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

by Lauren Rowe

  Twenty seconds later, Kat’s out like a light, passed out with her cheek against my heart, her little belly underneath her red gown rising and falling evenly with every breath she takes. When I’m sure Kat’s deeply asleep, I tilt her face up to mine and stare at her stunning features, marveling at God’s handiwork. I trace the line of one of her bold eyebrows with my fingertip, brush the back of my hand against her cheekbone, stare for a long moment at her perfectly formed lips.

  As evil as Kat’s startling beauty is when she’s awake, her face is actually quite angelic when she sleeps. This isn’t the face of a woman who’d blindside me, is it? After everything that’s passed between Kat and me since my first god-awful proposal, Kat wouldn’t shatter me by turning me down for a second time, would she?

  My stomach flips over. If by some shocking turn of events Kat was actually telling the truth when she said she wouldn’t marry me if I were the last man on earth, if she truly doesn’t want all the “hoopla” of a wedding, if marriage truly isn’t something she yearns for in the depths of her soul—or, at least, not marriage with me—then I truly don’t think I’d survive the rejection.

  My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I pull it out of my pocket.

  “The eagle has landed,” Henn writes. “The fucker’s at his house. Go straight there. No Plan B required.”

  “Well, how considerate of him to be home in time for my visit,” I write.

  “Can you talk?” Henn writes.

  I look down at Kat. Her mouth is hanging open and she’s drooling. “Calling now,” I write.

  “Yo,” Henn says when he picks up my call.

  “Nice of the bastard to be sitting at home, waiting for me,” I reply softly.

  “He’s always home at this time of day after a round of golf at the country club. But just to make double-damn sure he was gonna be there for you today, he might have received a VIP-invitation to a live chat with his favorite porn star. Wink.”

  “Fucking genius.”

  “So I’ve been told. How close are you?”

  I glance at Kat, making sure she’s not overhearing any of this, and she’s snoozing like she’s been cold-cocked. “We’re in the limo now,” I say quietly. “I’d say we’re about fifteen minutes out.”

  “Cool. The dude’s not going anywhere. He’s watching a gangbang-bukkake-porno on his iPad while simultaneously live-chatting with a porn star on his laptop.”

  “He’s double-fisting porn?” I ask.

  Henn laughs. “I think he might have an addiction.”

  “Ya think?” I say.

  “So, hey, I went through the dude’s computer like you asked me to,” Henn says. “You were right—he’s totally cheating on his wife. Like, compulsively.”

  “Yeah, I figured. A leopard doesn’t change his spots.”

  “The guy’s a scumbag,” Henn says. “I literally hate him.”

  “Welcome to the club,” I say.

  “I went through his wife’s phone and laptop just to get the lay of the land and she’s a total sweetheart—a genuinely good person. Clearly, she’s got no idea who she’s married to.”

  “Not surprised at all.”

  “So are you gonna rat him out?”

  “I wish I could so badly—but, no, I wasn’t planning to, for the sake of the wife.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s the right call. It’s not really our place to ruin her life. But it kills me. They’re trying to have a baby—doing hard-core fertility treatments. I hope one way or another she finds out she’s married to a cheating scumbag before she gets pregnant with the guy’s kid.”

  “So you think we should rat him out, after all?” I ask.

  “No,” Henn says. “It’s really not our place, man. That’s not the mission.”

  I sigh. “Damn. I would have loved to decimate that cocksucker in every conceivable way.”

  “Oh, well. I guess even a guy as awesome as you can’t have everything, Josh.”

  I look down at Kat’s beautiful, sleeping face. “Actually, I’m beginning to think he can.”

  “Wait. So you do wanna tell the wife about his extracurricular activities?”

  “No, sorry. I wasn’t referring to ratting him out. Kat’s asleep on me. I was looking at her face when I said that.”

  “Oh, well, I can see why you’d say that, then.”

  “Kat’s totally drooling right now,” I say, chuckling.

  Henn laughs. “Yeah, but I bet it’s really pretty drool.”

  “Actually, it is.” I smile to myself. “Okay, yeah, I agree,” I say. “We don’t tell the wife she’s married to the world’s biggest scumbag.”

  “Not today, anyway. I might not be able to control myself tomorrow. I make no promises.”

  “Hey, you gotta follow your conscience, baby,” I say. “I trust you. But just not today.”

  “Okay. Got it, boss.”

  “So can we somehow make sure the wife’s not there when Kat and I arrive?”

  “You should be good. Her iPhone says she’s got an appointment at a hair salon ten miles from their house. She left about fifteen minutes ago. Don’t women’s hair appointments at hoity-toity salons take at least an hour or so? Her appointment’s at one of those really fancy places where they give you cucumber water and wash your hair, so she should be gone a while.”

  “That’s your definition of a fancy salon?” I say. “They give you water and a shampoo?”

  “Hey, I go to Supercuts, man. What do I know?”

  “You do? Oh, I totally couldn’t tell that from looking at you, Henn.”

  Henn laughs. “So, here’s the sitch, man. When you get there, the name ‘Frank Farmer’ is on the approved visitors’ list at the guard station. Just text me when you’re there and I’ll go in and freeze the bastard’s hard drive.”

  “Will do. We’re almost there. Sit tight and wait for my signal, okay?”

  “Yup. No worries. I’ll just be sitting here, watching him watch porn,” Henn says. “Don’t you worry about a thing except bagging that babe.”

  “I’ll do my mighty best.”

  “Is that a note of anxiety I detect in your voice, boss?”

  “Yeah, this is life or death, man—I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

  “Aw, come on. You can’t fail. Just dick it up and the babe will be eating out the palm of your hand.”

  “Gee, thanks for the tip.”

  “No prob.”

  “I’ll text you when we’re there.”

  “Roger that.”

  Ten minutes later, the limo pulls up to an exclusive gated community in Del Mar, California—a wealthy seaside enclave north of San Diego—and our driver tells the security guard at the gate the name of the resident we’re here to see.

  “And what’s the visitor’s name?” the guard asks.

  “Frank Farmer,” the driver says, motioning to me in the back seat. “He should be on your list.”

  “Wait here.”

  The guard disappears into his guardhouse, presumably to look at his approved visitors’ list, and my stomach clenches sharply. But when the guy comes back out, he’s all smiles.

  “Do you know how to get there?” the guard asks my driver.

  “We have the address,” the driver replies.

  “Well, lemme just tell you: follow the main road here for two miles and then take the third right. Mr. Bennett’s house is on the left.”

  “Okay, thanks,” the driver says.

  As we cruise slowly down the main drag of the complex, I survey the McMansions lining the street, my stomach bursting with butterflies. In just a few minutes, my life will be forever changed. And I can’t wait.

  My eyes drift down to Kat, still asleep against my chest.

  It feels like a lifetime ago that Kat waltzed out of the bathroom at Jonas’ house and straight up to me like she owned me—which she did, of course, right from the start. I fought her on it, for sure, but now in retrospect it’s clear this very moment with Kat was unavoidable. My fa
te. A beautiful brick wall I’ve been barreling toward my whole fucking life.

  I nudge Kat gently. “Babe,” I whisper. “Time to wake up, beautiful.”

  Kat’s dead to the world.

  “Party Girl,” I whisper. “It’s time to party, sweetheart.” I nudge her again and she rustles.

  “Hmm?” Kat says. She lifts her head and looks around with dazed eyes.

  “It’s time to party, honey,” I say softly.

  Kat wipes the drool off her chin and gazes out the car window, just as the limo turns right onto a street lined with the same cookie-cutter mansions on the main drag.

  “Where are we?” Kat asks, stretching her long arms and looking around.

  The limo comes to a stop in front of our destination.

  “It’s a surprise,” I say. “Stay here, baby. I’m gonna set something up for us—it’ll just take a minute. While I’m doing that, you freshen up—put on some lip gloss, wipe your chin, whatever—and when you hear blaring music, come out of the limo and stand next to me, okay?”

  “What?” she asks. “Come stand next to you?”

  “Yeah, baby, when you hear blaring music, that’s your cue to come out of the limo and stand next to me.” I stroke her hair. “Freshen up your makeup, babe—make yourself extra pretty—I want you looking like a man-eater when you step out of the car, okay? And the minute you hear the music, come out and stand next to me.”

  “Okay,” she says. She grabs her makeup bag out of her duffel. “Your wish is my command, sir.”

  I grab Kat’s face and kiss her. “See you soon, my love,” I say.

  “Josh?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um. I’m really sorry, but I have to pee—like, really, really bad. Is this gonna take long, whatever it is? I’m about to explode.”

  I chuckle. Damn. I didn’t think about Kat’s constant need to pee these days when I planned this mini-porno-rom-com. I peek out the window of the car. There are definitely plenty of bushes in The Asshole’s manicured landscaping, including some fairly large bushes along the side of the house.

  “Okay, Party Girl—come with me,” I say. “We’ll find a place for you to pop a squat.”

  Kat laughs. “I’m dressed in a Carolina Herrera gown, diamonds, and Manolo Blahniks—and you’re asking me to ‘pop a squat’ behind a bush?”

  “Do you have a better plan?”

  “Well, no. I just didn’t want you to think I’m low-class.”

  “Babe, you’re the classiest broad I know. Now, come on. Let’s go take a classy piss behind a bush.”

  One Hundred Twenty

  Josh

  “Sir, do you want—?” the driver begins when Kat and I emerge from the backseat of the limo looking for a place to relieve Kat’s bursting bladder.

  The driver’s standing at the back of the car, exactly as instructed, getting ready to set up two speakers currently nestled in the trunk of the car.

  “Hang on,” I say, putting up my hand and cutting him off. “My baby-momma needs to take a quick piss before we begin. Await further instruction.”

  The driver smirks. “Yes, sir.”

  Kat and I creep around the side of the large house and quickly find a suitable bush—and while I keep a lookout, she hikes up her red dress around her hips, squats her tight little ass down, and pisses like a racehorse.

  “Ah,” she says as a loud stream of urine blasts out of her. “Delicious.”

  I laugh. “Delicious?”

  “Yes, delicious. When I have to pee really, really bad and finally get to go, it feels semi-orgasmic. Same muscles releasing, actually. Delicious.”

  “Only you, Kat,” I say, zipping down my fly and taking a quick whiz myself.

  “Wow, we’re a classy pair, aren’t we?” she says. She stands almost upright, still hiking her elegant gown up, and shakes her pelvis furiously like a wet dog after a bath.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask.

  “Shaking the extra pee off my cooch. That’s what I do when I don’t have toilet paper—the pee-pee-shake. It’s not just me, trust me—every girl who’s ever gone on a pub crawl or painted her fingernails and then realized she has to pee has resorted to the pee-pee-shake.” She straightens up.

  “You good now?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m gooood.” She shoots me two thumbs up.

  “Okay, then get your tight little ass back into the limo. Freshen up your makeup—I want you looking like you could eat a douche for breakfast, okay?—and then come out the minute you hear blaring music.”

  “And stand next to you. I got it, Playboy.” She smiles and looks around. “Where are we, by the way? Who lives here?”

  “No questions. Now go.”

  Kat shoots me an adorable smile and traipses back to the limo—and the minute she closes the car door behind her, I powwow with the driver at the opened trunk.

  “You want both speakers aimed at the house?” the driver asks.

  “Yep,” I say. “The song’s all cued up on my phone and connected to the speakers via Blue Tooth. Just point the speakers at the house and press play on the song at my signal.”

  “Yes, sir.” He holds his hand out for my phone.

  “Hang on,” I say. I tap out a quick text to Henn. “In exactly three minutes, do your thing,” I write.

  “You got it,” Henn replies.

  “Here you go,” I say, handing my phone to the driver. “The song’s all cued up.”

  Three minutes later, I grab my trusty Walmart boom box out of the trunk of the car, position myself on the porch of our host’s McMansion, make quadruple sure the ring box is still in my pocket (it is), raise the boom box over my head, and, finally, with a curt nod, cue the driver.

  Here we go.

  Whitney Houston begins belting out “I Will Always Love You” at full volume—so fucking loud, in fact, my molars feel like they’re one high-note away from popping out of my head.

  My pulse is pounding in my ears.

  My hands are shaking.

  This is it. Oh my God. The love of my life is about to come out of that white limo and, hopefully, make me the luckiest man in the world.

  The door to the limo opens. And there she is. Kat—my fantasy sprung to life, looking as gorgeous as ever... and utterly confused. But when Kat’s eyes land on me and she sees the CD player over my head, her face contorts with instant glee. She sprints toward me as fast as her heels will allow, her eyes glistening, her cheeks flushed. Just before she reaches me, I put my makeshift boom box on the ground and open my arms to her.

  “I love you,” Kat cries, barreling into my arms. “I love you so much.”

  I kiss her passionately, devouring her, lost in her—until the sound of an aggravated male voice behind us, shouting over the music, breaks us apart.

  “What the fuck is this?” the voice shouts behind us. “Turn that music off and get your shit off my—”

  “Garrett?” Kat blurts, obviously floored. She looks at me, her mouth agape, apparently trying to make sense of this incomprehensible ghost from her past. “This is your house?”

  “Kat?” Garrett yells above the blaring music, obviously as shocked to see Kat as she is to see him. “What are you doing here?”

  I motion to the driver to cut the music and he does.

  “Hey, Garrett Asshole Bennett,” I say smoothly, my voice cutting through the sudden silence. “Sorry for the interruption—I know you were busy inside wacking off to gangbang-bukkake-porn, but Kat and I have some important business to attend to and it requires your participation. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes at the outside.”

  Garrett looks absolutely blindsided. “What?” he chokes out. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Frank Farmer,” I say.

  Kat’s face lights up at the mention of my code name. (It should, for fuck’s sake—the woman’s only seen The Bodyguard twenty fucking times.)

  “I believe you’re acquainted with my baby-momma, Kat?” I continue.

&nb
sp; Garrett stares at me dumbly.

  “We came here today because there’s something important I want to ask Kat—and I thought it’d be extra special for her if I asked her this particular question in front of you.”

  Kat lets out a little yelp, perhaps realizing where this thing is headed.

  “So I’d really appreciate it if you’d stay put and listen carefully to everything I’m about to say to her,” I continue. “And when I’m done asking Kat my important question, we’ll leave you alone so you can continue watching your hardcore porn and cheating on your wife with hookers and the bookkeeper at your church and the waitress at your country club.”

  “Who are you?” Garrett blurts, his face ashen.

  “I told you, I’m Frank Farmer,” I say. “And you’re gonna stay put and listen to everything I’m about to say to this gorgeous woman, or I’m gonna make your life a living fucking hell.” I look at my watch. “We’d better get started, Garrett. We don’t have that much time before your wife gets home from her hair appointment and I have no desire for her to hear any of this.”

  “Fuck you,” Garrett blurts. “Get off my property or I’ll call the police.”

  I take a menacing step forward, my fists clenched, and Garrett flinches.

  “You’re not in any position to fuck me, cocksucker,” I say. “If anyone’s getting fucked today, trust me, it’s gonna be you. Now I want you to listen patiently to every word I have to say to this gorgeous creature, especially the grand finale at the end, because if you don’t, a certain photo that’s frozen on your laptop screen right now will be blasted to every single person on the email lists for your church and country club, not to mention your senator-daddy’s campaign-donor list, too. Feel free to run inside and check out the image on your laptop right now if you don’t believe me. We’ll wait.”

  Garrett’s face twists in shock. He opens his mouth and shuts it again, but he doesn’t move from his spot on his doorstep.

  “Good boy.” I look at Kat and smile. She looks like her head’s about to pop off. I take her hands in mine. “Kat, this motherfucker here once said you’re not ‘marriage material.’ But I’m here to tell you that you are. In fact, you’re not just ‘marriage material’ in general for some lucky guy, my love—you’re specifically marriage material for me.”