The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) (11 page)

I make an “oh well” sound. In all honesty, I’m
wildly disappointed, but I’m not gonna let him know that. “Well,
then, I guess we’ll be seeing each other in a week or so,” I say
primly. “If ever.”

He makes an exasperated noise.

“Assuming you’ve sent me your application to The
Club by then, of course,” I add. “Since that’s a required
prerequisite of me going out with you.”

He makes a scoffing sound.

I ignore him. “Oh,
and
assuming I’m not
impregnated by Cameron Schulz by then—which is entirely
possible.”

Josh makes a caveman roar that shocks the hell out
of me. “Fuck this, Kat!” he booms. “
Tell that boring, sober
motherfucker to fuck off right now
. I mean it. No more
bullshit. I’m coming to get you. Tell me where you are.”

I can only imagine how shocked my face looks right
now. I must look like that emoji with wide eyes. I didn’t expect
that kind of volcanic reaction. Jeez. It came out of nowhere. He
always seems so laid back. I open my mouth, but nothing comes
out.

“Are you there?” Josh barks.

“Yeah.”

“Enough with the bullshit, Kat. Playtime’s over. You
don’t wanna be with Cameron Fucking Schulz tonight and you know it.
You wanna be with
me.
Now tell me where you are because I’m
coming to get you.”

Kerzoinks, as Sarah would say. Sounds like he’s got
something of a jealous streak. Ha! Well, he’s in for a rude
awakening. Because Kat Morgan doesn’t do jealous-boyfriend
bullshit. Ever. Wait. What am I thinking? Josh isn’t even my
boyfriend! We’re not even dating! Why would he think, even for a
minute, he’s in any position to tell me what to do?

“Hmm,” I say calmly, like he just asked me for
directions to the nearest gas station. “I don’t think so, Playboy.
Caveman shit doesn’t really work with me, you ought to know.”

He’s either fuming or coming on the other end of the
line—I’m not sure which. By the noise he just made, it could be
either.

“You know what
I
think’s gonna happen right
now? I’m gonna hang up the phone and go back into the restaurant
and have a nice meal with a very sweet guy who politely asked me
out to a very nice restaurant, and rescheduled
twice
despite
his very busy schedule
,
and who’s treated me with nothing
but respect all night long—and who, it turns out, happens to be the
starting shortstop for the Mariners. Who knew?”

Josh makes another raging caveman noise. “Kat. I’m
not kidding. Stop fucking around and tell him—”

“So I guess I’ll see you soon, whenever you’re in
Seattle next—
if
I’m not already desperately in love with
Cameron Schulz and carrying his love child by then.”

“
Kat
.”

“What?”

“Fuck.”

I don’t reply.

“Come on,” he says. “Stop it.”

He’s clearly used to getting whatever he wants, when
he wants it.

“Travel safe, Josh. I really do hope to see you
soon.”

“
Kat
.”

I’m about to hang up, but his tone is so emphatic, I
feel compelled to stay on the line. “
What
?”

He exhales. There’s a long beat as he collects
himself. “YOLO
,
Kat,” he says earnestly.

I bite my lip. Oh, he’s good. He’s really good. A
giggle escapes my mouth, even though I don’t want it to.

Oh man. I want him. He’s one hundred percent right.
But I’ve got a problem. I make it a rule never to sleep with a man
on a first date if I’m interested in him as potential
boyfriend-material. It’s a rule I
never
break. I’m not quite
sure if all my interactions with Josh add up to the equivalent of a
first date or not, but I don’t want to risk it. But, regardless of
my stupid rule (because if ever there was a time to break my rule,
it’s now, with Josh), if Josh is leaving on a flight to New York
first thing tomorrow, then tonight’s not our night, anyway.
Something tells me when I finally get to take a big ol’ bite out of
this particular man’s ass—and I’m not being figurative there—I’m
gonna wanna go back for seconds and thirds and fourths and fifths.
I exhale a long, shaky breath. It’s been so freaking long since
I’ve felt even a glimmer of what I’m feeling right now, I don’t
want to fuck it up by being Classic Kat.

“I gotta go, Playboy,” I say. I exhale again and my
tone shifts to complete sincerity. “Josh, seriously. It’d be too
heartless, even for me, to blow off Cameron after how sweet he’s
been to me. I can be a bitch, you should be warned, but not that
big a bitch.”

Josh is silent on the line for a long beat. “Shit,”
he finally says. “Okay. Then. Fuck. I guess I’ll see you next week,
then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

He exhales with resignation.

“Hey, make sure you get my email address from Sarah
in the meantime.”

“Why?”

“So you can send me your Club application. It’s
required reading before I’ll go out with you.”

He audibly rolls his eyes. “Not gonna happen.”

I laugh. “You’re used to getting whatever you want,
when you want it, aren’t you?”

“Damn straight.”

“Well, guess what?
So am I
.”

He laughs. “Mmm hmm. Well, sucks to be you, Party
Girl. I guess you’ve finally met your match.”

“Mmm hmm. We’ll see.”

He chuckles. “We’ll see.”

“Travel safe, Josh,” I say earnestly. “I gotta go
have dinner with
Cameron Schulz,
the shortstop for the
Mariners.” I wait a beat, but he doesn’t reply. “I hope to see you
soon, Josh,” I add sincerely.

“Tell Cameron his batting average sucks dick right
now and that whiff at the plate last night against the Yankees was
a fucking embarrassment.”

“I’ll be sure not to tell him you said so.”

“Bye, Kat.”

“Bye, Josh. I’ll look forward to your email with
your application attached.”

“Not a fucking chance, Party Girl. Not a fucking
chance in hell.”

I laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

“I don’t need luck. I’ve got you right where I want
you, Playboy.”

“Mmm hmm. I think it’s the other way around.”

“That’s what I
want
you to think.”

He laughs. “Sure thing, PG. Keep telling yourself
that. Bye, Kat.”

“Bye, Josh.”

I hang up and turn off my phone. For a long beat, I
stand in the chilly night air, staring at the traffic whizzing by
on the street, my crotch throbbing mercilessly and my heart leaping
out of my chest. He’s right. He’s got me right where he wants
me—not the other way around—just like every other woman he burns
through, I’m sure. Clearly, the man has his pick of every bisexual
supermodel and starlet in Hollywood, and I can see why. Well, maybe
I’m the first woman who’s gonna teach this Playboy that not all
women will say “how high” when a rich, handsome, charismatic
studmuffin like Josh Faraday commands, “Jump.”

After a moment, a wide smile spreads across my
devious, bitchy, turned-on, intrigued, conniving little face. If
Josh wants me, he’s gonna have to work for it—something he’s
clearly not used to doing. I’m dying to read his frickin’
application, that’s true, but at this point, that stupid
application is more than just an application to a sex club.
It’s
a brass ring.
If this is gonna be a battle of wills, then I’m
gonna be the one who wins it.

My smile widens.

Kat Morgan knows two things in this life: men and
PR. And, by God, when it comes to Josh Faraday, victory will be
mine. Along with his supremely bitable ass.

Kat

“Hey!” I shout, knocking on the door of Jonas and
Sarah’s hotel suite. “Vegas, baby!” I begin pounding maniacally on
the door like I’m the Energizer Bunny on speed, which is actually a
perfect analogy because I feel high with excitement—out of my mind
with unbridled glee. I’m in the Promised Land, baby! My own
personal Mecca! And on Jonas’ generous dime, no less. Ha! My hotel
room is freaking spectacular—I could never in a million years
afford to stay in a hotel like this on my own—plus, as Josh would
say, I’m free at last, I’m free at last, thank God almighty, I’m
finally
free at last of my round-the-clock bodyguards (with
Jonas’ permission). Who knew having two grumpy old guys trail your
every move for a week and a half could become so freaking
suffocating? No wonder Whitney finally fucked Kevin—she just needed
to de-stress from having some grouchy guy following her around
twenty-four-seven.

And the most exciting thing of all? Sarah’s finally
feeling back to her old self again, and then some. When Sarah
called yesterday to say, “Pack your bags for Vegas, Kitty Kat—we’re
going
Ocean’s Eleven
on The Club’s motherfucking ass!” I
practically peed my pants.

“I’m in!” I shrieked (even though I had absolutely
no idea how I could possibly contribute a damned thing to going
Ocean’s Eleven
on The Club’s motherfucking ass).

“Woot!” Sarah replied.

“Woot!” I shouted back.

“Will it be just you, me, and Jonas?” I asked,
trying to sound breezy and nonchalant.

“Who else would be joining us?” Sarah asked
coyly.

“Oh, I dunno,” I answered. “No one in particular.
Just wondering.”

Sarah laughed. “Well, a certain
hacker
will
be joining us, if that’s who you’re referring to,” Sarah said,
teasing me.

“Oh, that’s good,” I said. “Yeah, we’ll definitely
need one of those.”

“Mmm hmm,” Sarah said. “Fo shizzle pops.”

There was a very, very long beat, during which I
held my breath and bit the inside of my cheek with anticipation
until Sarah burst out laughing.

“Oh, Kitty Kat. Of course, the Playboy’s gonna be
there, too. Wherever Jonas goes, Josh goes, too—that’s something as
reliable as gravity.”

I exhaled like I’d just surfaced from being held
forcibly underwater.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve been going out of my
mind thinking about Josh this whole week while he’s been in New
York—I can’t remember the last time my Rabbit’s gotten this much
action in a single week.

Thankfully, Josh has made it clear he’s been
thinking about me, too, though he’s obviously playing his cards
close to his vest, the smooth bastard. On the one hand, he’s sent
multiple texts this past week, just enough to let me know he’s
thinking about me, but, on the other hand, his texts say absolutely
nothing. No teasing. No innuendo. No semi-inappropriate photos. Not
even any questions about Cameron Fucking Schulz. And, notably, no
reference whatsoever to his application, despite my explicit
demands for it. Just the occasional, “Hey, Party Girl” and “Whatcha
doing, hot stuff?” or “Did you have a nice dream about me last
night, PG?”

Of course, I know Josh’s game—I’ve played it a time
or two (or three) myself: he’s forcing me to make the first
move—breaking me down, making me question his interest. Bush
league. He clearly doesn’t understand whom he’s dealing with
here.

Well, two can play the “I don’t give a shit” game.
Hmmph. All week, I’ve answered each and every one of Josh’s texts
with pleasant but brief and noncommittal bullshit. “Hey yourself,”
I’ve replied. Or “Oh, nothing, just looking for something
interesting to read—hint hint,” or, on occasion, “None of your
freaking beeswax, PB.” If Josh thinks I’m gonna chase him like
every other girl obviously does, he’s sadly mistaken. And so, to
put it mildly, our recent communications have been textually
unsatisfying—while subtextually dripping with heat—and the whole
situation is making me want to jump his freaking bones.

Bastard.

I continue pounding on Jonas and Sarah’s door, my
excitement about to boil over.

“Hey!” I shout again. “Vegassssssss!”

The door to Jonas and Sarah’s room opens abruptly
and Sarah’s beaming face greets me.

“Woohoo!” I shriek, throwing my arms around her.

Sarah clutches me like her life depends on it and
the two of us jump up and down, screaming, for a solid minute. When
we finally unravel our bodies, I enter the spacious suite,
instantly in awe.

“Wow,” I say, marveling at the splendor of our
surroundings. Wall-to-wall marble floors. Sleek leather and glass
furniture. Light fixtures that look like works of art. And, the
coup de grace
, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking The
Strip.

“Wow, Jonas,” I say. “You really knocked yourself
out. I bet, like, rock stars and Prince Harry stay in this place,
especially with that private elevator to get up here. It’s
amazing.”

Jonas is standing by the fully stocked bar, looking
hella hot in his jeans and tight T-shirt, if I do say so. “I wanted
to show my precious baby an extra good time,” Jonas says, “seeing
as how this is her first trip to Sin City.”

My precious baby
? I glance at Sarah and she’s
positively giddy. Is it possible the manwhore has changed his
manwhoring ways at the magic touch of the right woman? I’ve read
about that mythical phenomenon in fairytales, but I’ve never seen
it happen in real life—or, at least, it’s never happened to me.

“Oh, Jonas,” Sarah coos, blushing. “You’re so
sweet.”

Jonas’ face bursts with immediate color. Aw, he’s
absolutely adorable right now. I just wanna pinch his cheeks. I can
plainly see why Sarah’s so smitten with him—this boy’s a puppy!—I
don’t know why I didn’t see it before.

“Thank you for paying for my flight, Jonas,” I say,
smiling. “And my room.”

“You’re welcome. You got checked in okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Sarah flashes an adorable smile at Jonas and he
returns it.

Oh good lord, these two are smitten. “Did you see
this view?” I say, grabbing Sarah’s hand and pulling her to the
floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room. “Just wait
’til you see The Strip at night. The lights are gonna blow you
away.” I sigh. “God, I love Vegas.”