Page 21 of Infatuation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #1)

Fourteen

Josh

She continues staring at me, her blue eyes sparkling with defiance.

“You fucked Cameron Schulz?” I blurt.

Her cheeks flush. “Back at his place.” She maintains my gaze, her eyes blazing. “He has a very nice house, bee tee dubs. Just what you’d expect of a professional baseball player.”

I don’t know whether to cry or scream. Or charter an airplane to Seattle and kick Cameron Fucking Schulz’s ass. Oh my fucking God. I glance around the bar, my heart racing, clenching and unclenching my fists.

She fishes a crunchie thing out of the bowl in front of us and pops it into her mouth. “And I’m not sorry or ashamed about it. He was sweet and I got to check off one of my fantasies. (I’m big on fantasies, bee tee dubs. It’s kinda my thing .) So, yeah, I count the entire experience as a win-win.”

I open and shut my mouth like a fish on a line.

“News flash, Playboy. Not all sex has to be deep and meaningful. Even for the members of the species with vaginas .”

I’m still speechless.

She drains her drink.

“What fantasy did you get to check off?” I finally say. Oh my God, I feel physically ill just saying the words.

“Well, gosh, that’s kind of a personal question.

” She laughs. “But since we’re being completely honest and all, I’ll tell you.

One of my all-time fantasies has always been to have sex with a professional athlete—though admittedly, in a manner much more exciting than it went down with Cameron.

” She pops another crunchie into her mouth.

“I slept with a guy on the football team in college who was drafted by the Lions his senior year, but he went pro after I slept with him so I don’t think that counts as having sex with a pro athlete.

Do you think it does?” She pops another crunchie thing into her mouth and washes it down with her martini.

I press my lips together, incapable of saying a goddamned thing. I’m feeling a strange mixture of arousal and rage and complete repulsion.

“Oh, please,” she finally says. “You think sex always has to be something deep and meaningful and profound? Pffft.”

I make a face.

“Well, then. Why should it be any different for me? Just because I have a vagina ?”

I lean back in my chair. “So you say. I’m not sure I believe it.”

She laughs.

“Just tell me right now, Kat. Do you really have a vagina? Because I swear to fucking God, if you’re hiding a dick and balls under there, I’m gonna lose my fucking shit.”

She laughs. “I’m not a dude. I promise.”

“Because you’re acting like a dude right now.”

“Nope. Rest assured, I do indeed have a vagina and ovaries and fallopian tubes. Oh, and boobs, too, which I’ve been told multiple times are ‘absolutely perfect,’ bee tee dubs.

But I can certainly understand your confusion about my genitalia, because I’m actually an honorary dude, probably from growing up with four brothers and all. ”

I can’t formulate a response. My head is reeling.

“And, to be clear, I don’t have only meaningless sex.

I absolutely love meaningful sex, too, but I’m not hung up about it either way.

I do what I want—oh, and I’m very selective .

I’m just saying when I do have meaningless sex, it’s because I want to do it—and, therefore, I’m not at all sorry or ashamed about it. My choice.”

I mull that over.

“So I take it you’ve never had meaningless sex, then?” she asks. “That’s so sweet.”

“This is a really bizarre conversation. Excuse me,” I say to the bartender. “Two more shots of Patron, please.”

“Have you ever wished you could have meaningless sex, Josh?” she persists .

I roll my eyes. “I’ve had meaningless sex, Kat.”

“But it was somehow supposed to be simultaneously meaning ful for the woman you were screwing, is that it?”

“No. Of course, not.”

“Well, there you go. Works both ways. Have you ever had meaningful sex?”

“Of course. I strongly prefer it, actually. But I find it’s much, much harder to come by.”

She nods. “I agree. I prefer it, too—and, yes, it’s much, much harder to come by.”

We stare at each other for a long beat.

The bartender places our shots in front of us.

“To you, Kat—to the honorary dude who’s blowing my mind right now.”

“To you, Josh—to the playboy who’s maybe not quite as much of a playboy as I originally thought.”

We knock back our shots.

“Whew,” she says. “I can’t feel my toes.”

“So do you possess any other dude-like qualities besides unapologetically engaging in meaningless sex with sports stars?” I ask.

“Well, my brothers say I laugh like a dude, but I don’t know about that.”

“You do. Totally.”

“I hardly ever cry.”

“Okay. That’s a plus.”

“I’m not easily offended, but when I am, watch the fuck out, because I’ve got a fucking temper, motherfucker, and I will cut you.”

“Whoa. Good to know. Anything else?”

“Well, I can burp the alphabet. And I don’t flinch when men fart around me—the sound of men farting is just white noise to me at this point, like a sound machine that lulls me to sleep.”

I laugh. “Wow.”

“Yup.”

“What about girlie stuff? Tell me some of that stuff so I don’t start imagining you hiding a dick and balls under there.”

“Well, let’s start with the biggest girlie thing of all: I have a vagina . ”

“That’s definitely a biggie. Glad to hear it.”

“Oh, and here’s something. I like saying the word vagina . Vagina, vagina, vagina. I say it a lot. Vagina .”

“Actually, I think that’s another dude thing. Vagina, vagina, vagina. See? I like saying it, too. Vagina. ”

“Or maybe that’s a girlie thing about you .”

“Hmm. I never thought of it that way. Vagina . Hmm. I dunno. You may be right.”

“Have you noticed people never say that word?” she says. “Why is that?”

“Because they’re pussies,” I reply.

She laughs.

“What else?” I ask. “Tell me something really girlie about you that’ll prove you’ve got a vagina under there, once and for all.”

“Okay. Well, I’m a sucker for sequins and fringe.”

“You and Neil Diamond. That proves nothing.”

She laughs. “Good point. You’re right. Okay. Let’s see. Pink is my favorite color.” She looks up at the ceiling, thinking. “I love getting pedicures and doing yoga and drinking white wine. Oh, and eating cupcakes. That’s all pretty girlie.”

“Especially if you do all of it while wearing sequins and fringe,” I say.

She laughs. “I have Hello Kitty sheets on my bed. And I’m not talking about my childhood room at my parents’ house. I currently have Hello Kitty sheets on my bed in my apartment.”

“Whoa.”

“Kitty Kat,” she says by way of explanation. She winks.

“I figured.”

“Let’s see. Well, my all-time favorite movie is The Bodyguard. My close second after that is Pretty Woman . And the bronze goes to Magic Mike.”

“Okay, okay. That’s it,” I say, holding up my hands. “I need nothing further. I’m now one hundred percent convinced you’ve got a vagina .”

“Whew. What a relief. I was beginning to worry my dick was really, really tiny.”

I laugh.

We sit and stare at each other for a long moment. I’d pay an inordinate amount of money to know what she’s thinking right now. Right after paying an inordinate amount of money to fuck her.

“You said sleeping with a pro athlete is one of your fantasies?” I say.

“Correct. Well, it was .” She snickers and makes a “check mark” motion with her finger in the air.

I grimace.

She laughs. “But, actually, my pro-athlete fantasy is a bit more elaborate than what I did with Cameron. And it involves an NFL player, actually—not a baseball star—so maybe that checkmark was a wee bit premature.”

“Wow. Your fantasy is pretty specific, huh?”

She nods. “MVP of the Super Bowl, to be exact—in the locker room after the big game.”

“Interesting. Are all your fantasies that specific?”

She nods. “You have no idea.”

“You’ve got a lot of fantasies?” I ask.

“I do. Lots and lots.” She sips her drink.

I’m finding it a bit hard to breathe. “All of them specific ?”

“Most of them.”

“Tell me some of them,” I say. I can feel my cheeks blazing.

She leans forward. “I’ll tell you all of them —just as soon as you tell me what you wrote in your application .”

I smile. “Here we go again. No.”

She exhales. “Okay, then. No fantasies for you.” She licks her lips. “Too bad. You would have liked them.”

I squint at her.

“Answer a question for me, Josh.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I sip my drink.

“Did you sleep with someone while you were in New York?”

I choke on my drink. Jesus. This woman’s gonna be the death of me.

Under any other circumstances, I’d lie right now. But after what she told me about Cameron, that’s obviously not an option.

I take a long, deep breath. “Yeah.”

Her eyes light up. “ I knew it . Such a hypocrite.”

“I’m not a hypocrite. I slept with a girl I used to know a long time ago. We both just happened to be in New York at the same time, by sheer coincidence. Completely meaningless. ”

She smiles. “Ah. Blast-from-your-past sex—definitely not a fantasy of mine.” She shudders. “That can be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How so?”

“It can bring up old feelings—and usually only for one person, which is never good.” She shudders again.

I scoff. “There were no old feelings to bring up. We dated for, like, four months seven years ago, and I don’t think we had sober sex more than twice.”

She purses her lips. “How’d you guys wind up hooking up after all this time?”

I exhale. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

I have no desire to tell this story. I exhale and run my hand through my hair.

“Come on, Playboy. Spill it.”