by Lauren Rowe
“I was completely shocked—and then I was even more shocked when we drove up to that big ol’ house and Mariela came out. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
“Dude, me, too—I thought I was gonna keel over in shock.”
“For so long, I always thought, ‘If Mariela passed me on the street, would I recognize her?’” Jonas says. “All through the years, whenever I’d see a Latina woman of the right age walking by, I’d think, ‘Could that be Mariela?’ But then, the minute I actually saw the real thing, there was no doubt it was her—a thousand memories instantly came rushing back to me.”
“I didn’t recognize her physically so much as I recognized her...” I trail off, searching for the right word. “Her soul? Is that a totally Jonas Faraday thing to say?”
Jonas chuckles. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re actually referencing Plato’s theory of forms without realizing it. Plato said when we see something in the physical realm with our eyes, we’re seeing the imperfect form of it—because nothing’s perfect in the physical world—but your soul is nonetheless able to recognize it, despite its imperfections, because it innately knows the thing’s divine original form from the ideal realm.” He pauses briefly. “I think for both of us, Mariela was our divine original form of nurturing—an ideal form of safety and affection and love—and our souls recognized her instantly, even if our eyes didn’t.”
I smile at Jonas. There’s just no one like my brother. “Makes perfect sense to me,” I say.
Jonas smiles.
“Hey, did you catch her scent?” I say, taking in a deep breath through my nose. “I didn’t even know I remembered that scent, but the minute Mariela hugged me, I instantly remembered how she used to rock us to sleep in that big rocking chair—remember that?—and I’d nuzzle my nose into her neck and breathe in that flowery scent.”
Jonas shakes his head in apparent awe. “It’s amazing what the brain retains that we don’t even realize on a conscious level.” He drinks his beer. “When Mariela hugged me and called me Jonasito today, I felt like I’d traveled back in a time machine to when I was seven years old.”
I sip my beer and consider that concept for a minute. “Dude,” I say. “I’m thinking deep thoughts about the illusion of time and the infinite nature of love. Make it stop, Jonas. Please. My head hurts.”
“Jesus, Josh. You can’t be thinking deep thoughts like that—you’ll fuck up the entire world order.”
I smirk. “Okay. Phew. I’m thinking about motorboating pretty titties now. I’m good.”
Jonas laughs. “That was a close call. God help us if you created some sort of butterfly effect and fucked us all.”
“Seriously. That was truly scary.”
“Don’t do anything like that again,” Jonas warns. “You’ve still got five days in Argentina with your pregnant girlfriend after this—for fuck’s sake, don’t injure yourself, man, especially if your unicorn’s on a hot streak.”
“Hey, that reminds me,” I say. I peek toward the bedroom. This is the first time I’ve been alone with Jonas since the wedding—and his use of the word “girlfriend” just reminded me I haven’t told him about my plan to ask Kat to marry me. I glance toward the bedroom again to make sure Kat’s not coming out. “Hey, at your wedding, I had this epiphany that slammed me like a ton of bricks, man,” I begin.
The girls let out a collective sigh followed by a cheer in the other room and I glance at the door again.
“When we get home,” I say, “I’m gonna ask Kat to—”
Sarah and Kat burst out of the bedroom, both of them sobbing, and I abruptly shut my mouth.
“Oh my gawd,” Sarah bawls, wiping her eyes. “Best movie ever.”
“Ever, ever, ever!” Kat agrees, tears streaming down her beautiful face. She hands my iPad to me. “Thank you, babe. Oh my gawd. I loved it.”
“One of my all-time faves,” Sarah says.
“Me, too. Top ten for sure. Maybe even top five.”
“Fo shizzle pops.” Sarah plops herself onto Jonas’ lap. “Hello, hunky monkey husband.”
“Hello, wife.”
Kat follows suit and plops herself down onto my lap, too. “Hey, PB,” she says
“Hey, PG,” I reply, my heart panging. Shit. If ever there was a time when our Playboy-Party-Girl nicknames felt woefully insufficient, it’s right now. Ever since Jonas and Sarah’s wedding, I’ve been chomping at the bit to call Kat my wife, and with each passing day, my desire becomes more and more urgent. “What movie were you two watching in there?” I ask. “It sounded like you were watching Schindler’s List.”
“Oh, no, it was a romantic comedy.”
Jonas and I share a chuckle.
“About Time,” Sarah says reverently. “Oh my gawd. Have you seen it?”
“Never heard of it,” I say.
“You gotta see it,” Kat says. “The girl from The Notebook is in it. Have you seen The Notebook?”
I shake my head.
“Oh. Well, did you see Love Actually? You know the rock-star-British guy in that one?”
“Dude, unless Seth Rogan or Will Ferrell or Adam Sandler is in a movie, it’s a good bet I haven’t seen it.”
Kat rolls her eyes. “Do you know the red-haired guy from the Harry Potter movies?” Kat asks.
“Well, of course,” I say. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“But not the one who played Ron Weasley,” Sarah interjects. “The redheaded guy who played his older brother.”
Kat swats my arm. “The guy in Ex Machina.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah?”
“He’s the main guy in this one and he’s so cute—”
“So cute,” Sarah agrees.
“And he figures out he can time-travel by going into a closet and then he meets The Notebook girl and—what’s her name, Sarah?”
“Rachel McAdams. She’s so cute.”
“So cute. So, anyway, I won’t spoil it for you, in case you ever wanna watch it but it’s so good.” Kat lets out a long, swooning sigh.
Sarah mimics Kat’s swooning sigh. “So good,” she agrees.
Jonas and I exchange a look. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck either of these two women have said for the past three minutes—I pretty much tuned out after Kat said the words The Notebook—but, damn, both of these girls are fucking adorable.
Clearly, Jonas agrees with my assessment because he’s begun nuzzling Sarah’s neck and whispering to her.
Sarah makes a sound of sheer happiness. “Oh, how I love you, hubster,” she breathes.
“Oh, how I love you, Mrs. Faraday,” Jonas replies.
Sarah runs her hand through Jonas’ hair. “I’ll never forget the look on your face when you saw Mariela today. You were beautiful, love.”
“Thank you for arranging that for me. I’ll never forget it.”
“Yeah, thank you, Sarah Cruz,” I say. “I’ll never forget today as long as I live. It was amazing.”
“It was my pleasure. It warmed my heart to see the Faraday boys looking so happy.”
“Mariela had quite a house, didn’t she?” Kat says. “I’d say Mariela’s livin’ large in the ol’ Vee-Zee, baby.”
“Half a million bucks goes a really long way here,” Jonas says, referring to the finder’s fee money we secured for Mariela (along with equal shares for Sarah’s mom, Jonas’ friend Georgia, and Miss Westbrook).
Sarah whispers something into Jonas’ ear and he kisses her tenderly.
I look away from them and I’m met with Kat’s intense gaze. Oh. I know that look—it means my unicorn’s feeling frisky.
Kat runs her fingertip over my bottom lip. “Are you all done with your work, honey pot pie?” she whispers.
I chuckle. “Someone’s been hanging out with Sarah Weirdo Cruz today.”
Kat giggles. “Yeah, that was extremely Sarah-Cruz-ish, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was. And, yes, I’m all done with my work.” I stick out my tongue and lick the tip of Kat’s
finger. “I’m all yours for the rest of the night, hot momma.”
Kat presses her forehead against mine. “Mike Wazowski,” she whispers.
I grin.
Kat presses her lips against my ear and whispers softly, “I’m so frickin’ horny, I’m gonna blow.”
“God, I love pregnancy hormones,” I whisper back.
Kat smiles.
Out of nowhere, Jonas makes a kind of growling noise and abruptly stands with Sarah in his arms, lifting her like a rag doll. “Good night, guys,” he says. “It seems Mrs. Faraday and I have a date with a Venezuelan mattress. Come on, wife.” Without waiting for our reply, Jonas barrels away like the gorilla he is, happily carrying his love-monkey-bride in his protective arms.
“Good night, guys!” Sarah calls to us, just before their bedroom door closes with an emphatic thud.
“Those two are so freaking cute,” Kat says.
My stomach clenches with envy. Fuck me. I want to say, “Come on, wife!” to Kat, exactly the way Jonas just said that to Sarah. And, fuck me, I want to say “Mrs. Faraday and I have a date with a Venezuelan mattress!” too, even if, yes, that’s a supremely cheesy thing to say. Shit. At least fifty times this past week in Brazil, I almost blurted, “Will you marry me, Kat?” But I refrained every time—of course, I did—because the sane part of my brain knows I’ve already asked Kat to marry me without a ring or ironclad plan in place and that she replied, “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.” So, obviously, another spontaneous (flop-dick) proposal ain’t gonna cut it a second time around.
Kat skims her lips against mine, yanking me out of my thoughts, and I slip my tongue eagerly into her mouth. In reply, she presses herself into my hard-on.
“How are you feeling, beautiful?” I ask, kissing her softly.
“Good,” she says. “I didn’t barf once today.”
“Wow,” I whisper. “Sexy. You know I can’t resist a woman who doesn’t barf.”
“One might even say it’s your Achilles’ heel, although I seem to recall you’re also quite willing to fuck a woman who barfs on your shoes.”
“Not ‘a woman’ who barfs on my shoes,” I say. “Only you.”
“Sweet-talker.”
“Okay. Enough chitty-chat,” I declare suddenly. I stand and swoop Kat into my arms, and Kat practically growls with excitement. “It’s time to put those pregnancy hormones of yours to maximum use, Party Girl.”
Chapter 30
Kat
“I’ve got a present for you,” I coo as Josh lays me down on the bed.
“Oh yeah?” Josh pulls off his shirt, revealing his gloriously muscled and tattooed torso.
“Oh my God,” I say, ogling him.
Josh pulls down his pants and briefs, letting his straining donkey-dick spring free.
“Sweet Baby Jesus,” I blurt. “I feel like my clit’s a lawnmower and you just yanked its starter-cord.”
Josh smiles wickedly. “Oh, the things I’m gonna do to you, hot momma.” He advances on me like a panther.
“Wait. Close your eyes.”
Josh exhales like I’ve asked him to stop and change the oil in my car. “You’re killing me, Smalls,” he says.
“Close ’em, Playboy. I’ve got a surprise for you. It’ll take five seconds and then you can do whatever you please to me.”
Josh settles onto his knees next to me, his naked body taut, his erection massive. “You’ve got twenty seconds and then I can’t be held responsible for what this dick might do to you.”
I pull my sundress off, revealing my leopard-print-electric-blue bra and undies underneath, and carefully cover my hipbone with my palm.
“Okay,” I say. “Open.”
Josh opens his eyes. “Great surprise. You’re gorgeous. Now lie back.” He pushes me back gently.
“No, you fool,” I say. “I haven’t shown you the surprise yet.”
Josh exhales again.
“You ready?” I ask.
Josh motions to his straining dick in reply.
I bite my lip and remove my hand, revealing the temporary “tattoo” Sarah drew on my hip with a Sharpie pen while we watched About Time in the other room. “For you, Playboy,” I say, unveiling the famous Playboy-rabbit-head-logo drawn onto my hip. “I can’t get a tattoo while pregnant—apparently, there’s a risk of infection or whatever—but I finally figured out what I’m gonna do for my second tattoo after the baby’s born.”
Josh’s hard-on visibly twitches. “Aw, you’re gonna get a boyfriend tattoo?”
I nod.
Josh’s sapphire eyes smolder. “Sounds pretty serious, babe.”
“Oh, it is—as serious as it can be.”
Josh advances on me slowly, his taut muscles flexing, his hard-on huge, and slowly pushes me onto my back. He deftly removes my bra and, the minute my breasts bounce free, he buries his face into my cleavage and motorboats my boobs, making me giggle.
“I’ll be damned, your pretty titties might actually be getting a little bit bigger, babe,” he says.
I look down at myself. “Really?”
“Maybe. Lemme double check.” He takes my left nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and around.
I let out a soft moan.
“Yeah, definitely,” he says. He runs his palm over my belly. “And you’re a tiny bit rounder here, too, I think.”
My heart lurches into my mouth with excitement. “You really think so?” I sit up, completely distracted from our imminent fuckery. “Do you think I’m finally pooching?” I look down and poke myself with my fingertip.
“Lie back down, babe,” Josh says, pushing me back. “I’ll examine you and let you know for sure.”
I stare down at myself. “I think you might be right. Look.” I poke my belly again and there’s definitely a little pooch under my fingertip. “I put on my favorite skirt this morning and it didn’t fit quite right but I thought I was imagining it.”
Josh pushes gently on my shoulders again. “Lie back, beautiful.”
“By the end of this trip, nothing I packed is gonna fit right,” I say, my skin buzzing. “I’m probably gonna need maternity clothes any day now, babe, and I didn’t pack any.”
“Lie back, hot momma,” Josh persists. “We’ll go shopping in Buenos Aires if we need to—surely, there are pregnant women there, too. Relax.” He peels off my undies while licking my neck and firmly pushes me back onto the bed.
“Do you really think I’m showing?” I breathe.
“Oh yeah.” He licks my ear and slides his fingers between my legs. “Definitely. What fruit is the baby now?”
“A lemon.”
“A lemon?” He shudders like I just said a dirty word. “God-damn, I’ve got a pregnant-woman fetish these days.” His fingers are massaging me. His lips are on mine. His tongue is in my mouth. “My sexy little baby-momma,” he whispers.
He begins trailing kisses down my body, heading slowly toward my bull’s-eye—and when his warm, wet tongue finally reaches my clit, I arch my back and exhale, settling in for what’s surely going to be a delicious ride. But just as Josh’s mouth begins devouring me in earnest, the unmistakable sound of Sarah having an orgasm in the other bedroom wafts into our room. The sound is muffled, and oddly restrained, like Sarah’s trying her damnedest to be quiet but utterly failing.
Josh lifts his head and looks at me, a smirk on his gorgeous face, and we both giggle. “Sounds like they’re having fun.”
I snort.
Josh sits up, his eyes dark with desire. “You wanna play a game, Party Girl?”
I bite my lip. “What kind of game?”
Josh lies alongside me, grabs a pillow, and places it under his head. He licks his lips. “Have a seat, babe.” He waggles his tongue at me, making my clit flutter.
“That’s the game?” I ask. “I sit on your face?”
“No, the game is you sit on my face and try not to scream the way Sarah just did. If you scream, I win—if you don’t, you win
.”
I smirk. “Am I trying not to come—or trying not to scream when I do?”
“Oh, you’re gonna come—there’s no doubt about that.” He licks his lips with an exaggerated motion. “In fact, I’m gonna eat your pussy ’til I make it rain.” He snickers. “And good fucking luck not screaming through that.”
“Babe, the walls are so thin. I have no desire for Jonas and Sarah to hear me climaxing.”
Josh shrugs. “So does that mean you accept my challenge?”
“Of course. And I assure you, I’m gonna win. I’m a sniper, baby—total control.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“What do I get when I win?”
“If you can squirt without waking half of Caracas, then I’ll be your sex slave for the rest of the night. Command me as you please, hot momma.” He begins stroking his erection, a pervy gleam in his eye. “But if I make you scream louder than Sarah just did, then you’re all mine, every fucking inch of you, for the rest of the trip.”
I giggle. “Sounds like I’m gonna come out a winner in this game either way.”
Josh adjusts the angle of the pillow under his head and makes a loud smacking sound like he’s calling a horse. “Come on, m’lady—hop aboard your valiant steed. I’m thirsty for some lemonade.”
“Oh my God, Josh. That’s disgusting.”
He laughs and continues stroking his hard-on.
“You really are a sick fuck, you know that?” I say, crawling over his face.
“Yes, I am.”
After positioning myself carefully over Josh’s beautiful mouth, I lower myself onto his lips and immediately sigh with pleasure at the sensation of his warm tongue penetrating me. “Oh, God,” I say. “That’s so good, babe.”
Josh growls underneath me and slides his finger into my ass and I jerk my pelvis against him like I’m slowly fucking his face. Within minutes, my skin pricks with goose bumps and my toes curl—and it’s quite clear to me I’m gonna lose this goddamned bet. Oh, God, yes, I’m gonna lose this motherfucking bet by a landslide—which means, of course, I’m gonna win.
“I love you,” I breathe, my pleasure ramping up. “Oh my God, yes, babe—oh, my fucking-motherfucker-fuck. Yes.” I bite the tip of my finger, trying to relieve the pressure rising inside me, but it’s no use. This is just too freaking good. Oh my God, yes.