Page 3 of Infatuation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #1)

And, anyway, it’s obvious to me Jonas is probably grossly misinterpreting the situation or, at the very least, overreacting to it (shocker!).

Even if Sarah and Kat saw some chick wearing a yellow bracelet after she’d fucked Jonas a few nights earlier wearing a purple one, that doesn’t necessarily mean the sky is falling, does it?

It could simply mean some women in The Club are assigned more than one color.

Why is that such a fucking revelation? Some people have extremely varied tastes, after all.

Or maybe one of Jonas’ exes found out he’s been dating Sarah and went ballistic, trashing Sarah’s apartment in a fit of jealous rage (and then doing the same thing to Sarah’s best friend’s place, too)?

Even if that seems like a far-fetched scenario, it’s probably no crazier an idea than some hitman coming after Sarah and Kat simply because they happened to observe some woman wearing two different colored bracelets .

Jonas is glaring at me again, obviously waiting for me to say something.

I clear my throat. “Wow,” I say. But he’s still waiting, and so are Sarah and Kat. “I’m not sure, bro,” I add. “I met some really great girls.” It’s a true statement—I honestly did meet some really great girls in The Club—but, nonetheless, even as I say it, I cringe at how douche-y it sounds.

I glance at Kat and, yep, she’s put off.

Oh, really? So she’s intrigued when she finds out I joined a high-priced sex club, but put off to learn I actually enjoyed my short time in it? Ha! This one’s a handful, I can already tell.

“How long was your membership, Josh?” Sarah asks.

“A month,” I reply.

“And you... completed your entire membership period... successfully?”

Oh my God. Sarah can barely get the words out. This girl really is adorable—and, yep, clearly, there’s not a kinky bone in her body. A total goody-two-shoes, through and through, which is funny considering she processed sex club applications for a living.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” I say, looking at Kat and smiling broadly. Maybe I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t help it—I’m enjoying how every little thing I say about The Club pulls an animated reaction from Kat of one kind or another.

Plus, shit, I’m just being honest here: My month in The Club was fucking awesome—just what the doctor ordered after Emma ripped my heart and stuck it into a blender.

Fucking yourself back to happy truly shouldn’t be underrated, I gotta say—it was exactly what I needed at the time.

Plus, in an unexpected twist, a handful of the women I hooked up with that month stayed with me in my hotel room for hours after we’d fucked and listened to me pour my guts out about my shattered heart.

I normally never would have been such a blathering pussy-ass, of course—I’m not Jonas, for fuck’s sake—but I guess there was freedom in knowing I’d never see any of those women again.

And so, I let my guard down completely and let it flow—and at the end of that whirlwind month of fucking and fantasy-fulfillment and unexpected gut-spilling, I actually felt like myself again, ready to move on and stop acting like a brokenhearted little pussy .

I’ve never told anyone about my month in The Club, except to suggest to Jonas that he join—(if anyone needs to fuck himself to happy, it’s my brother, that’s for fucking sure)—but now that it’s out in the open in front of Sarah and Kat (and especially Kat), I’m not gonna crawl into a hole and act like I’m embarrassed by it.

I was single. It was fun and uniquely cathartic.

As far as I’m concerned, I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to my time in The Club.

Might some of those girls have been hookers?

Well, now that I think about it, sure—how else could The Club have supplied everything I asked for in my application, to the letter?

But I can’t believe all of them were straight-up hookers.

Some of them might just have been looking for a very wealthy boyfriend with a big ol’ dick.

“There’s no way all those girls were prostitutes,” I say, but even as the words come out of my mouth, I realize I don’t actually believe them.

The truth is, even as I filled out my application, I didn’t care how The Club supplied what I asked for—just as long as they did.

So, okay, if it turns out the women I fucked in The Club were all prostitutes, then fine, they were well worth the money, and then some.

Clearly, I needed to do something to move on from Emma—and fucking my way back to beastliness with a bunch of super cool, nonjudgmental, hot-as-hell women was a helluva lot cheaper (and a lot more fun) than a month’s worth of therapy.

“They were super cool, all of them,” I say, matter-of-factly. Fuck it.

Sarah crinkles her nose. “They were all super cool, huh?” she asks. “Well, Julia Roberts was ‘super cool’ in Pretty Woman , too.”

I chuckle. Oh my God, I absolutely love this girl. “True,” I say. I flash Jonas a look that says, “She’s a cutie, bro,” but his eyes are as hard as fucking flint right now.

Shit. Here we go. I know that look. It means my brother’s about to lose his fucking shit.

“How many women could you possibly have gone through in a month?” Kat suddenly blurts from across the room.

Oh, hello. I lock eyes with Kat and, yup, it’s written all over her gorgeous face: she wants me. Oh, fuck yes, she does. I can’t help but smile as my cock begins tingling at the blatant desire on her face.

“I mean . . .” Kat says, but she doesn’t continue.

I keep staring at her, making her squirm, daring her to say more and show her cards, but she doesn’t .

She bites her lip.

“A couple,” I finally say slowly. Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.

Sarah lets out a little moan that wrenches my attention away from Kat’s gorgeous face. “Josh, did you ever use your membership to meet a ‘super cool’ girl in the Seattle area?” she asks, her face darkening with anticipatory horror.

I wanna laugh at the expression on Sarah’s face. Oh my God, she’s so fucking cute, this woman.

I nod. “Once,” I say. I scowl, but my scowl is for Sarah’s benefit—mainly to match her look of obvious horror at the thought of Jonas and me having been unwitting Eskimo brothers with some random, nameless woman in Seattle.

As far as I know, Jonas and I have never fucked the same woman, and I’m certainly not fond of the idea, but if it happened by sheer chance with a woman neither of us cares about or intended to pursue for something more serious than a one-night stand, it really wouldn’t be the end of the fucking world.

“Brunette. Piercing blue eyes—like the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen—fair skin,” Jonas says, rattling off the description of his Seattle girl like he’s doing the play-by-play at a Seahawks game. “C-cup. Perfect teeth. Smokin’ hot body—” He looks at Sarah apologetically. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay.” Sarah says—and, damn, it sure sounds like she means it. Well, that settles it: Sarah’s totally awesome in my book. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a jealous woman.

“No,” I say. “That doesn’t describe my Seattle girl.

” Honestly, I don’t actually remember my Seattle girl specifically—my whole month in The Club is a bit of a blur—but by Jonas’ description, it’s abundantly clear we didn’t hook up with the same woman.

“When I filled out my application,” I continue, glancing at Kat, “I requested only—”

I stop talking midsentence, thanks to the look on Kat’s face: the girl’s sitting on the edge of her seat, looking like she’s literally holding her breath at whatever I’m about to say. Ha! What the fuck does Kat think I’m about to say?

That’s funny. The truth is I was about to say something pretty innocuous—but obviously, the girl’s imagining something pretty fucking titillating, or maybe even really fucked up.

Well, far be it for me to disappoint her depraved imagination.

In fact, I can plainly see by the revved-up expression on Kat’s face, it’s in my extreme interest to let this girl’s imagination run wild.

“Thank God, bro,” I say, making a big show of my relief. “That would have been just like having sex with you.” I mock-shudder at the thought.

Jonas flashes me his usual look of annoyance. “We’re totally off track here,” he barks out. “The only thing that matters is that these bastards have fucked with Sarah and Kat, and we have no way of knowing whether they’re done fucking with them or if they’re just getting started.”

I lean back on the couch and sigh. Yep. My gut tells me Jonas is overreacting to this situation, probably spurred on by somehow trying to impress Sarah. “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, putting my hands behind my head.

Oh shit. Oops. I just unleashed Jonas’ crazy as surely as if I’d opened the door to a rabid dog’s cage.

“ Sit down, Jonas ,” I say emphatically, over and over, in response to Jonas’ tirade, but he won’t listen to me. “Let’s just talk about this for a minute, rationally.”

“Oh, you’re gonna tell me how to be rational?” Jonas seethes. “Mr. Buys-a-Lamborghini-on-a-Fucking-Whim-When-His-Girlfriend-Breaks-Up-With-Him is gonna tell me to be rational?”

I roll my eyes.

Nice, Jonas. First my stupid-ass brother outs me for joining a sex club and now he’s gonna give me shit for what a pussy I was after Emma drop-kicked me and cheated on me with that Ascot-wearing prick? Talk about a cheap shot.

Up ’til now I was feeling pretty entertained by my asshole-brother, maybe even sympathetic, but now I feel like throttling him.

But because I’m the sane and rational twin in this fucked-up duo, I somehow manage to keep my shit together, like I always do.

“I’m just saying I don’t know; that’s all,” I say, gritting my teeth.

“I’m not saying I disagree. Big difference.

Just sit the fuck down for a minute. Jesus, Jonas. ”