by Lauren Rowe
My heart is breaking. What have I done?
“Babe, you’re totally misunderstanding the situation,” I say. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now it’s poker chip time. Enjoy it. This is your biggest fantasy.”
“Come on, Rachel!” the DJ calls. “Come on up here with your bodyguard!”
Kat looks down at the poker chip in her palm, a pained look in her eyes, and it’s abundantly clear acting out her bodyguard fantasy is the last thing on her mind.
I pull the scarf out of my pants and hold it up, trying to make her smile. My heart is beating a mile a minute. I’ve fucked up. Oh, fuck me, I’ve royally fucked up. I’ve got to get control of the situation. Make it better. I’ve got to charm her back to being Happy Kat.
“Remember the last scene of the movie—when Whitney wears the scarf on her head?” I coo. “I brought the scarf for you, babe. So you could look just like her.”
Kat’s dumbstruck. She looks at the poker chip in her hand again, tears filling her eyes.
“Kat, come on—be my Whitney, baby. I’ve got it all planned. We’re doing the song here and then I rented an entire laser tag place for the six of us. It’ll be everyone else against you and me, baby, all night long—I’ll protect you. I’ll be your bodyguard.”
“Rachel?” the DJ says. “Are you coming or not? Your fans are waiting. Last chance.”
“Sing here, then laser tag, and then I’ll take you home and let my feelings override my stoic sense of duty.” I smile, trying my damnedest to charm her.
“Rachel? Last call.”
She abruptly snatches the scarf out of my hand, wraps it around her head a la Whitney, and marches in a huff toward the stage, determined.
Thank God. She’s playing along. This is gonna be okay. That’s my girl. She’ll understand when I explain it to her. She’ll totally understand. I let out a huge sigh of relief, slide my sunglasses on, and follow my beautiful Whitney to the stage, my heart pounding in my ears.
Chapter 38
Kat
Everyone in the place is cheering and banging on their tables. But I’m in a daze. I can’t think straight. Josh is moving to Seattle? That’s incredibly awesome news. I’m ecstatic about it. But why didn’t he tell me about it? Was he planning to surprise me—the way he burst into his bathroom wearing a ski mask?
Josh places a chair at center stage for me—and I position myself onto it exactly the way Whitney sits on a chair in the snow in the music video—and then Josh fusses with the scarf around my head, making it Whitney-with-a-broken-heart-on-the-private-airplane-perfect, and everyone in the place laughs and hoots, totally loving the set-up. When he’s done with me, Josh turns to the audience and makes a big point of sweeping the crowd for snipers and wackjobs—and everyone slurps him up like a tray of Jell-O shots.
The music starts.
I’m in automatic pilot. I’ve heard this song ten million times. I don’t even need to think to sing it.
There’s got to be a logical explanation why Josh didn’t tell me about his move that has nothing to do with him intending to break up with me when he moves here. He had to have his reasons. Good reasons. The fact that he didn’t tell me doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be with me. There’s got to be another logical reason. But I can’t think what it could be. What other reason could there possibly be except that Josh doesn’t want to be with me when he moves to Seattle?
Tears fill my eyes. Why doesn’t he want to be with me? I want to be with him more than anything. More than I want literally anything else. I think it’s fair to say I want to be with Josh more than I want to breathe.
I pick up the microphone.
Maybe he was just gonna surprise me with the news—and Jonas let the cat out of the bag? But, no. I saw Josh’s face when Jonas spilled the beans. He didn’t look like a guy whose happy surprise got unwittingly spilled by his brother. He looked like a guy who just got busted on something—a guy whose cover just got blown.
The teleprompter begins scrolling the words to the song, and, even though I have no desire to sing it right now, my mouth begins half-heartedly mumble-singing the first lines. But the words are slaying me. They’re too close to home. They’re about Whitney having no choice but to leave her lover. She loves him, but she’s got to go. It’s just the way it is.
Everyone’s cheering uproariously. As far as they’re concerned, I’m giving the performance of a lifetime—an emotion-packed Whitney-tribute.
I yank the scarf off my head. Fucking scarf. Why the fuck am I doing this? I don’t want to role-play a freakin’ fantasy right now. I wanna talk to Josh in real-life. I wanna know why he didn’t tell me.
The teleprompter reaches the words of the chorus—the words I’ve been singing at the top of my lungs in the shower since I was ten years old.
I look at Josh. He’s standing stock-still, no longer playing his part. He’s looking at me with the same expression he had when I opened my door to him in Las Vegas after reading his application.
My eyes drift to the teleprompter again, though I certainly don’t need it to know the lyrics.
I can’t sing these words to Josh. Not like this. These are sacred words—magic words. The words I’d planned to say to Josh later tonight when we were all alone in my bed.
The words I’d planned to say when I thought Josh loved me, too, but just didn’t know how to say it. And now, suddenly, I realize he doesn’t feel the way I do.
Without conscious thought, I toss the scarf into the air, letting it flutter to the ground, bolt out of my chair, and sprint out the front doors of the bar, ugly tears streaming down my face.
Chapter 39
Josh
“Kat!” I yell. She doesn’t turn around. The night air is chilly, but my skin is blazing hot. This is a fucking catastrophe. “Kat!” I yell again, my voice strained.
She whips around to face me, heat wafting off her skin. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she blurts, tears streaming down her cheeks.
My heart is physically pained at the sight of her. I grab her shoulders, desperate to make her understand. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. Just listen to me, okay?”
“You put your house on the market three weeks ago—you’ve obviously known for a while.”
I exhale. “I only decided for sure about a month ago.”
She throws up her hands.
“But I’m not moving for two or three months,” I say. “I can’t move until I’ve got everything squared away with Faraday & Sons.”
Her expression is a wicked combination of devastation and fury.
“I didn’t wanna say anything until it was closer,” I say soothingly. “That’s all. I was gonna tell you. Just later.”
She clenches her jaw. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why wait ’til later to tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to get your hopes up if...” I stop. I can already tell this isn’t gonna go over well. Oh shit. I’m fucked.
“If what?”
I pause.
“If what?”
“If things didn’t work out. Between. Us.”
There’s an excruciating silence.
“Let me see if I understand this,” she says. “Standing here right now you’re not one hundred percent sure you wanna be with me two months from now?”
I throw up my hands. “Well, shit. When you say it like that, it sounds horrible. But, yeah, I just wanted to wait until I was sure I wasn’t gonna get your hopes up and then somehow, you know, disappoint you.”
She blinks and huge, fat tears streak out her eyes and down her beautiful cheeks.
“Kat, please,” I say, my voice quavering. My eyes are burning. I close them and compose myself for a beat. “It’s no reflection on how I feel about you. I think you’re amazing. And gorgeous. Funny. Smart. Sweet. I think about you night and day—that’s why I came to Seattle early. I’ve never had so much fun in my life as I have with you.”
Oh shit. Some
thing I just said lit her fuse—and not in a good way.
“Fun?” she spits out, utterly enraged.
I roll my eyes. “Did you hear anything else I said? Fun was the very last thing I said—after saying a bunch of other really awesome things. And, by the way, saying you’re fun is a huge compliment.”
“Oh, thanks for the compliment. Makes me feel great. You can always count on Kat for a little fun.” She wipes her eyes, but it’s pointless—tears are streaming out.
I look up to the night sky and roll my entire head in frustration. This is so fucking horrific. I can’t believe she’s overreacting like this. She’s so fucking temperamental, I swear to God. “This is spiraling way out of control,” I say. “How much have you had to drink? Are you drunk?”
“No, I’m not drunk. I’ve hardly had a drop.”
“Well, you’re acting drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m pissed. And hurt. Deeply hurt.”
“Why the fuck are you ‘deeply hurt’? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I’m moving, but I’m not gonna apologize for saying I’m having fun with you—because I am.”
“I was gonna bring you home to meet my family, Josh,” she says, her eyes watering and her voice cracking. “I obviously can’t do that if all we’re doing is having fun.”
“What the fuck? You’re not gonna let me come meet your family now? You’re uninviting me from the birthday party?” Now I’m pissed. That goddamned party is the whole reason I flew the fuck up to Seattle in the first place.
She’s in full terrorist mode. “I’ve brought a grand total of three guys home to meet my family, Josh. Three. And the last one didn’t work out so well. Colby sniffed Garrett out like a St. Bernard tracking a lost skier. Colby knew Garrett was with me for nothing but fun while I was in it for a whole lot more. I’m not gonna subject myself to that ever again.”
I’m speechless. She’s comparing me to Garrett Bennett? She thinks I’m using her? Could she possibly believe that, after everything we’ve been through together? After everything I’ve said and done to make my feelings clear?
“That was such a low blow,” I say between gritted teeth.
“Why is that a low blow? You can’t imagine dating me eight measly weeks from now,” she seethes. “Fifty-two days. My family would know you’re not in it for the long-haul—especially Colby—and they’d eat you for breakfast.”
“Shit, Kat. Motherfucker. I fucked up, okay?” My voice cracks. I press my lips together, regaining my composure. I wait. My eyes are stinging. I take a deep breath and push everything down. “I should have told you, okay? I’m sorry. But you’re reading way too much into this. I’m not Garrett-Bennetting you. You can’t seriously believe that.”
She shrugs.
“What did that fucker say to you, again?”
“He said I’m fun.”
“No, the other thing.”
“He basically called me a slut.”
“But what were his exact words?”
She shifts her weight. “He said I’m not ‘marriage material.’”
I close my eyes and shake my head. I’m an idiot. This is Kat’s Achilles’ heel—her Kryptonite—and I’ve served it up to her on a silver platter.
“Listen to me, babe.” I grab her shoulders and look into her eyes. “I never said I don’t wanna be with you eight weeks from now. All I said was I can’t make promises about the future. But that’s only because nothing’s for sure in life—it has nothing to do with you, personally. That’s a factual statement. Anything can happen. But right now do I want to be with you? Yes. So bad it hurts—that’s why I came to Seattle early.”
Yet another battery of tears springs into her beautiful blue eyes.
“Kat, please, trust me. I’m crazy about you. It’s just that, except when it comes to business, I take things a day at a time. It’s all I can handle—” I have to stop. If I say anymore, I’m gonna lose it. My eyes are burning.
“I don’t wanna be some kind of glorified booty call,” she says softly.
“What? Did you hear a word I said? I think maybe you’re clinically insane. Or maybe you’re PMSing or something because that’s the furthest thing—”
She makes a sound that can only be described as prehistoric, making me stop dead in my tracks.
“I’m not PMSing! I’m crying because you hurt my frickin’ feelings—not because I have ovaries. You’re the one who can’t imagine dating me fifty-two freakin’ days from now, so don’t try to worm out of your assholery by playing the PMS card!”
Her nostrils are flaring. Her eyes are wild. She looks like a fucking dragon.
“Oh my fucking God,” I say. “You’re overreacting. Again.”
“No, I’m not overreacting. You didn’t tell the girl you’re supposedly ‘addicted to’ you’re moving to her frickin’ city in eight weeks! How’d you expect me to find out? By bumping into you at Whole Foods?”
I look up to the sky, biting my lip. She’s pissing me off. I should have told her, yes, but she’s making mountains out of molehills. “Yes, Kat. You guessed it,” I say. “I was gonna wait to tell you until after we’d bumped into each other at Whole Foods.”
She abruptly turns around and marches away from me. “I’m going home,” she says.
I roll my eyes at her backside. Her purse and phone are inside the bar and I’m the one who drove her here. How the fuck does she plan to go home? Déjà fucking vu. We might as well be in another hotel hallway right now. For a split second, the image of her dripping wet ass cheeks stomping down the hallway after Reed’s party flashes across my mind and I smile. She’s a handful, this one—never a dull moment.
“Wait,” I command.
She doesn’t wait.
“Wait.”
“Enjoy living in Seattle,” she tosses back to me over her shoulder. “Hope you have fun.”
“Oh my God. The drama,” I say. In five easy strides, I’ve caught up to her. I grab her shoulders and turn her around and kiss her. Without hesitation, she presses herself into me, throws her arms around my neck, and surrenders to me.
I always say, when it comes to women, especially angry ones, there’s very little that can’t be fixed with a fucking awesome kiss.
We stand together, kissing like crazy for several minutes, both of us bursting with desire and emotion and arousal.
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” she whispers, abruptly pulling away from me. “I would have been bursting at the seams to tell you if the situation were reversed. You would have been the first person I would have called.”
My heart drops into my toes. When she puts it like that, I suddenly understand why she’s so upset. “Babe,” I say. “I’m just not wired to make promises about the future, that’s all. My brain doesn’t work like a normal person’s.”
“I’m not asking for promises about the future—you think eight weeks from now is ‘the future’?” Kat shakes her head and steps back from our embrace. “I’m not thinking clearly. You kiss me and I lose my mind. That’s always been my problem around you. I’m so physically attracted to you, I can’t think.” She rubs her forehead. “I think we need to take a step back. Slow things down. I think we need to find out if we actually like each other in real life. Obviously, you’re scared shitless this thing between us won’t translate to living in the same city—and maybe you’re right.” She swallows hard. “Maybe we should trust your gut.”
“What?”
“We’ve been living in a weird sort of fantasy from day one,” she continues. “First we were in Las Vegas doing our Ocean’s Eleven thing and now we fly to see each other on weekends so we can role-play imaginary-pornos and get stoned. Everything with us is nonstop excitement—fantasy. We never do normal, real-life stuff like play a board game or go to the freakin’ grocery store.” She shrugs. “Maybe you’re just addicted to excitement, and not to me, specifically. Maybe none of this is real.”
My blood is pulsing in my ears. “Kat, no. Everything I’
ve ever said or done when I’m with you is real. Always. Even our fantasies are real—that’s what’s so awesome about us—real life is a fantasy when it comes to you and me.”
“Your move to Seattle is for sure?” she asks softly.
“Yeah. I made a cash offer on a place yesterday. It’s ten minutes away from Jonas’ place.”
Kat’s face contorts. “I just can’t believe you didn’t mention that to me—especially after how many times I’ve said the long distance thing is killing me or I wish we lived in the same city.”
“I’m sorry. I was just... ” I don’t finish my sentence. There’s really no adequate way to explain why I didn’t tell her. I’m suddenly realizing I’m a complete idiot.
She sniffles. “I get it. Sarah told me to listen to your actions and not your words. Well, I guess I just heard you loud and clear. From here on out, I’ll expect nothing from you. We’ll continue to have fun with no expectations and no promise of a future. We can date other people, whatever. We’ll start from scratch. Get to know each other outside all the excitement and fantasy.”
“You wanna date other people?” I blurt, my heart exploding with panic.
“No,” she says quickly. “Not at all. I don’t want anyone but you.” Tears flood her eyes. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Well, I don’t want anyone but you, either,” I say. I clutch her to me, relief flooding me. If she’d said she wanted anyone but me, I would have lost my shit. “Kat, we both feel exactly the same way.” I kiss her temple. “Please don’t read into me not telling you. It doesn’t mean anything—we feel the same way.”
“I don’t think we do, Josh. I don’t think you realize how much... ” Her words catch in her throat. Tears spill out of her eyes. “If I’d bought a house in L.A.,” she says, “I would have been thrilled to tell you about it. I would have talked your ear off about it.”
“Kat,” I choke out. “You’re breaking my heart. I feel the way you do. I’m just not good at... saying certain things. I’m not good at committing to certain things. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel. Please, Kat. I just need time, that’s all.”