Page 13 of Infatuation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #1)
“It’s a first date,” I reply. “We were supposed to go out the night I met you at Jonas’, actually. And then it got rescheduled and we were supposed to go out the night Sarah was attacked. And now we’re here. Finally.”
“Kat, the universe clearly doesn’t want you to date this guy. Get up and leave now! What do you need the universe to do before you start listening—send a fucking bus crashing into the restaurant?”
I laugh out loud.
Before I can reply, Josh sends another message. “Tell him you have to leave. I’ll send a car for you right now. It’ll be there in five minutes. Tell him NOW.”
I make a face at my phone. On what planet would I ever ditch Cameron like that?
I’m a bitch, but I’m not that big a bitch.
That might be how things happen in movies (and, admittedly, in one of the many fantasy-pornos that plays inside my head) but that’s not how nice people in real life act.
“I’m not gonna do that,” I write to Josh.
“Cameron’s a nice guy. And I’ve already cancelled on him twice. ”
“So what. He deserved it. He’s a tool.”
“He’s not a tool. Far from it.”
“Yes, he is. Obviously.”
“He’s not.”
“Yes, he is. You wanna know how I know?”
“Enlighten me. ”
“Because you’re on a date with him and you’re more interested in texting me.”
I smile broadly. Touché, Playboy.
“Ergo, he’s a tool,” Josh writes.
I shouldn’t do it—I know I shouldn’t—but I can’t help myself. “He’s not a tool. He’s a professional baseball player.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really,” I text.
“Oh. Minor or major league?”
“Major.”
“Bah. He’s probably some benchwarmer, Kat, trying to impress you. He’s some utility player or relief pitcher who sits around waiting for someone to pull a hamstring so he can get in the game. That’s why he said ‘professional baseball player’ instead of saying his team or his position.”
“Well, a boy in the restaurant just asked him for his autograph. Do kids ask for autographs from players who sit on the bench?”
“No,” he writes. “Not usually.”
I smirk.
“Is he on the Mariners?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“The guy says he’s a professional baseball player and you don’t ask him for what team?”
“No, I just said, ‘That’s cool.’ I was playing it cool, acting like I didn’t care. That’s a bit of a strategy of mine with guys, if you must know. A girl should never seem too eager, especially with a pro athlete.” I attach a winking emoji.
“Ah, clever. The ol’ ‘I don’t give a shit you’re a major league ball player’ strategy. Clever. Works every time, I’m sure.”
“Well, it certainly worked this time, anyway.”
“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“LOL.”
“Well, does he live in Seattle?” Josh texts.
“Why are we talking about my date?” I write.
“I need to know what I’m dealing with. Does he live in Seattle?”
“I’m pretty sure he does. His phone number is 206.”
“What’s his name?”
“Cameron. ”
“CAMERON?”
“Correct.”
“Oh Jesus. Motherfucking fuck. Does he have dark hair? About six foot two? Looks like an ad for aftershave?”
“Yeah! That’s him. That’s what Sarah said! She said he looks like an ad for razors.”
“Motherfucker! That’s because he IS an ad for razors. Literally! He’s Cameron Schultz, Kat! Goddammit!”
“Yeah! Schultz! That’s his last name. Now I remember. You know him?”
“No, I don’t know him personally. I know who he is because he’s a fucking ALL-STAR! Kat, you’re on a date with the fucking shortstop for the Mariners!”
“Oh. That’s cool. Haha! Maybe I should have asked more questions.”
“Kat, this is my worst nightmare right now. You know that, right? I literally had this very nightmare last night,” Josh writes.
“Why is this your nightmare?”
“You know why. But I’m not gonna feed your ego and say it. I can play the ‘I don’t give a shit’ game, too. It doesn’t just work on professional ball players, it also works on gorgeous women who are used to men falling all over them.”
“Okay, well, as long as neither of us gives a shit, I guess I’ll go, then. I’m on a date with an All-star baseball player, in case you didn’t know.”
“WAIT! No. I take it back. I GIVE A SHIT! I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”
I giggle. “Screw you, dude. I’m having fun. I’m on a date with Cameron Fucking Schulz. I’m sure he’s about to re-enact his latest razor commercial for me. Sexy!”
“Put your fork down. My Party Girl with a Hyphen’s not allowed on a date with Cameron Fucking Schultz. Hell no. Especially when I’m in the mood to celebrate my freedom. Tonight’s MY night, Party Girl, not that dickweed’s. Tell him to step the fuck aside and let a real man show you a good time.”
Those butterflies in my stomach just turned into bald eagles. I can’t think what to say in reply, so I just stare at my phone, freaking out .
“Kat, tell him you’ve had a family emergency. Or that you feel sick. I don’t fucking care what you say. Just end the date. I’m coming right now. THIS IS MY FUCKING NIGHT AND YOU’RE MY GODDAMNED PARTY GIRL WITH A HYPHEN!”
My entire body feels electrified. “OMG. You’re nuts. No.”
Cameron clears his throat and I look up from my phone. Oh crap. Cameron’s staring at me intently. My cheeks blaze with sudden heat.
“I’m sorry, Cameron,” I say. “I’m being rude—absolutely horrible.” I put my phone down. But then I pick it right back up. “I’m... Lemme just... I just need to say goodbye.”
“No worries. She needs you. I understand. You’re worth the wait.” His eyes darken.
“Thank you,” I say, blushing. “Just a minute more, I promise. And then I’m all yours.”
He picks up his water, salutes me, and winks. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
“Please do,” I say, but my voice lacks its usual flirtatiousness. I bury my nose in my phone again. “Careful, Josh. You’re gonna make me sleep with Cameron just to spite you.”
“NOT FUNNY, KAT.”
“I’m not being funny. I’ve never slept with a pro athlete before. It’s on my list.”
I’ve no sooner pressed send on that last text when my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Josh.
I decline the call and put my phone back on the table, smiling at Cameron.
“Sorry about that,” I breathe. The phone buzzes with another incoming call and I decline it again.
“She’s just really needy right now,” I say, despicably spiraling into full-blown, pathological deception.
“Post traumatic stress or something, poor thing.” Oh my God, I’m morally bankrupt. Heinous. Reprehensible.
Turned-on.
“Why don’t you just go give her a quick call?” Cameron suggests. “Make sure everything’s okay. And then we’ll start fresh, you and me.”
I nod. “Yeah, good idea. Thanks. As long as you don’t mind.” My phone buzzes with another incoming call and I decline it. “I’m just gonna step out front, real quick, call her, see if everything’s okay, and then I’ll put my phone away for the rest of the night. I promise.”
The waiter comes to the table with my martini and sets it in front of me. “Are we ready to order?”
My phone buzzes with another call and I decline it.
“I don’t think we’re ready to order yet—” Cameron begins.
“No, no, I’m ready,” I say. “I’ll only be gone a minute, I promise.”
He smiles at me.
I quickly place my order with the waiter, take a huge swig of my martini, and then another, and sprint outside, gripping my phone with white knuckles as I go.
I’m scum right now. A lying, deceitful, insincere piece of shit.
But I can’t help it. I feel like a junkie hankering for her next fix—and Josh Faraday is most definitely my next fix.
The chilly night air feels like a slap to my face—which is good.
Maybe it’ll slap some sense into me. I’m being an absolute nightmare right now.
A female-asshole, which is a massive step above bitch.
Oh my God, I need to stop this. I’m on a date with Cameron.
He’s hot. He’s a professional athlete. He’s sweet—like a Boy Scout.
Jeez, the man’s pursued me through two cancellations of our dinner date.
I’ve got to go back in there and give him my undivided attention.
He deserves that much. And I will. Just as soon as I talk to Josh for a teensy-weensy second.
I press the button to call Josh.
“Oh my fucking God!” Josh shouts in my ear the minute the call connects. “Just the thought of you sleeping with Cameron Fucking Schultz is turning me into my goddamned brother. I’m coming to get you. Tell me where you are. You’re not allowed to be on a date!”
I laugh. “Oh, please. I’ve seen your Instagram account, Josh. You’re not exactly a monk.”
“Don’t believe everything you see. I just got propositioned by a bisexual supermodel the other day and I turned her down .”
I laugh. “Well, give the man a medal.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“No.”
He’s silent for a long beat. I can practically hear his gears turning. “Are you gonna turn this guy down or what?” he finally asks, his voice intense .
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Oh my fucking—”
“Josh, you’re assuming he’s gonna make me some kind of offer. There might not be anything to turn down.”
“Ha! Kat, gimme a fucking break. Of course, the guy’s gonna make you an offer.”
“Not ‘of course.’ We might not hit it off. You never know.”
“Kat, Jesus. Don’t act like you don’t know you’re literally the most gorgeous girl on planet earth. You’re physical perfection and any man who meets you is gonna want to sleep with you and he’s gonna pull out all the stops to seduce you.”
I’m speechless. He just said things that would rock any girl’s world—and he said them like he was rattling off state capitals.
“So, are you gonna turn him down or not?”
“You think I’m the most gorgeous girl on planet earth?” I ask, my mouth still hanging open.
He exhales with exasperation, like I’m asking a stupid question. “Of course. You’re insanity—a fantasy come to life. You must know that.”
My heart is suddenly pounding in my ears.
“You’re drop-dead gorgeous,” he continues, his voice shifting from matter-of-fact to something distinctly sexual. “Anyone who sees you is gonna want you. It’s fucking primal. Anyone would want you.”