The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) (37 page)

“Yeah, that was pretty evil.”

There’s a beat as we both sip our drinks, smiling
broadly at each other. My skin is buzzing with electricity.

“What else can you tell about me, Party Girl? I like
this game.”

“Well, you’ve got an extraordinarily beautiful ass.
Perhaps the most beautiful ass I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you. Back at you. Especially when it’s
stomping furiously down a hallway in nothing but a G-string.”

“Oh, you liked that, did you?”

“I liked that a lot.”

“I could tell.” I wink. “Your wet undies were
completely see-through, you may recall.”

He licks his lips. “You wanted me so bad,” he says,
“you were losing your fucking mind—not to mention dripping down
your legs.”

I smirk, but I don’t deny it.

“So tell me more, PG. More, more, more.”

“Well...” I trail off. “Besides the fact that you
have a beautiful ass?”

“Besides that. Something deep and profound.”

“Okay. Well . . .” I twist my mouth. “You seem to be
... kind of... I don’t know the word. I took Philosophy 101, but I
forget it all.
Fatalistic
?”

“I think that’s when someone believes their fate is,
like, written in the stars—outside their control. Is that what you
mean?”

“No. That’s not it. Well, maybe, sort of.”

“Because I
am
fatalistic to some degree. I
think some things are beyond our control—like a brick wall you’re
hurtling toward whether you like it or not. Nothing you can do
about it.”

“Well, jeez. That’s kind of a bummer.”

“Not necessarily. Some brick walls feel fucking
awesome when you crash into them.” His eyes flicker. “Some brick
walls are worth the pain.”

I blush.

“What about you—do you believe in fate?”

I shake my head. “No. I believe in kicking ass.”

He smirks. “So, then, what did you mean to say?”

“What is it when someone thinks nothing matters?
That everything is kind of pointless in the end?”

“I think that’s nihilism. I’d have to ask Jonas,
though. But, of course, I’d never do that because then he’d talk my
ear off about fucking philosophy for an hour and then I’d have to
kill myself, which would be a major bummer.”

“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t have been able to come up with
the word ‘nihilism’ if my life depended on it. I must have meant
something else. I dunno.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I don’t think
anything matters?”

“No. Of course not. I know things matter to
you.”

He shifts his position on the bed. “Because I
definitely think some things matter. A man’s word. Friends. A man’s
family—whatever’s left of it, anyway.” A shadow briefly crosses his
face. “It’s just that so
few
things really matter, there’s
no sense getting too worked up about much. Getting a stupid
ass-tattoo? Who gives a shit, you know? Like I say, in the end
we’re all gonna die anyway, might as well just enjoy the ride and
not sweat the small stuff.”

“So maybe your YOLO tattoo isn’t really a reminder
to you not to get too cocky or comfortable, after all,” I say
tentatively. “Maybe, it’s more something to help you remember the
few things that actually matter to you.”

There’s a long beat.

“What about your other tattoos?” I ask, suddenly
uncomfortable with the silence. I wasn’t trying to get all deep—it
kind of happened by accident. “Did you get your other tattoos in
tribute to the few things that matter—or because we’re all gonna
die, anyway?”

He makes a face. “Some of each, depending on the
tattoo.”

“When did you get the one for your mom?” I ask.

“When I was twenty, I think.”

“She died when you were seven?”

He nods.

“Why did you tell me it means ‘But for the Grace of
God I go’ rather than telling me it’s your mom’s name?”

He shrugs. “I never tell people about my mom.”

“Why not?”

“Why are you asking me so many questions?”

“Because I gave you my application and you still owe
me yours.”

He makes an annoyed face. “When I was really young,
I used to tell people about her whenever anyone asked. Jonas and I
had to see a therapist when we were kids and I used to just talk
and talk and talk. Blah, blah, blaaaah. But when I was a teenager,
I noticed every time I told people, I felt
worse,
not
better. Telling people made them look at me funny—like there was
something wrong with me because my mom was murdered—like, I dunno,
all of a sudden, they thought every time I laughed I was full of
shit. And then, after my dad died, and everything that happened
with Jonas, I just shut the fuck up completely. From then on,
talking about Mom just opened the floodgates to questions about my
dad, which meant I’d pretty much be talking about Jonas and all his
shit. And I realized I don’t need anyone scrutinizing my face as
I’m talking for telltale signs that I’m ‘laughing through the
pain.’”

I bite my lip.

He exhales. “New topic. Have you always been this
way?”

“What way? Annoying?”

“No. So fucking
orgasmic
.”

“Oh.” I make a face like he just gave me whiplash.
“Wow, that was a sudden shift in topic.”

He forges right ahead. “I’ve never been with a woman
who has orgasms so easily and often as you do.” He smirks and bites
into a fry. “I’m already addicted to making you come. Best game
ever.”

I feel a surge of pure elation, but I don’t
reply.

“Jesus, if I could come that many times in a row,
I’d never leave my room. You must masturbate all the time.”

I blush.

“Oh, come on. Cat got your tongue, Kitty Kat? You
wrote me that awesome application and now you’re gonna get all shy
on me?”

“It’s different to write all that stuff down than to
talk about it, face-to-face.”

“Aw, come on, PG.” He shoots me an incredibly
charming look. “It’s just me, remember? Honesty-game. How often do
you masturbate?”

I feel my cheeks blazing.

“Come on, Kat. Honesty-game, baby.”

I sigh audibly. “Every day, pretty much. I try not
to let a day go by without having an orgasm.”

“
Nice
.”

“An orgasm a day keeps the blues away.”

“I love it. When did you discover your motor runs so
hot?”

My cheeks are hot. “Growing up, my brothers always
talked about sex and jerking off as easily as talking about the
weather. When I was, like, twelve or thirteen, I asked my oldest
brother, Colby, if girls jerk off and got off, too, just like boys,
and he said, ‘Sure they do—of course—it’s just a bit harder to
tell.’ He was so matter of fact about it, like it was no big deal.
He made me feel like one of the guys, like it was perfectly natural
and not shameful or weird. So later that day I put the showerhead
between my legs and left it there on the massage setting, and
within a few minutes, I had my very first orgasm. And I
loved
it. I mean, I was like, ‘Oh my God, that was the best
feeling ever.’ So then every single time I took a shower, I just
made it a habit to give myself an orgasm, along with washing my
hair and shaving my legs—just a part of my routine. And soon, I was
getting off twice in one shower. And then I started reading romance
novels as a teen and touching myself and getting myself off... I
dunno. I just got really good at it.” I shrug and take a huge bite
of my burger.

Josh’s eyes are boring holes into my face.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re incredible,” he says. “The hottest woman
alive. Do you have any idea how hot you are?”

“Honesty-game?” I ask.

He smirks. “Of course.”

“Yeah, I think I’m pretty hot.” I giggle and take a
bite of a French fry.

He laughs. “Yes, you are, Madame Terrorist. Most
definitely.”

“Do you know how hot you are?” I ask.

“Honesty-game?”

I nod.

“Yeah, I think I’m pretty hot.”

We both laugh.

“So when you masturbate, what’s your weapon of
choice?” he asks, swigging his drink.

“Why do you wanna know all this?”

“I’m collecting intel for future use. Plus, it’s
just plain turning me on.”

I make a face. “Well, recently, the thing I like to
use the most while touching myself is the memory of this one really
hot guy with a huge dick, standing in a hallway, dripping wet in
his tighty-whities, every detail of his hard-on clearly visible
beneath his wet briefs.”

Josh grins. “Wow, that’s quite a coincidence,
because, recently, I’ve been partial to jacking off to memories of
this one incredibly hot terrorist, stomping down a hallway in her
bra and G-string, her bare ass-cheeks quaking with fury as she
goes.”

I laugh.

“So tell me exactly how you like to masturbate. What
works best for you? Lying down? Shower? Toys? Fingers?”

All of a sudden, my clit is tingling.
“
Why
?”

“Because I wanna know. It’ll help me get you off to
know exactly what you like.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Ah. Show me don’t tell me?”

I nod. There’s a beat. I know exactly what he wants
me to say. My heart is pounding in my ears. I bite my lip. “Would
you like to watch me do it some time?” I ask softly.

He nods, his eyes smoldering. “I thought you’d never
ask.”

My cheeks flush. I swallow hard. Why is this turning
me on so much?

“But, first, tell me about it.” He licks his lips.
“I wanna hear you tell me.”

I bite the tip of my finger. “Well, I really like to
do it in the shower, with my fingers. I also have a vibe—a Rabbit.
That does the trick the quickest, but sometimes I don’t want quick.
Sometimes I like to take my time, let it build and build until I
get myself off so hard I have a backache the next day.”

He exhales slowly. “This conversation is turning me
the fuck on.”

“I can see that.” I glance down at his huge erection
behind his briefs.

“Have you ever used a Sybian?” he asks.

“A what? A
Sybian
?”

He nods.

“No, I have no idea what that is.”

He looks aghast. “No idea?”

I shake my head.

He takes a huge swig of his drink, clearly energized
by whatever grand idea has just popped into his head. “Oh shit.
You’re gonna be epic on a Sybian.”

“What is it?” I ask.

His eyes are absolutely blazing with excitement. His
dick is rock hard in his briefs. “I’d rather show you than tell
you,” he says. He grabs his laptop off the nightstand, turns off
the music, and begins searching the Internet for a moment. “Bingo,”
he says after a minute. “Oh, PG, we’re gonna have some fun
tonight.” He smiles broadly at me. “You trust me?”

“In what context?”

He furrows his brow, obviously offended by my
question. “In any context.”

“I’ll answer that question after I’ve read your
application.”

“Bullshit. You trust me.”

I shrug. “I’ve been wrong before.”

“You’re not wrong this time.”

Goose bumps erupt all over my skin. I nod.

Elation floods his face. “Excellent.” He grabs his
phone and punches out a phone number on his screen, evil-laughing
with glee as he does. “Yeah, hey,” he says into the phone. “I’m
looking to rent a Sybian tonight, as soon as possible?” He pauses
to let someone on the other end of the line speak. “No, tomorrow
won’t work—it’s gotta be tonight. Right
now.
I want it
delivered to my hotel room within the next thirty minutes.” Josh
says the name of the hotel and pauses to let the person on the
other end of the line speak. “Listen, dude. I don’t care if someone
else reserved it. That’s not my problem. I want it and I’ll make
you an offer you can’t refuse. What’s your usual rate for rental
and delivery of a Sybian for one night?” He pauses. “Okay, piece of
cake. I’ll pay you ten times that, in cash,
if
you get it to
my hotel room within the next thirty minutes.” Josh smiles broadly
and winks at me. “Yeah, I thought so.” He repeats the name of the
hotel and gives the guy his room number. “Thirty minutes or less,
I’ll pay ten times your usual rate. If it’s here within an hour,
I’ll pay only five times as much,” he says. “Any longer than that,
I’ll pay three times your usual rate, as long as it’s here by
midnight.” He smirks. “Yeah, okay, see you soon.”

When Josh hangs up the phone, I’m staring at him,
dumbfounded. What the hell did I just agree to?

Josh rubs his hands together. “Oh, Party Girl.
You’re in for such a treat. And so am I. Shit. I can’t wait to see
this. I’ve never been with a woman who gets off like you do. This
is gonna be fucking amazing.”

“You’ve never been with a woman who gets off like
me? Really?”

“Really—and, trust me, women get off with me—I’ve
got a magic cock—but you’re something special. A fucking
unicorn.”

“Seriously?”

“You know you are.”

“No, I don’t. How would I know that? I have no basis
of comparison. I’m not the one who sleeps with women.”

“Ha! That’s right—you’ve only slept with
one
woman.” He winks.

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t
sleep
with her. I
just
made out
with her.”

“What, exactly, is the difference between making out
and sex when there’s no dick involved?”

I think for a minute. “I’m not sure. But we
definitely just made out.”

“Well, did you two just kiss and kind of grope each
other outside your clothes?”

I blush.

“Holy shit. More than that?”

I don’t reply.

“Did you go down on her?”

“
No
.”

“She went down on you?”

I blush again. “
No
. Just kissing and heavy
petting. But we weren’t in our clothes.” I clear my throat. “Stop
looking at me like that.”

Josh bites his lip. “I’m not looking at you like
anything. Tell me all about it.”