The Revelation (12 page)

“It’s totally awesome,” Carmen agrees. “I can’t get
it out of my head.”

Will’s eyes are sparkling with sudden animation.
“Dean and I totally hit it off—brothers from another mother. We’re
planning to record it in L.A. next month after Red Card Riot’s tour
ends.”

“I bet we’ll wind up making it the lead single off
your album,” Reed says. “It’s just that good.”

“What’s it called?” I ask. “When I hear it on the
radio a year from now, I wanna remember this conversation and say,
‘I knew him when.’”

“We’ll probably call it ‘Crash,’” Will says. “It’s
pretty dope, if I do say so myself. Best song I’ve ever written. I
can’t wait to get into the studio and get it down—I’ve got a
million ideas for the instrumentation. I’m gonna do something
really unexpected with it.”

Reed rubs his hands together. “I smell a hit.”

The waiter arrives to clear dishes and bring refills
on drinks.

“What about you, Party Girl with a Hyphen?” Josh
asks, breaking his long silence. “What do you see in your
future?”

“Um...” I say. Josh didn’t answer this question
earlier, I noticed, so I’ll be damned if I will. Although, if I
were being honest, I’d tell him I’m beginning to see a future that
includes him. “Well, I’d really like to own my own PR firm one
day,” I say, opting for a safe but true answer to the question.

Josh looks completely floored by my answer. “Wow,”
he says. “Really? That’s awesome. I had no idea. ‘Party Girl
PR.’”

“Hey, I like it,” I say.

“Well, fingers crossed, maybe you’ll come into a
million bucks one day soon and you can make that happen sooner than
you ever imagined.” He winks.

I grin broadly. Crazy as it sounds, I’d actually
forgotten about the million bucks Jonas and Josh promised me if
we’re actually successful in transferring The Club’s money
tomorrow.

“Oh yeah, speaking of PR,” Reed says, “thanks for
all your hard work on the campaign for my club, Kat.” He laughs.
“Impeccable work so far.”

“Thanks for being my client,” I say. “Was it you who
called my boss and charmed her pants off?”

“Yeah, I called her,” Reed replies. “And I couldn’t
have been more insistent we had to have you personally. But I just
picked up the phone. It was Josh who paid the bill—he’s really the
one to thank, not me.” He winks at Josh.

I flash a huge smile at Josh. “Well, thank you both.
I’m really grateful I’ve been able to hang out here all this time
without losing my job.”

“Anything for Josh,” Reed says. “I can’t even count
all the favors this dude has done for me over the years. Josh
Faraday might have douche-y tattoos and a midlife crisis car, and
he might think he’s one hundred percent right about
Happy
Gilmore
when he’s dead wrong, and he might—”

“
Okay
,” Josh says emphatically. “I think she
gets the point, Reed. I’m an idiot and a douche. Move on to the
good stuff.”

“
But,
” Reed continues. “Josh Faraday is the
best friend a guy could ask for and one of the best humans you’ll
ever meet.”

“I’m not sure if I should kiss you or bitch slap
you,” Josh says.

Reed puckers and Josh laughs.

Quickly, Josh, Reed, and Henn launch into another
snarky conversation about something or other—but I’ve stopped
listening to them. I’m suddenly too busy gazing at Josh and
thinking about how cute he is when he laughs with his friends. I’m
thinking about how beautiful his blue eyes are, especially set off
by the blue jacket he’s wearing and in the flickering candlelight
of this swanky restaurant. I’m remembering the vulnerable look on
Josh’s face when I opened my door to him last night, and how he
melted into my arms without saying a word besides, “Kat.” I’m
wondering how a man can suffer so much heartbreak in his life—his
mom’s murder, his dad’s suicide, his brother being
institutionalized, his heart getting broken—and yet still manage to
laugh and joke around with his friends the way he’s doing right
now, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I’m thinking all these thoughts and a whole lot more
as I stare at Josh in the candlelight and hold his hand in
mine.

I lean my head against his muscled shoulder and take
a sip of my drink with my free hand and let out a long, relaxed,
happy exhale.

Yes, I’m thinking a thousand thoughts right now—and
all of them about Joshua William Faraday.

The table erupts in laughter again at something Henn
just said. But I’m not listening to the conversation. I turn my
face and take a long whiff of Josh’s cologne, and my crotch
tingles.

At my movement, Josh kisses the side of my head,
even as he’s still engaged in conversation with the table, and my
heart skips a beat.

Holy shit.

I want him.

And with each passing day, each passing minute, I
seem to want Josh more and more. I want to take him home to meet my
family and watch football on the couch and eat my mom’s famous
chili and watch my brothers make fun of him relentlessly for one
thing or another. I want to make love to him in my apartment,
slowly, for hours, and then drift off to sleep, and not wonder
whether he’ll be there when I wake up in the morning. I want to see
where he lives in L.A. and sit in the passenger seat of his car,
whether it’s a Lamborghini or Hyundai, while he drives me to his
favorite bar—whether it’s a dive bar or some hot spot—and I don’t
want any other woman—any other
blonde
—to sit in that seat
besides me.

I squeeze Josh’s hand and he squeezes back.

But feeling this way about any man, especially the
world’s most eligible bachelor—a playboy who dates supermodels and
celebrities (and who, by the way, clearly has a pervy-streak a mile
long)—sure seems like an extremely precarious thing to do.

Josh

“Go, Henny! Go, Henny!” Kat chants, shaking her ass,
and I laugh.

As we make our way down the hallway to my room,
Kat’s re-enacting the way Henn danced tonight on the dance floor at
Reed’s club, and she’s doing an uncannily accurate impression.

I join her in doing “The Henn” and she practically
falls over, laughing.

“Man, that white boy can dance,” she says.

“Well, he
thinks
he can, anyway,” I say.

“When it comes to dancing, isn’t that all that
matters?” she counters.

“No.” I laugh. “Not at all.”

She laughs.

“It’s Reed’s personal mission to get Henn to dance
every time he sees him,” I say. “Reed says watching Henn dance is
his own personal happy place.”

“Well, yeah. Reed made that pretty clear,” Kat
retorts. “‘Dance, puppet-boy, dance,’” she says, imitating what
Reed said to Henn all night long. She giggles. “You three together
are just like my brothers—I felt right at home. And Will sure fit
right in with you guys as the fourth musketeer, didn’t he?”

“Love that guy.”

“He reminds me of my little brother Dax.”

“I’d like to meet your brothers,” I say, and the
minute I do, I want to stuff the words back into my mouth. Who just
said that? Was that
me
? Dude. Saying you want to meet a
girl’s family is not a casual thing. “Maybe some day,” I add.

She bites her lip. “Sure. Some day.”

We’ve arrived at my room. I swipe the key card and
motion to her to enter first. Shit. My heart is racing. I’ve got to
watch myself. Slow my shit down. It’s one thing to be feeling like
this in Las Vegas, but her family’s in Seattle—in real life. Who
knows what the future holds when we leave the bubble of this
place?

“Where should I put this?” she asks, holding up the
duffel bag with her toothbrush and change of clothes we picked up
from her room before coming to mine.

“Well, in the bedroom, of course,” I say, grinning
and she smiles broadly at me. I put her bag in my bedroom and come
back out to the sitting area.

“Something to drink, Party Girl?” I ask, moving to
the bar.

“Just water. I know I’m not living up to my
nickname, but you’re absolutely killing me.”

“Water it is,” I say, moving to the bar. “Your liver
just sent you a thank you note.”

“
Gracias, señor
.” She flops down on the couch
in the sitting area. “So what were you and Will talking about on
the way to Reed’s club—something about you helping Will’s dad with
something?”

“Oh, nothing major. I’m just gonna see if I can do
Will’s dad a favor, make a few calls,” I say, grabbing water
bottles from the minibar.

“About what?”

“It’s no big deal. He’s worried his dad is making
some bad investments with a buddy—maybe even getting conned by
someone he trusts. I’m gonna snoop around and see what I can find
out for him.”

“Wow. That’s nice of you. You seem to do a lot of
favors for people,” she says.

I push her blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Only
for people I like a lot.” I bite her shoulder and she giggles in
response.

“Is that why Will got that ass-tattoo tonight—as
payment for the favor you’re gonna do for his dad?”

I laugh. “Hell no. He was just
inspired
by
our deep and profound conversation at dinner to get the stupidest
tattoo I’ve ever seen in my entire life, bar none.”

She giggles again. “Why didn’t you join him? I
thought Josh Faraday’s never seen a stupid tattoo he didn’t like.
What happened to the barbed wire you were gonna get to complete
your ‘social suicide’ trifecta?”

“I chickened out. I guess even I’ve got my limits.”
I shrug. “Or maybe I just wasn’t drunk enough.”

“I swear I’ve never laughed so hard as when Will
dropped his drawers right in front of all of us and got that
ridiculous thing. He took the drunken tattoo to a whole new level
tonight.”

“Yeah, if getting a stupid tattoo is actually deep
in a twisted sort of way, then 2Real is one incredibly profound
motherfucker.” I chuckle. “I should sic Jonas on the guy and watch
what happens.”

Kat laughs. “I’m sure they’d totally hit it
off.”

“No, Jonas would quote Plato to Will all night long
and poor Will would be like, ‘Um, can you bring back the dumb
Faraday now? He was a lot more fun.’”

“You’re not the dumb Faraday.”

“Compared to Jonas, I sure as hell am. My brother is
ridiculously brilliant—a whiz with numbers, amazing at solving
puzzles, always thinking about something deep and meaningful,
unlike me. And the boy’s got
vision
. My mom always called
him magic.”

Kat bites her lip. “You’re magic, too, Josh.”

I blush. “Not like Jonas. Now, don’t get me started
on what a complete and total dumbshit Jonas is about people and
life in general,” I continue, “and especially about
relationships—that’s a whole other story. The boy’s a fucking tool.
But, man, Jonas—now there’s a magical beast of a dumbshit of a
man.”

She’s listening to me intently. Damn, she’s so
fucking beautiful. I could sit and look at her all day, every day,
and never get tired of her face. I put my fingertip over the slight
cleft in her chin and she smiles shyly.

“So enough about my idiot-genius brother,” I say
softly. “Are you ever gonna tell me what you thought of my
application? We haven’t been alone for two minutes since Henn woke
us up and I’ve been dying to hear what you think.”

She presses her lips together. “You wanna hear what
I think, huh?”

I nod, my stomach clenching.

“Well, first off...” She looks up at the ceiling,
apparently gathering her thoughts. “Well, first, let’s just get
this out of the way: I don’t think you’re a sick fuck.” She smiles.
“But if you are, then I don’t care.”

I’m tingling all over. I thought she’d say that,
based on the way she fell asleep in my arms after reading it last
night, but it sure feels good to hear her say it out loud.

“Well, okay, maybe you’re a teeny-tiny bit of a sick
fuck,” she amends, “but I
like
that about you.”

My cock stretches its arms and yawns inside my
pants.

“Secondly, I think that, whatever you did to those
women in The Club for a month?” She levels me with her sparkling
blue eyes. “I want you to do it to me, too—
exactly
the way
you did it to them.”

Oh shit. My cock just sat upright in bed and yelled,
‘Do I smell coffee?’”

There’s a long beat as I process what she just
said.

She grins broadly. “I also think... as long as
you’re gonna show me your fantasies, without holding back, then,
maybe, if you’re willing... ” She takes a deep breath. “Maybe I
could show you mine?” Again, she bites her lip. “Because I’m
actually a bit of a sick fuck myself.”

My cock is now doing jumping jacks on the floor next
to its bed. “I’d love that,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
“What are your fantasies? In your ‘application’, you mentioned a
bodyguard fantasy and some sort of captive fantasy?”

She nods. “Yeah. Actually, I think the captive
fantasy might be pretty consistent with your saving-the-raped-girl
fantasy. We might be able to do a two-for-one there.”

I shift in my seat, trying to relieve the pressure
on my cock. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it,” I say.

She takes a deep breath. “Really? You want the whole
thing?”

I nod. “Of course. Tell me the whole damned
thing.”

She beams a smile at me that stops my heart. “Okay,
well, um, let’s start with my captive fantasy.” She looks giddy.
“Well, I’m held captive by a horribly dangerous man who captured me
in order to make me his sex slave. But then, after taking
me—sensuously,
not
violently, by the way—he winds up falling
desperately in love with me—and then after a while another bad guy
comes to kidnap me, also intending to make me his sex slave, of
course, and my original captor fends him off in a sword fight—”