The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) (7 page)

“I didn’t... No. I just . . .” His anguish is
palpable.

“You know what she’d
really
say? She’d say,
‘Gosh, Jonas. Ever thought of sending a
text
?’”

He grumbles. “Okay, so what if I—”

“Jonas,
no.
Stop. No stalking. No calling. No
flowers. No boom box. No luring the poor girl across the street in
her nightgown and slippers. Do you want to push this girl away
forever?”

His face flashes with earnest concern. “No. Of
course not. Quite the opposite.”

“Do you want her to think you’re a total pussy?”

He clenches his jaw. “No.”

I shake my head. “Then just give her some fucking
space. Please. Just listen to me. When am I ever wrong about
women?”

He opens his mouth and then closes it.

“The answer is ‘Never.’
I’m never wrong.
I’m
some sort of woman-whisperer, dude—trust me. You want a woman to
want you? Then you gotta know when to leave her the fuck alone.
Just chill the fuck out and give the girl some time to figure her
shit out. I guarantee you, if you back off and let Sarah take
things at her own pace, let her figure out what she’s feeling and
what she needs, she’s gonna call you and say, ‘Come get me, Jonas.
I want you.’ Mark my words, bro.”

“But what if I just—”

“No! Just let her call you when she’s ready to talk.
And in between, send her a few texts to let her know you’re
thinking about her—nothing too heavy. She’s probably all doped up
on pain meds and feeling like shit and sleeping most of the time,
anyway. And her mom’s probably bringing her homemade chicken
tortilla soup or whatever. You can’t compete with that magical-mom
shit, bro. No one can. That’s why everyone says, ‘There’s nothing
like a mother’s love.’ I realize we don’t know what the fuck
they’re talking about, but the rest of the world does. I’ll bet you
a thousand bucks if you listen to me and give her some space, she’s
gonna call you within three days and say, ‘Come get me.’”

Jonas grunts. “Why would I take that bet? I’d be
betting against myself.”

We’ve arrived at Jonas’ house, thank God. I’ve never
wanted to get out of a car more in my entire life. Jonas pulls into
his driveway and kills the engine on his car. He turns to look at
me, his eyes blazing. “Josh, you don’t understand.”

“I think I do.”

“No. I have something really important I need to
tell her. Right away. Something she needs to understand.”

“Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait.”

He shakes his head furiously. “Josh, listen to me. I
need to tell her something—something I’ve never said to any other
girl—even Amanda.” He swallows hard. “
The most important thing
there is to say.
I’m gonna say it to Sarah.”

I can’t believe my ears. My brother’s gonna tell
this girl he
loves
her? Wow, he’s never even said those
words to me. Jesus, I’m light years ahead of Jonas in my emotional
evolution, and I’ve only said those words to one girl in my entire
life. (And it didn’t work out so well.)

“Wow, Jonas,” I begin to say, but he cuts me
off.

“So don’t fucking tell me to be
patient
,” he
roars, out of nowhere. He abruptly gets out of his car, slams his
car door like he’s trying to tip the car onto its side with me in
it, and stalks toward his house.

I watch Jonas as he marches away, imagining myself
hurling Chinese stars into his back. Oh my fucking God. I can’t
take it anymore. I’m trying to be compassionate with this
motherfucker. Just like I’ve tried to be my entire fucking life.
But it’s hard to be compassionate with a guy when he’s a total and
complete dick.

Josh

Oh, yeah. So good.
Yes
. I pump my shaft with
increased intensity as the steaming hot water of the shower rains
down on me. I can’t stop imagining her face, her unbelievable face.
Oh my God. She’s a gift from God, created just for me. Those eyes.
Those gorgeous blue eyes. That subtle little cleft in her chin. I
imagine myself pressing the tip of my cock into that little cleft
in her chin right before sliding my full length into her sassy
little mouth.

Oh God. I can barely breathe. I’m about to blow. I’m
so close. I work myself even more furiously. My cock feels like a
rocket about to lift off. Oh fuck. Yes. It’s beginning to
ripple.

And her lips. They’re perfect, just like everything
else about her. I imagine those lips wrapped around my hard cock,
sliding up and down, devouring me. I run my finger over my wet tip,
imagining it’s her swirling tongue.

“Oh shit,” I say out loud. I open my mouth wide and
a blast of hot water floods it. My knees are buckling. I’m
twitching. I’d pay a million dollars if my hand could be her warm
mouth right now—two million if it could be her tight little pussy.
The Club is full of hookers, it turns out? Fine by me. Some women
are well worth the money. If Kat asked me to pay her to fuck her, I
surely would. No questions asked. I’d give anything,
anything,
to see Kat looking up at me with those big blue
eyes, her lips wrapped around my cock. I imagine her eyes
glittering the same way they did when she found out I’d been a
member of The Club. That’s the look that told me the girl is up for
anything—with the right guy, anyway.

I’m the right guy for you, baby. Fuck yeah, I am.
You’ve never been fucked like this before. That’s right, baby.

I fondle my balls with my free hand while my pumping
hand continues working my shaft. Oh shit. My knees are buckling.
This is so good. Any second now.

I picture her on top of me, riding me, her blonde
hair falling down over her shoulders and cascading over her perky
little tits. Erect nipples. Cleft in her chin. Blue eyes. Tight
little body. Oh my God. She throws her head back. She’s having an
orgasm. She’s screaming my name.

My skin prickles for just an instant, like I’ve got
a chill even under the steaming hot water, and then an epic orgasm
slams into me, making me spurt a massive load all over my hands. I
shudder with my release and lean my head against the marble shower
wall.

“Kat,” I say out loud, like she’s lying next to me
in bed. “Oh my God.”

That’s the first time in a really long time I’ve
stuck with the fantasy of one woman while jacking off. I usually
start out thinking about whatever woman I’ve been seeing lately,
whatever sex act we might have recently performed, and then, at
some point, move on to that raven-haired dental assistant I always
fantasize about, even though she’s married and never gives me the
slightest whiff of a come-on, or the college professor I used to
fuck during office hours during my second year at UCLA, or,
occasionally, the platinum-blonde Swiss foreign exchange student in
high school who de-virginized me when I was a wee little freshman,
the one who taught me exactly where to touch her and how to get her
off. And then, right at climax, without fail, whether I like it or
not, my brain inevitably slams me with Emma’s angelic face, the
face that fooled me for so long into thinking she was The
One
.

Hot water is gushing down my back.

“Kat,” I say again, reliving the vision of her
riding me, her face awash in ecstasy.

She’s the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.

Holy shit.

I want this girl.

I want her bad.

And I’m stuck here with my goddamned brother.

Josh

When I enter the family room after my shower, Jonas
is nowhere to be found, which is good because, after his little
tantrum in the car, I still feel like punching him in his pretty
face. I grab a beer from the fridge, plop myself down on Jonas’
pristine white couch, and turn on the basketball game.

Shit. I should be with the Party Girl with a Hyphen
right now, pouring on the charm, making her realize this story’s
ending is inevitable—not babysitting my high-maintenance brother.
But I can’t leave him right now, especially to go chase a girl
(even if that girl happens to be a particularly gorgeous one). He’s
just too wound up. I’d never forgive myself if he lost his shit
completely and did something stupid.

I take a giant swig of my beer. Seriously, though. I
don’t blame Jonas for freaking out about Sarah, despite what I said
to him before. What the fuck’s going on with her? Is she fucking
with him? I mean, in theory I understand why Sarah opted to stay
with her mom instead of recuperating at her temperamental
boyfriend’s house. Jonas isn’t exactly anyone’s first choice as a
relaxation buddy. But why has Sarah been so fucking
non-communicative with the poor guy while she’s resting up? Is she
doing what I always do—keeping the other person guessing? If so,
why? He’s obviously waiting with bated breath to hear from her—she
must know that. And yet she’s not calling him back? She’s just been
engaging in superficial text conversations with the poor guy,
tearing a page right out of my book. I hate to admit it, but things
don’t look good for my brother’s chance at a happy ending here.

I shake my head and exhale. Please, God, let this
girl call him and tell him she wants him, once and for all. Please,
God, let her do the equivalent of holding a boom box over her
fucking head. Because if Jonas shatters again, then it’s gonna be
me who’ll have to pick up his infinite pieces—again. And at some
point, there’s not gonna be enough superglue in the world to hold
that motherfucker together anymore.

I take another long swig of my beer.

Well, shit. I should just call Sarah for him and ask
her what the fuck’s going on. I down the rest of my beer. Hell
yeah. That’s exactly what I should do. Nobody fucks with my
brother. She seems like the coolest girl in the world, I must
admit—but right now she’s fucking with him. No doubt about it. And
that’s not cool.

No. Obviously, I can’t do that. She’s not fucking
with him. I’m just being an idiot. She was stabbed. She’s being
hunted by a global crime syndicate. Jesus. Maybe placating Jonas’
feelings isn’t high on her priority list right now.

Poor Jonas. My stomach twists. What the fuck am I
gonna do with him?

I run my hand through my hair, my stomach twisting
into knots. I exhale loudly.

Well, I gotta do something.

A smile dances on my lips. Maybe I should try to get
some inside information from her hot best friend? Now there’s a
call I certainly don’t mind making.

I pull out my phone and I’m assaulted with a naked
selfie from Bridgette, her legs spread-eagle, her fingers shoved up
her hairless crotch, a huge smile on her face. The note
accompanying the photo reads, “Come and get it, Faraday!”

I roll my eyes. What the fuck have I been doing,
messing around with Bridgette? She’s stunning to look at, but she’s
such a fucking train wreck, it’s not even worth it.

“Your waxer missed a spot,” I text to her in
reply.

Her reply is immediate. “Ha, ha. Are you gonna come
hit this or not?”

“Not. I’m in Seattle with my brother. Family
emergency.”

“Oh damn,” she writes. “I was in the mood for some
huge Faraday peen. I don’t always do peen, but when I do, I make it
huge Faraday peen.”

“The most interesting woman in the world,” I write,
though it’s the furthest thing from the truth.

“I guess I’ll have to find some other huge peen to
satisfy me, then,” Bridgette writes.

“Good luck with that. Once a girl’s had Huge Faraday
Peen, no other peen shall do.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to get me some
pussy. You know I’m a big believer in affirmative action.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Bridge. Enjoy.”

“So when will you be back in LA?”

“A couple days at least,” I write. “Just depends on
how long my brother needs me.” Of course, I have no desire to fuck
Bridgette when I get back to LA, whenever that happens to be. I’ve
long since lost interest. But we’re so rarely in the same city at
the same time, given both of our travel schedules, I’ve never felt
the need to make a formal declaration of my lack of interest.

“Okay. See ya around,” she writes. “Say hi to your
big dick for me.”

I stare at my phone for a long minute. Really?
That’s it? ‘
Say hi to your big dick
’? I tell the woman I’ve
got a family emergency and that the length of my stay in Seattle
depends on how long my brother needs me and she doesn’t even ask me
what’s up? Or if my brother’s okay? Well, that’s Bridgette for you
in a nutshell: a sociopathic narcissist, through and through.

I’m done. I should have done this a long time ago.
I’ve spiraled into total douchebaggery since Emma, and I’m fucking
sick of myself.

“Hey, Bridgette,” I type. “I’m gonna take a break
from meaningless booty calls and sociopathic narcissism for a
while. Well, forever, actually. It’s been super fun. Thanks for the
memories. Best of luck.” I press send. A total dick move, but I
don’t care. She’s not even gonna ask me if everything’s okay with
my family? Didn’t I just tell her I’m in Seattle for a fucking
family emergency? Jonas is literally my only family, other than my
uncle, and she knows it—I told her about Jonas once when she told
me about her sister going into rehab—and she’s not even gonna ask
me if he’s okay?

“Sure thing,” she writes back immediately. “I’m
going to Milan next week and then to Barbados for a shoot. I’ll
text you next time I’m in LA, just in case you change your mind,
which we both know you will.
Küsse
, Faraday.”

I’m tempted to write something like, “Erase me from
your contacts,” but I refrain. I’ll just leave it. I said what
needed to be said. And it felt pretty damned good, too. I just
turned down one of the most objectively beautiful women in the
entire world. (Well, physically, anyway—I think her heart is filled
with battery acid.) That’s got to be a sign I’m headed in a new,
healthier direction.