Page 22 of Infatuation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #1)

I roll my eyes. “My good friend Reed happened to be in New York last week because one of his bands was doing Saturday Night Live. Coincidentally, Reed’s ex-girlfriend Isabel and her best friend—the girl in question—had just come back from a week in France and stopped in New York so Isabel could do this TV interview thing.

The girls figured out Reed and I were both in New York by total coincidence—thank you, Instagram—so they invited us to go to the show taping with them.

After the show, we all went out for dinner and drinks and I.

.. got... shit-faced... and made an impulsive and extremely stupid decision.

” I feel sick. I wouldn’t normally be saying a word of this to anyone, let alone a woman I’m interested in sleeping with. Why am I saying all this?

Kat sips her drink quietly. “So your friend Reed’s in a band?”

“That’s what you want to know after everything I just said? You wanna know if my friend Reed’s in a band?”

She shrugs. “To start with, yeah.”

“No, Reed’s not in a band—he owns a record label. He also co-owns a dance club here in Vegas. Maybe I’ll take you there tonight.”

“Oh, I’d love that. I love to dance. Who’s the band that played on Saturday Night Live ?”

I pause. “That’s really what you’re curious about? You’re not gonna ask me about her ?”

“Oh, I’m getting there, trust me. I’m just playing it cool. ”

I laugh. “Ah, stealing a page out of my book.”

“It’s a good page.”

“Red Card Riot.”

“ That’s the band on your friend’s label? Wow. I love them.”

“Yeah, they’re awesome.”

She screeches the chorus from Red Card Riot’s monster rock hit, “Shaynee.”

“Great song,” I say.

“Have you met them?” she asks.

“No, the guys in the band didn’t come out with us in New York. I think they had some groupies to ‘meet and greet.’”

“I’m sure they did. They’re huge right now—your friend Reed must be thrilled.”

“Yeah. He’s always had quite the knack for spotting talent. A bit of a Midas touch.”

She takes a sip of her drink and then levels me with an unflinching gaze. “So do you plan to see her again?”

“Okay, here we go.”

“I told you I’d get to it.”

“And you did.”

She pauses. “So do you plan to see her?”

“No.” I snort. “Never. Like I said. It was completely meaningless.”

She chews the inside of her mouth.

“Do you plan to see Mr. Baseball again?” I ask, my heart pounding.

“No.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He wants to see you again, though, right?”

She nods.

“You’re not gonna say yes when he asks?”

“He’s already asked twice. And I’ve already said no both times.” She presses her lips together. “I told him very clearly it wasn’t gonna work out. I was nice about it, but clear.”

I make a caveman sound.

“What does that grunt mean?”

“It means I’m plotting his murder in my head. ”

“Why? He didn’t do anything wrong.”

I grunt again.

She smiles. “You’re jealous ?”

“Of course, I’m jealous. Fuck yeah, I am.”

“But I just told you I’m not gonna see him again.”

“So what. I can’t get a certain visual out of my head and it’s making me crazy.”

Her smile broadens.

“You like that I’m jealous?”

She thinks for a minute. “Usually, I’d say no—that I hate jealous bullshit. But, yeah, I’m liking it.” She bites her lip. “So does Miss Blast from Your Past wanna see you again?”

I nod. “She seems to think we’ve got some sort of... soul connection .” I make a face. “But I’ve already told her it’s not gonna happen.”

“Hmmph.”

“What does that mean? Are you jealous of Miss Blast from My Past?”

“Honestly?”

“Of course. Isn’t that what we’re doing here—playing the honesty-game ’til we both wanna bang our heads against a wall?”

She laughs. “Um... I’m more like envious , I think, but, no, not jealous .

I don’t get jealous when I’m not in a relationship.

” She glares at me, clearly telling me my jealousy about Cameron Schulz is premature.

“Now, if you were my boyfriend and I found out you’d fucked another woman, then, yes, I’d be so jealous I’d burn your fucking house down.

And then I’d cut off your balls, roast them over the burning embers of your house, smash them between two graham crackers with a Hershey bar and make testicle-s’mores out of them, which I would then gobble up as I stood over your writhing, whimpering body on the ground. ”

Holy shit. I’m so shocked, I can’t even laugh. But Kat does—in fact, she belly laughs and throws back her head, completely enthralled with herself.

“And do you wanna know why I’d burn your house down and make myself s’mores out of your balls, my dearest Josh?”

I shake my head. “I’m too scared of you to even venture a guess. ”

“Because if you were my boyfriend , I would never , ever cheat on you, I can promise you that on a stack of bibles. Never. I’ve never cheated and I never will.

And here’s why: because I never agree to be someone’s girlfriend unless I’m one hundred percent willing to give the guy my whole heart.

And as the relationship progresses, if I’m feeling like cheating, then I don’t stay.

It’s scorched earth maybe, but a man never, ever has to wonder where my feelings stand.

” She picks up her drink. “It also means that, if you were my boyfriend and you cheated on me, then you’d undoubtedly be breaking my heart. ”

I place my palm on my chest, steadying myself. I look down at the bar, collecting myself. This girl just knocked the wind out of me.

“But since you and I aren’t even dating, then, no, I’m not jealous .” She takes a long sip of her drink. “Because I can’t justify getting jealous when a man’s not mine to begin with.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Kat,” I manage to say.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’ve never met anyone like you, either.”

“You’re like some bizarre, undiscovered species of fish that washes ashore after a nuclear disaster and freaks everyone the fuck out,” I say.

She laughs. “Wow. That’s your idea of a compliment?”

“I’m normally much smoother than this, I assure you. You bring out the Jonas in me.”

She laughs. “Jonas seems pretty damned smooth, actually.”

“Not usually. Just with Sarah all of a sudden. She brings out the Josh Faraday in him, I guess.”

She grins and I can’t help smiling back at her like a fucking dope.

There’s a very long beat, during which we’re smiling at each other, not saying a damned thing. Finally, Kat bites her lip and touches my hand, sending electricity throughout my entire body.

“For God’s sake, Playboy,” she purrs, “just tell me what’s in your application so we can get this show on the road. Please?” She squeezes my hand and licks her lips. “I’m suddenly feeling extremely... impatient .”

Oh man, she’s good. She’s very, very good.

But she’s also shit out of luck. There’s no fucking way I’m giving this girl my application.

Period. And certainly not in exchange for the honor of fucking her.

Hell no, when she finally fucks me, it’s gonna be for no other reason than she’s dying for it, not because I gave her some stupid application.

I drain the rest of my drink. “Nope.” I clap my hands together.

“Getting this show on the road is entirely up to you, Party Girl. All you have to do is kiss me, just once, and then I’ll know you’ve conceded your demands and have finally decided to find out the good old-fashioned way if I’m gonna chain you to a donkey or not. ”

She smirks. “No, no, no, my dearest Playboy; you’ve got it backwards. What’s actually gonna happen is you’re gonna kiss me —thereby signaling to me you agree to my demands and will give me what I want.”

We stare each other down.

“I’m not gonna give you my application, Kat. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, I think you are.”

“Nope.”

She puckers. “I’m a really good kisser, Playboy.” She raises an eyebrow. “At least, that’s what Cameron Schulz said.”

I squint at her. “You’re evil.”

“I am.”

I motion to the bartender. “Check, please.” I glare at her for a long beat.

She looks so fucking sure of herself—and so fucking hot, I doubt this girl’s experienced disappointment once in her entire life.

“Okay, Party Girl,” I say. “The time for chitchat is over. I’m not gonna give you what you want—which means you’re not gonna fuck me.

” I make a sad face and she matches it. “So I guess that means there’s only one thing left for us to do,” I continue.

“And what would that be?”

“Dance, of course.”

Her face lights up. “Oh, I love to dance.”

“Well, of course, you do. You’re the Party Girl With a Hyphen , for fuck’s sake.”

She grins.

“It’s time for you to earn that nickname of yours, babe.” I touch the cleft in her chin one more time and then put out my hand. “Let’s go, baby. Time to paint Sin City red.”