The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) (22 page)

I laugh.

“To be honest, it always pisses me off that people
say women are doing a ‘walk of shame,’ but they never say that
about guys. I mean it takes two to tango, right?”

“Absolutely.” I look out the window. “I’ve
definitely done my share of shame-walking.” I scoff. “I’ve done my
share of everything, actually. I was a bit out of control for a
while.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not anymore.”

“Was The Club part of your out-of-control phase?”
she asks.

Goddammit. I hate that she knows about The Club.
There’s no other circumstance in which a woman I’m interested in
would know about that. “No,” I say. “The Club was just a short
vacation from my adult responsibilities. I did that
way
after my out-of-control phase. It was just a blip. No more or
less.”

“And now it’s over—the blip, I mean?”

“Yeah, now it’s over.”

“Until the next blip.”

I don’t reply—but she’s pegged me right. Surely,
another blip’s coming at some point. When your brother is Jonas—and
you’re his only lifeline—losing your shit for more than a blip here
or there just isn’t an option.

“Tell me the story of why you got your ‘grace’
tattoo,” she says. “Were you drunk and high in Thailand for that
one, too?”

I look out the window of the cab. “No, I got that
particular tattoo in L.A. when I was stone-cold sober,” I say. “I
was twenty-three and recently out of school—it took me a little
while to graduate—and I decided it was time to stop throwing my
life away on total and complete bullshit and start living a life
that my...” I swallow hard. “That
I
could be proud of.” I
shrug. “I decided to start living up to my name. So I decided to
open a satellite office of Faraday & Sons and stop destroying
myself, and the rest is history.”

“And did you?”

“Yeah, I opened the L.A. office about the time Jonas
took over the main Seattle office.”

“No, I mean, did you stop destroying yourself? Did
you start living a life you could be proud of?”

“Oh.” I run my hand through my hair. “Mostly. A few
slip-ups now and again over the years.” I look into her gorgeous
blue eyes. “But, yeah. By and large.”

Another long pause.

“Isn’t Thailand one of those countries where they
could put you in jail and throw away the key if you get caught with
drugs?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You said you were drunk and high as a kite in
Thailand.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well. I thought I was invincible back
then. Or maybe I didn’t care if I wasn’t. Actually, it’s funny you
say that. I’ve got a pretty hairy story about that night. I’ll tell
it to you some time, maybe.”

There’s a long beat.

“Josh, I know what happened to your parents,” she
says. “Sarah told me. I’m really sorry.”

I’m stunned. I had no idea Kat knew about my
parents. What the fuck? She knows about The Club
and
my
parents? Fuck.

“It was a long time ago,” I respond stiffly.

She doesn’t press me, thankfully, but she’s clearly
looking at me with sympathy in her eyes. Shit. I don’t have any
desire to be the Poor Little Rich Boy in anyone’s eyes, least of
all Kat’s.

“No worries,” I add. I squeeze her hand to reassure
her and she squeezes back.

Our taxi pulls up in front of our hotel and I help
Kat out of the car. She’s pretty wobbly.

“You okay?” I ask, holding her arm.

“I’m fan-fucking-tastic. Just a little car sick, I
think. I’ll be fine once I eat something.”

We walk toward the front doors of our mammoth
hotel.

“Do you need to put on some dry undies before we
eat? My briefs are still wet—I think my dick is getting
chafed.”

“Oh, well, we don’t want that,” she says. “Yeah, I
could use a change, too. Let’s run up to our rooms and meet at that
Americana restaurant on the far side of the casino in fifteen.”

“You aren’t gonna pass out on your bed and not come
back down, are you?” I ask.

“Not a chance. I’m the Party Girl, remember? I’m a
machine.”

“Atta girl,” I say. “But I’d better walk you up to
your room, just to make sure you get there safely.”

“You mean so you can have
sex
with me,” she
says coyly, batting her eyelashes. “I know your game, Playboy.”

“Kat, I’m not gonna fuck you for the first time at
six in the morning after a long-ass night of partying when you’re
obviously drunk off your ass and, no offense, look like road
kill.”

She scowls at me.

“Oh, wait, scratch all that. I forgot we’re playing
the honesty-game here. The truth is I’d totally fuck you, despite
all that, for sure—but I’m most definitely
not
gonna fuck
you ’til you’ve dropped your ridiculous demands.”

She makes a “good luck with that” face.

“Hey, you’re the one who made The Rules, PG. I’m
merely enforcing them.”

She pauses, considering something. “Well, how about
this? What if we fuck without any kissing?” she asks. “Would that
be a loophole?”

I laugh. The woman’s trying to find a loophole from
her own bullshit? Clearly, she’s a heartbeat away from caving
completely. “You’re not in any shape to negotiate on the bet, PG.
You made your demands, and now you have to live with them. The only
way out now is to concede. There’s no middle ground.”

She scowls yet again.

I suppress the urge to laugh out loud at her
expression. She’s such a bullshitter, this girl. She wants me so
bad, she’s about to pull her hair out. Time to turn up the
heat.

“Plus, I happen to like kissing when I fuck,” I say
nonchalantly. “I like it a lot. Every variety of it.”

She stops walking abruptly and puts her arms out
like she’s trying to balance herself on a log.

Oh man, she’s drunk. Her eyes are half-mast. Her
hair’s matted against her head. Her eye makeup is smudged. And
she’s still fucking gorgeous.

“Look, here’s the thing you’re obviously not getting
about me, Party Girl: I’ve been exercising superhuman patience my
whole fucking life. You think you’re gonna wear me down?
Nothing
fucking wears me down—I’ve got the patience of a
fucking saint. I’ve been the fixer my whole life—and nothing
ruffles me. As far as I’m concerned, there’s a time and place for
everything—including fucking the one and only Party Girl with a
Hyphen—and until the right time for that bit of awesomeness
presents itself, I’ll just wait and be patient, let you drip down
your thighs ’til you’re begging me for it.”

She’s speechless.

I can’t suppress my laughter anymore. She’s too
fucking cute. “Come on, PG. Let me get you to your room to change.”
I grab her limp arm and usher her toward the hotel again, but after
three more steps, she stops short and hunches over.

“Kat?”

She nods and puts her hand to her mouth. “Yeah. I’m
fine.” She takes two more steps and stops again, grabbing her
stomach.

“Kat?” I grab her shoulders? “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I think I just need to—”

Without warning, she bends over and barfs—all over
the sidewalk—and all over my two-thousand-dollar shoes.

Kat

I slowly open my eyes. I don’t feel great, but it
definitely could have been a
lot
worse. When Josh brought me
to my room after I barfed all over him, he helped me shower—in my
bra and undies, I noticed—ordered me chicken noodle soup from room
service, and made me drink a bunch of Gatorade and take four
Ibuprofen before finally tucking me into bed. I have to admit, I
kinda swooned at how attentive and sweet he was, even through my
queasiness.

I look at the clock. Three o’clock. Wow, I slept a
full seven hours. I grab my phone and look at my emails. Damn. I’ve
got two messages from my boss, attaching documents that require my
attention. Obviously, I’m gonna have to head back to Seattle soon
or risk losing my job. My work is piling up and I’ve already used
up all my vacation days this year. Hmm. Maybe there’s a way for me
to finagle this.

I forward my boss’s email to my co-worker Hannah,
asking her if maybe she’s willing to help a sistah out?

Hannah’s email reply is immediate. “Of course, baby.
I got you. Any time.”

“Thanks, baby. You know I’ll return the favor.”

“You’ve helped me with a thousand pitches, girl. And
I still owe you big time for helping me with the politician who
sent the dick pic to the teenager.”

“You don’t owe me a damned thing,” I write. “And if
you do, then helping me with this pitch puts you way ahead, for
sure.”

“Where are you? Still in Vegas?” Hannah writes.

“Yeah. And currently hung over. Partied all night.
You won’t believe who I partied with.”

“Who?”

“RED CARD RIOT!”

“WTF!!!!!! Are you serious?”

“Serious. LMFAO,” I write.

“Cray,” Hannah writes.

“Probs going to their concert tonight, too. And
watching from backstage!!!!!”

“No way! Double cray. Are they hot?”

“Totes. But really young. Just wee little
baybays.”

“Oooooh, you could do the Mrs. Robinson thing.
That’d be hot.”

“That’s not one of my fantasies, actually. But,
trust me, I’ve got plenty of others.”

“Oh, I know you do. LOL,” Hannah writes.

“Thanks again, girl. You’re a great friend.”

“Takes one to know one. Speaking of which, say hi to
Sarah. How’s she feeling?”

“She’s great. Breaking news: she’s in
luuuuuurve.”

“Awesome! With that guy she went to Belize
with?”

“Yup. And he’s in luuuuuuuurve with her, too.”

“Aw.” Hanna attaches a heart emoji. “I’m jelly.” She
attaches a green-faced emoji.

“Me, too.” I exhale wistfully. “Okay, gotta go,” I
write. “Just woke up. Gotta get some food in this sad-sack
body.”

“By all means. Partying requires fuel. Have
fun.”

“Thanks again for the assist.”

“No worries. Have an extra drink for me. Or two or
three.”

“Thanks, Hannah Banana Montana Milliken.”

“LOL. Any time, Kitty Kat.”

“Meow.”

“Mwah.”

Phew. Catastrophe averted. At least for now. I have
no doubt Hannah will style me—the woman’s damn good at PR—and that
ought to buy me at least a little time. But, clearly, I can’t stay
out here in Las Vegas forever. Sooner or later, the jig’s gonna be
up. I just wish I knew how long Operation
Ocean’s Eleven
was
going to last (and what my part in it might be).

I scour the rest of my emails. Nothing important. I
move on to my texts.

There’s a text from Sarah. “Hey, Kitty Kat. What
happened with you and Josh last night? Did you have fun? Winky
winky boom boom? Jonas and I are heading out to Henderson to meet
Oksana the Pimpstress right now. Kerzoinks! I just pissed my pants
a little bit writing that. Okay, well, just wanted to check in and
say hi and get all the juicy deets about last night. You’re
probably sleeping, knowing you. Hope you didn’t barf, girl. But if
you did, I hope you didn’t barf on Josh. But if you did, I hope
Josh held your hair for you, since I wasn’t there to do it like
usual. See you later when we get back. IF WE GET BACK.” She
attaches a scared-face emoji. “If I don’t come back, just know I
loved you with all my heart and soul. Oh, and, just in case, I
hereby bequeath you my One Direction albums.”

I tap out my reply. “Hey, girl. Just woke up. Yes, I
barfed. Yes, Josh held my hair. He showered me and Gatoraded me,
too, and then put me to bed.” I attach a blushing emoji. “Don’t say
‘IF we get back.’ NOT FUNNY. I love you, too, with all my heart and
soul, and then some. It’s probably too late for you to get this
now, but be super-duper careful with the pimpstress. Don’t leave
Jonas’ side. See you when you get back. Can’t wait to hear all
about it.” I attach an ear emoji. “And I don’t want your stinkin’
1D albums, you tweener. If I did, though, does this mean you’re
‘bequeathing me’ (WTF??) your entire laptop? Sorry to look a gift
horse in the mouth, but I’m not sure I know how to extract the
digital files off your laptop. Heehee. Love you, girl. Meow.
Xoxo.”

My next text is from Josh from an hour ago. “You up
yet, PG?”

I type a reply. “Hi, PB. Just woke up.”

His reply is instantaneous. “You feeling like death
warmed over?”

“No, I feel pretty fab. Can you talk?”

My phone rings. “Hey,” his smooth voice says. I hear
slot machines ringing and people cheering in the background.

“Thanks for putting me to bed and taking such good
care of me. Sorry I barfed on your fancy shoes.”

“I hated those shoes anyway. Total
douchebag-shoes.”

“I was thinking of getting something to eat before
Jonas and Sarah get back from meeting the Pimpstress
Extraordinaire. Do you know if they’re back yet?”

“Not yet. I saw them before they left. They were
both wearing matching platinum bracelets engraved with each other’s
names.”

“What? Oh my God.”

“You should have seen them, Kat. Seriously, they
can’t get enough of each other. They’re pretty cute.”

My heart flips over in my chest. “Wow. Good for
them.”

There’s a long beat.

Josh clears his throat. “So did you get any
sleep?”

“A ton. How about you?”

“A couple hours at most. Henn and I are down in the
casino playing craps, waiting for Jonas and Sarah to come
back.”

“Okay, I’ll get dressed and come on down.”

“No. I don’t want you walking around alone. Text me
when you’re ready to come down here.”

“Will do.”

I jump in the shower and wash my hair and lather my
body from head to toe. And when I’m done with the functional
aspects of my shower, I grab the showerhead and stick it between my
legs, positioning the strong stream of water right on my clit. My
body’s reaction to the vibrating water is extreme and
instantaneous. Whoa, oh yeah, I’m ready to go.