The Club

by Lauren Rowe

  “Welcome to your first day in The Jonas Faraday Club,” I say, breaking away from our kiss.

  She nods and smiles. But her smile isn’t as beaming as I was expecting it to be. Something’s off. I can feel it. Is she having second thoughts about going away with me? I thought we were past the whole “I don’t trust you because you’re incapable of forging intimate human connection” thing. Fuck. How much more upside can I possibly show her? I’m running out of ways to assure her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she breathes, throwing her arms around my neck. She hugs me close and plants a kiss on my lips that makes it abundantly clear she’s most definitely not having second thoughts about our trip. But I know I didn’t imagine the anxiety that flashed across her face a second ago.

  “Jonas,” she says, kissing me again and again. “I’ve missed you so much.” I might be crazy, but I feel like she’s about to burst into tears right here in my arms. Yeah, something’s rattling around in her beautiful head right now—but what else is new.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, making her look at me.

  She nods. “Just so glad you’re here.” She kisses me again and my entire body sizzles with electricity.

  “If you keep kissing me like this,” I mumble into her lips, “we’re not going to make our flight.”

  She pulls away from me, reluctantly. “Are you gonna tell me where we’re headed?”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” I say, holding up my index finger. “All will be revealed soon enough.” I motion to a suitcase by the front door. “This it?”

  She nods. “Oh, and this.” She grabs her laptop off the couch.

  I take the computer out of her hands and return it to the couch. “Nope.”

  “I thought maybe I’d go over my study outlines if we have any free time.”

  I smirk. We won’t have a minute of free time. Do I really need to spell that out to her?

  She blushes.

  Apparently not.

  “No computer, then,” she agrees. Her mouth twists into a what-was-I-thinking half-smile.

  “Nice to see you’re already taking instruction so well.”

  “A deal’s a deal,” she says. “I’m paying an arm and a leg to be in this club, might as well get my money’s worth.” She laughs, clearly still amused by the form of “payment” I’ve exacted from her.

  “You got your passport?” I ask.

  She pats her purse. “It came last night, just like Georgia promised.”

  “Then let’s do it.” I grab her suitcase and lead her out into the pre-dawn morning to the limo waiting at the curb. The driver comes out and stashes her suitcase in the trunk as I guide her into the backseat, memories of our last limo ride instantly rushing me when she bends over to climb in.

  “Surprise,” Josh says as she enters the car.

  She visibly startles.

  “I’m Josh,” he says, extending his hand to her as we settle into our seats. “Jonas’ brother.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she says, turning back to look at me. She’s totally confused. “I’ve seen your picture. So nice to meet you. I didn’t know . . .”

  “You mean Jonas didn’t tell you I’m joining you two on the trip?” He looks at me, appalled. “Why didn’t you tell her, bro? That wasn’t very nice of you.” He turns to Sarah. “That wasn’t very nice of him.”

  I shrug. “It must have slipped my mind.” I grab her hand. “I hope you don’t mind. Josh is a lot of fun.”

  “Oh,” she says. Damn, she’s adorable. “No, I ... That’s great.”

  “Good,” Josh says. “Because Jonas and I have so much planned for us.” He high-fives me. “Gonna be fucking awesome, bro.”

  Sarah’s speechless.

  Josh leans into her. “Jonas and I never travel without each other. Ever. It’s a twin thing.” He winks.

  She’s pale. Her hand stiffens in mine.

  Josh gazes wistfully out the window as we pull away from her apartment building. “Yeah, it’s gonna be amazing. We’ll be three peas in a pod all weekend long.”

  If I blew on her right now, she’d tip over.

  I can’t do this to her anymore, as cute as she is right now. I laugh. “We’re just fucking with you, baby,” I say.

  Her hand relaxes in mine as she exhales. She swats at my leg and laughs.

  “Unless you want me to come?” Josh says. “I mean, if you want me there, I’ll clear my calendar, no problem. Just say the word.”

  “Okay, enough, Josh. Don’t scare her away.” I turn to Sarah. Color has returned to her cheeks. She’s breathing again. “Josh has been staying with me the last few days while we’ve been working on our deal—”

  “—which we finally closed,” Josh says, finishing my sentence and looking at his watch, “about two hours ago.” He lets out a hoot of celebration and pulls out a bottle of champagne that’s chilling in ice.

  “We’re just giving Josh a lift to the airport,” I explain. “He’s catching an early flight back to L.A.”

  Josh leans into Sarah like he’s telling her a secret. “I could have taken a much later flight today, but I wanted to see the woman who’s reduced my brother to a mushy pile of goo.” Josh succeeds in opening the bottle and I wordlessly hand him three glasses.

  Sarah looks at me, clearly wondering how I feel about being called a mushy pile of goo, and I beam at her. I don’t mind it one bit. I know the truth when I hear it.

  “And you do not disappoint, Sarah Cruz,” Josh says politely, handing her a glass of champagne. “Sorry I messed with you. It won’t happen again.”

  “Ha,” I say. “Don’t believe him.”

  “Strangely, I wasn’t all that freaked out about you joining us on the trip,” she says to Josh, “but I admit the whole we-never-travel-without-each-other twin thing got me all kinds of flustered.” She takes a sip of her champagne and her eyes light up. “Yum. I’ve never had champagne this early—but, hey, I make it a policy never to turn down a glass of champagne.”

  “Duly noted,” I say, grabbing my glass from Josh.

  “All right, bro, are you gonna tell her the news or should I?” Josh asks.

  We’ve got her undivided attention. She looks anxious. Why does she think big news must be bad news?

  I squeeze her hand to reassure her. “Josh and I have been working around the clock these past few days,” I begin, my excitement barely containable, “or else I would have been beating down your door like the Big Bad Wolf, believe me.”

  “Did we ever go to bed last night?” Josh asks.

  “No, sir, we did not—though I’m slightly delirious from sleep deprivation so I can’t be sure.”

  “No, we didn’t; you’re right,” Josh says. He looks at Sarah, smiling. “We finished all the paperwork on the deal just a couple hours ago—by the hair on our chinny-chin-chins.”

  “Are you guys gonna tell me the news? I’m dying here.”

  “Why, yes, we are, My Magnificent Sarah. Patience.” I lean into her ear and whisper, “Stop begging for everything hard and fast, baby.”

  She blushes. She’s so fucking adorable.

  I clear my throat. “Raise your glasses, please.” They do, and so do I. “And, a drum roll would be awfully nice, if you would.”

  Simultaneously, Josh and Sarah begin trilling their tongues and slapping their thighs with whichever hand isn’t holding a champagne glass. Josh beams at Sarah, laughing at her exuberance. He already likes her, I can tell.

  “We are hereby celebrating a new beginning.” I shoot Sarah a look that tells her my new beginning includes her. “Sarah, you’re looking at the new owners of Climb and Conquer Indoor Rock Climbing Gyms.” My smile hurts my cheeks.

  “Oh my God,” she says, beaming. She clinks my glass and then Josh’s. “Congratulations, you guys.” She leans over and kisses me.

  “Twenty gyms in five states,” I say, my skin coursing with electricity. “It’s something we’ve wanted to do for a really long time.”

  “Something
you’ve wanted to do,” Josh corrects me. “You were always the one with the dream, bro, from day one. I’m just along for the ride.”

  “Here’s to figuring out what you want in life and going after it,” I say, my eyes fixed on Sarah. “Relentlessly.”

  She clinks my glass again and shoots me the sexiest smile she’s ever bestowed upon me.

  I wanna tear her limb from limb right now. What better way to celebrate the best day of my life? I turn to Josh. “You’re fucking awesome, man, but you’re such a cock blocker right now.”

  Josh laughs. “Sorry.”

  Sarah giggles. “It’s probably good you’re here to protect me, Josh. Jonas looks like he could turn into the Incredible Hulk right now.”

  I smirk. I am, in fact, feeling very Incredible-Hulkish right now, or actually, King-Kong-ish. Yeah, I definitely want to beat my chest, throw her over my shoulder, and climb to the top of the highest building.

  “So, is this, like, an investment, or are you two going to personally manage the gyms?” she asks.

  Josh and I look at each other. This is an unresolved subject. Josh wants to treat the venture as a passive investment—hire a couple regional managers, oversee things from afar. But I want to make the gyms my passion, the center of my universe. In fact, the minute the deal closed, I didn’t give a fuck about doing anything else, ever again. Suddenly, I felt like I’d finally figured out my life’s purpose. Fuck Faraday & Sons. I never asked to be a part of it—never wanted to be a part of it. Fuck global investments and real estate investment trusts and EBITDA and acquisitions and asset management and weighing tax consequences for every move and counter-move. Fuck it all. I just want to climb rocks and mountains and train to climb rocks and mountains and be with other people who are obsessed with climbing rocks and mountains. And then go home and climb Sarah, my own personal Mount Everest.

  “We haven’t worked out all the details yet,” I say slowly, and Josh smirks in reply. We both know how things are eventually going to shake out. I’m leaving Faraday & Sons. And soon.

  “Jonas wants to spend every single minute of the rest of his life climbing mountains,” Josh says.

  I look at Sarah, my eyes undressing her. “Not every single minute of the rest of my life.”

  She returns my gaze without flinching. After a moment, she exhales and parts her lips. Oh, yeah, she wants me, too.

  “Unless, of course, that mountain is Mount Everest. In which case, yes.” I touch her cheek.

  Her eyes are on fire.

  And, shit, just like that, my cock springs to life. If Josh weren’t here, all my careful planning for this weekend would go right out the window. Actually, it’s probably good he’s here.

  There’s an awkward silence for a moment as Sarah and I continue to stare at each other, our mutual desire sucking all available oxygen out of the limo. She touches my hand against her cheek.

  I close my eyes.

  “Oh, wow, you two are gonna burst into a giant ball of flames this weekend, huh?”

  Sarah blushes and drops her hand.

  I drop my hand, too, but I don’t take my eyes off her. “Fuck, yeah, we are,” I say. I exhale slowly. “Fuck, yeah.”

  Finally. We’re all alone. Well, as all alone as any two people can be in the first class cabin of a 737, sitting on a runway and waiting for takeoff. But, hey, it’s better than sitting in that limo with my fucking brother for another minute. He kept looking at me the way only he does, shaking his head like he’s laughing at me with just his eyes. And when the limo pulled away from the curb, he hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Bro, she’s totally worth it.” And then he winked at me.

  I didn’t know what he was referring to. She’s totally worth the effort it took to track her down? Duh. She’s totally worth the expense of hacking into Washington’s server? Of course. Or was he referring to something else—something bigger, more philosophical than any of that? Josh doesn’t usually get bogged down with philosophy or deep thoughts the way I do, so I can only assume he was talking about the hack job. But I’m not sure. Regardless, after the hug, he just gave me that smart-ass wink of his, hugged Sarah goodbye, and marched off in the direction of his flight with the kind of swagger only a guy as fucking awesome as he is could ever pull off.

  As our airplane lifts off the runway, I grab Sarah’s hand and she rests her head on my shoulder. She’s trembling.

  “You afraid of flying?” I whisper into her hair.

  She shrugs but doesn’t say anything.

  We’re quiet for several minutes as the plane reaches its flying altitude.

  I know it’s inhumanely early in the morning, and she said she didn’t sleep a wink last night, but still—she seems unusually quiet, like something’s troubling her. Is it just being on an airplane? I doubt it, but I don’t want to press her. She’ll tell me what’s going on when she’s ready.

  “Belize,” she finally says when it’s clear takeoff has been successful. She sighs and nuzzles into my shoulder. “I still can’t believe it.”

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep our destination a secret forever. The minute we checked in for our flight, the jig was up, and she squealed like she’d just won the Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right. It was exactly the reaction I was hoping for. I wish I could have dazzled her even more by flying her on our company jet instead of going commercial—first, so I could have kept our destination a secret ‘til the minute we stepped off the plane, and, second, so we could have flown straight there without laying over in Houston—but my uncle is using the jet for a business trip to London this weekend.

  “Wait ‘til you see it. I think you’ll find it profoundly inspirational.”

  She looks at me quizzically.

  I just smile. I can’t wait for everything I’ve got planned for her. I feel like rubbing my hands together and giving her a really hearty villain laugh, but her hand in mine feels so good, it’s not worth pulling away from her to do it.

  She leans into me again.

  “I have a confession to make,” she finally says.

  My stomach drops. I knew she had something big on her mind all morning.

  “I don’t even know where in the world Belize is.”

  I chuckle. Has her anxiety been about not knowing where we were headed? This is her first trip out of the country, after all. I sigh, relieved. “Central America. Bordered by Mexico, Guatemala, and the Caribbean Sea. Fun fact: It’s the only country in Central America where the official language is English—though, of course, they speak Spanish there, too.”

  Her head remains fixed on my shoulder. It feels nice.

  “I’m so excited,” she says. With her free hand, she runs her fingertips gently along the tattooed inscription on the inside of my right forearm. Just that simple touch alone makes my breathing halt.

  “Do you speak Spanish?” I ask.

  “Mmm hmm,” she says, sounding drowsy. “My mother’s half Colombian—American-born, but her mom was from Colombia. Her father was Irish. She spoke Spanish to me growing up, though of course she speaks perfect English, too.”

  “And your dad?

  She pauses. “American. Spanish-Italian heritage. Cruz is from his Spanish side.”

  “So he speaks Spanish, too?”

  “Nope, just English. But he’s also fluent in motherfucking asshole, too.”

  I can’t help but raise my eyebrows at that. But I remain quiet. I wish I could give that bastard a taste of his own medicine.

  Her fingertips lightly trace the length of my tattoo again, up and down, up and down, caressing the entire length of my forearm. I keep expecting her to do it, but she never asks me what my tattoos mean. I like that doesn’t ask me about them. Most women ask about them first thing, like they’re grasping at straws for anything to talk about and can’t think of anything else to say. But not Sarah. Somehow, she knows my tattoos aren’t fodder for small talk. Somehow, she always just knows.

  I exhale. She’s driving me crazy with her soft caress.
<
br />   She’s still leaning against my shoulder, not looking at me. “My mom left him when I was ten. Or, more accurately, she escaped him. We haven’t seen him since. He’s never contacted me.”

  Her fingertips move above my forearm and find my bicep, and begin caressing the muscles of my upper arm, under the sleeve of my T-shirt.

  “His loss,” I say quietly.

  “I don’t want to see him, anyway,” she mumbles. “Ever.”

  After a minute, she raises her head up from my shoulder and looks into my eyes. She’s holding back tears. “I’ve got something I need to tell you,” she says. “Well, actually, three things. And one of ‘em’s a doozy.”

  My stomach drops. “Okay,” I manage. “Shoot.”

  She straightens up and sighs. “I don’t even know where to start.” She looks like she’s going to be sick.

  I’m instantly on high alert. “Just say it. I’m a big believer in ripping off the Band-Aid.”

  She exhales. “I’ll go in order from bad to worse.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “First, hopefully not too bad: I went to see Georgia on Tuesday—at the post office. And I bought her a cup of tea.”

  I laugh. Oh fuck, I’m so relieved. This is what she was nervous about all morning? “Sarah, I know. She called me. I don’t know what you said to her, but she fell, like, head over heels in love with you. She called to tell me to grab you and never let go.”

  Her eyes light up. “She said that?”

  “Yeah.” I suddenly wish I hadn’t repeated that exact phrase. I mean, I’m smitten here, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want to give Sarah the impression I’m anywhere near ready to grab her and ‘never let go.’ I mean, come on. That’s something I don’t know if I’ll ever be able commit to doing with anyone—even someone as incredible as Sarah. “So, anyway,” I say, trying to change the subject quickly, “I don’t know what Georgia told you, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”