He leans down and kisses me. “I love you, Kat.”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper into his lips.

  “I was hoping for a girl so much,” Josh says.

  I’m shocked to hear Josh say that—don’t all big, athletic men secretly hope for a boy who’ll grow up to play on the Seahawks one day? But when I look at Josh and see the moment he’s sharing with Jonas, I suddenly understand completely—this baby’s a tribute to their late mother in heaven, a baby girl to keep their mother’s memory alive.

  Josh and I haven’t discussed baby names yet—in fact, several times I’ve told Josh I was too freaked out about the booze and pot thing to think about baby names until I was sure everything was okay—but now that I’ve seen our baby girl growing inside me—and especially now that I’m witnessing the expressions of emotion on both Josh and Jonas’ faces, there’s only one name I’d even consider.

  “Grace,” I blurt.

  Josh’s face lights up. “Grace,” Josh repeats reverently, nodding. He bends down to kiss me. “Thank you.”

  I mumble “of course” into Josh’s lips, but my words are incomprehensible.

  “Grace Louise?” Josh asks, pulling away suddenly from my mouth.

  “Perfect,” I say, smiling.

  “Aw,” Sarah says. “That’s so sweet. Gracie Louise Faraday.”

  “Hey, Doctor,” Jonas
says, putting his arm around Sarah. “Are you sure? I’ve heard stories of people painting a room pink based on the sonogram and then giving birth to a boy.”

  “Oh, I’m positive,” Dr. Gupta says. She points to the sonogram screen. “See between her legs there? Definitely no penis. The baby’s made it really easy for us by spreading her legs wide.”

  Josh snickers.

  “Don’t say it,” I warn sharply, slapping his arm.

  “Don’t say what?” Josh says, grinning.

  “You know what.”

  Josh chuckles and kisses me tenderly. “Babe,” he says. “I would never make a crass joke about my baby girl making it easy just like her hot momma does for me every night—because that would be rude and inappropriate. But, just so you know, if I ever do compare our beautiful daughter to her gorgeous mommy in any way, shape or form, I’ll always mean it as the highest compliment, no matter what.”

  One Hundred Sixteen

  Kat

  “So where do you guys want to go for lunch?” I ask, floating happily through the parking lot outside my doctor’s office, my hand caressing my baby bump. But when I realize nobody’s walking alongside me, I stop and turn around. “Guys?” I ask. “Any ideas on where we should go for lunch to celebrate little Gracie Louise?”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Sarah says. “I can’t do lunch. I promised to help my mom today.”

  “Oh,” I say, deflated.

  “There’s only two more weeks before school starts back up, so I promised I’d help down at Gloria’s House every day ’til then.”

  “Oh, no problem,” I say, trying my best to sound sincere. Of course, I know intellectually that helping victims of domestic abuse is far more important than celebrating my baby’s gender—and, of course, I know we can celebrate any time, not just today—but I still can’t help feeling disappointed, nonetheless.

  “No worries,” Josh says breezily. “The four of us will go out another time. How about a celebratory dinner later this week?”

  “Great,” Sarah says. She gives me an enthusiastic hug. “Bye, sweetie. Congratulations again.” She pats my bump. “Bye-bye, Gracie Louise. I can’t wait to meet you, boo.”