The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) (8 page)

There’s a clattering noise in the kitchen and I look
up. Jonas is freshly showered, doing something in the kitchen,
looking like a bull in a china shop. “I’m making myself some
kale-apple-beet-spinach-carrot juice,” he shouts at me. “You want
some?”

I hold up my beer. “No, I’ve got my vitamins right
here, bro, thanks.”

He doesn’t reply.

I feel electrified. I should have told Bridgette I
wasn’t interested in her a long time ago. It’s time to clean up my
act. My little vacation in The Club was perfectly understandable,
and I’m not at all sorry about it, but after that, I just kept
going in vacation-mode in my real life, too. I don’t need to see a
shrink to figure out I’ve been wallowing in self-pity since Emma,
afraid to get back in the dating pool with real women. But it’s
been almost a fucking year since Emma kicked me in the teeth and
then didn’t even have the courtesy to break up with me officially
before running off with that ascot-wearing cocksucker. It’s
seriously time for me to move on and stop acting like a douche.
That’s it. No more mainlining cotton candy for me—it’s time for me
to start feasting on some meat and potatoes again.

“Hey, you know what?” I call to Jonas. “Yeah, gimme
some kale-apple-whatever-whatever juice. Sounds great, bro.”

I swig my beer, letting my mind wander. Today marks
a new era for me. No more women who are only in it for courtside
seats at Lakers games or backstage passes to concerts—women who
don’t even ask me if I’m okay when I’ve had a family fucking
emergency.

Kat’s beautiful face flickers across my mind, but I
force myself not to think about her. This isn’t about Kat in
particular. This is about me checking back into reality. Moving on.
Getting my personal life back on track. This is about me getting
off the Douche Train.

I tap out a text. “Hey, Party Girl with a Hyphen.
I’ve got a quick question for you.”

She answers immediately. “Hey, Playboy. Did you make
it back up to Seattle okay? How are you doing? Is Jonas hanging in
there?”

Well, holy shit. After my text exchange with
Bridgette, Kat’s genuine interest in how we’re doing feels like a
thunderbolt cracking the sky. Is this just a coincidence or a sign
from God?

“Jonas is a fucking wreck,” I reply. “A total
asshole to be around. That’s why I’m texting you, actually. Do you
know if Sarah’s been avoiding Jonas?”

“Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”

“It seems like she’s giving him the cold shoulder,
maybe—but, of course, she’s also recently been stabbed by a hitman,
so it could be that. But, seriously, Sarah hasn’t asked to see
Jonas since she left the hospital. That seems a bit odd. I’m
worried he’s about to get crushed. He’s really, really into her,
Kat—like, seriously out of his mind for this girl.”

“I’ll see if I can get some info,” Kat writes. “But
Sarah’s my best friend, so it’s not a lock I’ll be able to tell you
whatever I find out.”

“I understand. But I’m kinda desperate for any
little crumb you can feed me. Any intel you could throw my way
would be greatly appreciated. I’d owe you one.”

“Well, I will say this—as far as I know, Sarah’s
absolutely crazy about Jonas.”

“Good to hear.”

“So how are you doing, Playboy?” Kat writes. “Are
you okay? Must be hard trying to keep Jonas on track all the time.
From what I saw at Jonas’ house, you have your work cut out for
you.”

Yeah, there’s no question about it: this text
exchange with Kat is a sign from God. I can’t remember the last
time a woman asked me sincerely how I’m doing.

“Thanks for asking,” I write. “I’m okay. I just
decided to stop being a total douche so I’m doing pretty good.”

Jonas sits down next to me on the couch and hands me
a juice concoction that looks like it was squeezed out of an
alien.

“Thanks,” I say.

He doesn’t reply, but instead turns up the volume on
the basketball game.

“You’ve decided to stop being a douche? So you were
a douche and now you’re magically not one anymore?” Kat writes.

“Correct,” I write.

“Any particular thing that’s inspired your decision
to make douchebaggery a thing of the past?”

“Nope. Just had to be done.”

“Hey, you wanna start working on our business plan?”
Jonas asks, swatting my thigh. “I’ve got a thousand ideas.”

“When the game’s over,” I say to Jonas. “There’s
only ten more minutes left.” I look at my phone again. “Hey, can
you talk rather than text?” I type to Kat, suddenly yearning to
hear her voice.

“Not right now. I’m just now leaving a client
meeting with my boss. We’re heading back to the office in her
car.”

“What do you do?”

“I work at a PR firm. We just met with a client
about a social media campaign for a chain of barbeque
restaurants.”

“How’d it go?”

“Good. They loved everything I came up with, except
for my proposed slogan. (Damn it!) But I’m gonna work on it with
this awesome girl from my office when I get back to the office. No
worries.”

“Hey, I’ve got a great slogan you can use. My gift
to you.”

“Awesome. I’ll take any help I can get. Hit me.”

“I’ve got your pulled pork right here, baby!”

“LOL. OMG. That’s actually kind of brillz. This
chain is all about being brash and blue-collar and funny. They
might actually like it.”

“Oh no. That wasn’t my slogan idea. That was just me
trying to sweet talk you, PG. The slogan idea is this: ‘Hey, if you
like barbeque, then we’d appreciate it if you’d eat at our
restaurant. Thank you.’ What do you think? Pure genius, right?”

“OMG. I’m literally laughing out loud right now in
my boss’ car. You’re a PR whiz, PB.”

“I’ve got all kinds of mad skillz, PG. I’m a wise
and powerful man; you should know that up front.”

“And a total douche—oh, wait, except that you’re not
now. Scratch that.” She attaches a winking emoji.

“Exactly. You only live once, right? Best not to
waste valuable time being a total douche.”

“Hey! I say that ALL THE TIME,” she writes.

“You say ‘best not to waste valuable time being a
total douche’ all the time?”

“Haha. No. I say, ‘You only live once.’”

“So do I. YOLO. It’s kind of my thing.”

“Oh, God, no! Not YOLO. Don’t say YOLO! Oh, the
humanity!”

“Douchey?”

“Yes. Don’t do it!

“What about ‘go big or go home.’ Can I say that?
Because I say that all the time, too,” I write.

“Yes. And you may also say, ‘I can sleep when I’m
dead.’ Those are fine. Just not YOLO,” she writes.

“What about ‘Work hard, play hard’? I say that one
all the time, too.”

“You like spiffy little catchphrases, huh?”

“Hey, at least I’m not running around quoting Plato
all the time.”

“What’s wrong with Plato?” she writes.

“Hang around my crazy-ass brother for a day and
you’ll see.”

“LOL. Okay.”

“Oh, I just thought of another one I say all the
time. ‘Under-promise and over-perform.’”

“Oh, words to live by,” she writes.

“I do. Religiously.”

“Interesting.”

“So is that it?” I write. “I can say all that stuff,
just not YOLO?”

“Correct. Just not YOLO. EVER. Though you CAN say
the actual words ‘you only live once.’ Just not ‘YOLO.’”

“So many fucking rules. Jesus.”

“Dude, I don’t make the rules. I just enforce
them.”

I laugh out loud.

“And for God’s sake don’t get a YOLO tattoo!” she
writes. “Promise me!”

I burst out laughing. “I make no such promise.”

“Don’t do it!”

“How about a YOLO tattoo on my ass? Can I do
that?”

“LOL! The absolute worst possible scenario! DO NOT
DO IT! TOTALLY AGAINST THE RULES!!!!”

I can’t stop laughing. “There’s something you really
should know about me, PG: I like breaking rules.”

“Do what you must, but you’ve been warned. A YOLO
tattoo is social suicide.”

I laugh again. “Okay. Good to know. So what other
really uncool things should I avoid like the plague besides a YOLO
tattoo on my ass? Help an old man out.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty,” I write.

“Holy shitballs! Where’s your walker?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Aw, just a kitten.”

“Meow.”

“This is good. I need help from a whippersnapper
like yourself to keep me in the cool. What else should I absolutely
avoid, according to these rules of yours?

“Not MY rules. They’re just THE rules.”

“Okay. What else is against THE rules?”

“A barbed-wire tattoo around your bicep fo shizzles.
Don’t do it.”

I laugh to myself. I couldn’t agree more with that
one. “Okay,” I write. “I promise I won’t get that no matter how
drunk I am.”

“And don’t get a tribal band around your bicep,
either, unless you’re from the Islands. Are you an Islander,
Josh?”

“Nope. Duly noted.”

“Or dragon. Cliché.”

I laugh. “Really?”

“Yup. And God help you if you get a girlfriend’s
name tattooed onto your arm. Just ask Johnny Depp. He had to get
‘Winona Forever’ lasered to ‘Wino Forever.’ Lasers are painful,
Josh. Not good. Don’t do it.”

“Yeah, I could see how that could be a bit of an
oops.”

“A little gold hoop in your left ear. Don’t do
it.”

“Jesus. The Rules are as long as my fucking arm.
Anything else?”

“Nope. Avoid all that redonkulousness and you’ll be
super cool.”

“So you’re allowed to use the word redonkulousness
and I can’t say YOLO?”

“Correct. Again, let me repeat. I do not make THE
rules. I merely enforce them.”

I laugh out loud again.

“Whoa, did you see that?” Jonas says, swatting my
knee.

I look up and catch the instant replay of a
smooth-as-silk pass and dunk on TV.

“Sweet,” I say. But I don’t care about the game
right now. I’m having too much fun playing with a certain little
kitten. I look back at my phone.

“Hey, my boss is about to get off her phone call, so
I better go,” she writes.

“Josh,” Jonas says. “Game’s over. You ready to do
some Climb & Conquer?”

“I gotta go, too,” I write. “My captor has summoned
me. Hey, you’ve still got those bodyguards around the clock,
right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Stay safe. Have a good one, PG.”

“You, too, PB. Have fun with your captor.”

“Thanks. He’s always an adventure, for sure.”

“Who are you texting with?” Jonas asks.

I look up. Jonas has already opened his laptop. He’s
staring at me.

“Just a girl.”

Jonas gives me a knowing look. “No sexting when
you’re sitting on a couch with me. Ew.”

“Fuck you. Come on. Climb & Conquer, baby. Let’s
do this. I’m chomping at the bit to get our baby launched, put out
the press release. Hey, when are we gonna tell Uncle William we’re
both leaving the company, by the way?”

“Soon,” Jonas says. “I just gotta figure some shit
out first. With both of us leaving . . .” He lets out an anxious
breath. “I don’t want Uncle William to feel like we’re deserting
him.”

“I know, but it is what it is. I’ll be seeing him
next week at the board meeting,” I say. “Why don’t I tell him
then?”

“No, just wait,” Jonas says. “Lemme figure out the
game plan first, get my strategy into place, write the press
release. I really wanna tell him in person together.”

Jonas looks so wracked with anxiety, I don’t have
the heart to argue with him. “Okay, bro, whatever you say.” I pat
his cheek. “No worries. But I really should go to that meeting,
regardless. Are you gonna be okay if I leave and go to New York
next week?”

“Of course. You don’t have to babysit me. I’m a
grown-ass man.”

“I know.”

There’s a long pause.

“But thanks for babysitting me,” Jonas finally says.
He exhales. “Thanks for coming when I called.”

“I always will.”

We smile at each other.

“Okay, Climb & Conquer,” Jonas says. “Our baby.
Let’s figure out how to give her legs.”

“And then wings.” I rub my hands together. “It’s
gonna be fucking awesome, bro.”

“Fuck yeah, it is. I’ve got the whole thing planned
in my head. Now to flesh it out and make it real.”

Jonas launches into an animated monologue about his
vision for our new company, but as excited as I am about the whole
thing, my mind keeps wandering. I keep thinking about Kat, her
golden blonde hair swooshing across her naked shoulders, those big
blue eyes of hers staring at me as she rides me. Or sucks me off.
Or as I fuck her nice and slow, my hands cupping her breasts. Shit.
Just thinking about her is making me hard again.

“Hey, are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Jonas
asks. “I’m bursting at the seams to tell you this stuff and your
eyes are glazed over.”

“Sorry. Got distracted. I’m totally listening now.
Shoot.”

Jonas looks at me sideways. “Does this have anything
to do with whoever you were texting a minute ago?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” I say. “But if it
does
, it’s because she’s so fucking hot, no mortal man could
resist her.”

Jonas laughs. “You’re talking about Kat, aren’t you?
She’s exactly your type, man.”

I grin broadly. “Never mind. Come on,” I say,
rubbing my hands together. “Climb & Conquer. Let’s do this
shit. I’ve never been more excited about anything in my entire
life.”

Kat

My phone beeps loudly with an incoming text. Shoot.
I thought I’d turned off the ringer when Cameron and I sat down at
our table. I reach into my purse.
Oh
. My stomach fills with
butterflies—it’s a text from Josh Faraday. My eyes dart across the
spacious restaurant, just in time to see Cameron slip into the
men’s restroom. I look back down at my phone, grinning like a
fool.