Page 42 of Infatuation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #1)

Thirty

Kat

I take a deep breath. I’ve got a full flock of butterflies flapping around in my stomach.

Our Ocean’s Eleven crew is scheduled to meet at ten to head over to the Las Vegas branch of the FBI, Sarah’s report in hand, and by God, I’m determined to give Josh my application before then.

I take another deep breath, turn up the volume on the Audra Mae and the Almighty Sound song I’m now officially addicted to (“The Real Thing”), thanks to Sarah, and place my hands on my keyboard. Here goes nothing.

“The following is my application to The Josh Faraday Club,” I type onto my screen. “All answers will be one hundred percent honest. (And bee tee dubs, some of this stuff is kind of personal, so please keep it in confidence.)”

Name?

“Katherine Ulla Morgan,” I write. “But everyone just calls me Kat.” I take a deep breath.

I never tell anyone about this. I can’t believe I’m writing this.

“I’m named after my dad’s mother Katherine and my mom’s Swedish grandmother Ulla.

Pretty name, huh? Katherine Ulla Morgan.

Yeah, it’s pretty until you realize my initials spell ‘KUM.’ Let me repeat that, in case you’re not understanding the full implication: my initials spell the word ‘KUM’ and I have four brothers .

Which means that, in addition to being called Kat and Kitty Kat my whole life, I’ve also been called charming things like.

.. wait for it... Kum Shot, Jizz, Splooge, Pecker-Snot, Man-Yogurt, Dick-Spit, Schlong-Juice, Jerk-Sauce, and, oh, so many more clever and classy things only boys would ever dream up.

“The only one of my brothers who’s never joined in on the semen-infused nicknaming is my oldest brother, Colby—and I’m pretty sure I know why.

As family lore goes, my clueless mother had originally wanted to give Baby Colby her grandfather’s name as his middle name, but thanks to a family tradition on my dad’s side (whereby the first-born son is given the middle name of Edwin), Colby narrowly escaped being named Colby Ulysses Morgan.

And so, perhaps in adherence to the philosophy ‘But for the grace of God go I’—a philosophy you’ve expressed a strong affinity for, too—Colby’s always stuck to calling me ‘Kumquat.’ (As a side note, my second oldest brother Ryan ultimately wound up with the dreaded ‘Ulysses’ moniker as his middle name, but being called ‘RUM’ and ‘Bacardi’ and.

.. wait for it... ‘Captain Morgan’ hasn’t exactly scarred him for life.)

“So, there you have it. I’m KUM. What you choose to do with the truth about my name is entirely up to you.

But be warned: if you’re suddenly feeling an irresistible urge to call me Cream-of-Sum-Yung-Guy or Baby-Gravy or Protein-Milkshake, you won’t be the first. There’s literally no semen-related name you could sling at me that I haven’t already been called a hundred times in the ‘comfort’ of my own home or in the hallways of middle school (where, for three long years, we were most unfortunately required to mark our full initials onto the hem of our P. E. shorts).

“Beginning in high school (when I thankfully was no longer required to display ‘KUM’ on my P. E. shorts anymore), I started lying and saying my middle name is Ella. And to this day, I never tell anyone the truth about my middle name, just in case they’re apt to put two and two together and start calling me Nut-Butter or Trouser-Juice or Man-Chowder or Spunk.

“Why, you might wonder, am I telling you of all people my KUM-tastic secret after all this time? I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that, judging by the way Sarah and Jonas have benefitted from playing the honesty-game right from the start, I’m eager to give the game a whirl, too. With you.”

Age?

“24,” I type.

Provide a brief physical description of yourself.

I stare at my computer screen for a moment. Josh is already quite familiar with almost every square inch of me—I mean, jeez, the man has seen me throw a tantrum in my underwear and shoved his fingers up my wahoo on a dance floor. But, still, I might as well answer the question.

“I have blonde hair, blue eyes, and a VAGINA,” I write, giggling to myself.

With this application, you will be required to submit three recent photographs of yourself to your intake agent.

Please include the following: one headshot, one full-body shot revealing your physique, and one shot wearing something you’d typically wear out in a public location.

These photographs shall be maintained under the strictest confidentiality.

I pull out my phone and take a selfie-headshot, crossing my eyes and puckering my lips.

Next, I strip off my clothes and stand in front of the full-length mirror in my hotel room and snap a quick shot of myself in my bra and undies—a sight he’s already well acquainted with.

And, for my last required shot—“something I’d typically wear in a public location”—I throw on my sequined dress from the other night, kneel at the toilet and pretend to be barfing into it while holding my phone above my head and snapping a photo.

“I’m attaching all three required photos with this application,” I write. “Enjoy!”

Please sign the enclosed waiver describing the requisite background check, medical physical, and blood test, which you must complete as a condition of membership.

“If you want to do background and credit checks on me, knock yourself out. But if you don’t want to expend the effort, let me tell you exactly what you’d find out: I’ve never been convicted of a crime (though I’ve broken the law a time or two and not gotten caught, heehee); I’ve got two credit cards, one of which is maxed out (and which I’m planning to pay off with my craps winnings); I’m paid up and current on my rent at my apartment; I’m one payment behind on my car loan (which I’m also going to pay off with my gambling winnings); and I’ve been employed at the same PR firm for almost two years.

“The last time I checked, my credit score was around 660, which is decent but not stupendous. It’s possible it’s gone down slightly recently because of that missed car payment.

I swear to God, I’m normally really responsible when it comes to paying my bills, I really am, but when my place was trashed by The Club, there were several things I needed to replace and I just didn’t have enough cash to go around for all that stuff plus my car payment, too.

I was planning to make a double payment this month (because I’m supposed to get a raise when I hit my two-year anniversary at work), but now, thanks to you and Jonas (and some lucky dice!), I can pay off the whole car loan in one fell swoop. (Thank you so much!)

“You know, writing this makes me realize I haven’t adequately thanked you for that craps money.

I think I was just sort of stunned and also maybe a little uncomfortable with how easily I took it from you.

I probably shouldn’t have said yes so fast, if at all, but I couldn’t stop myself.

Not having a car payment or that Visa bill hanging over my head every month is going to be so effing amazing, I can’t begin to tell you.

So thank you again, very, very much. I’m really grateful.

And thank you also for arranging everything so I could stay here in Las Vegas to save the world with our Ocean’s Eleven crew and keep my job.

Your generosity is truly mindboggling, Josh.

I’ve never met anyone with such a big and generous heart.

The way you take care of everyone around you, including me, is admirable and beyond attractive and sexy.

I want you to know I’m grateful and blown away by your incredible thoughtfulness. Thank you.

“Okay, back to the application. What would you learn about me if you called my ex-boyfriends? Well, probably that I’m a wee bit crazy (sorry!), overly dramatic at times (sorry again!), and stubborn (news flash!).

But I can also be bighearted, especially with the people I care about, devoted to my friends and family, funny, and outlandishly serious about having fun.

(I think maybe I’ve got a little Jekyll and Hyde thing going on?)

“You’d also find out I’ve had only three serious boyfriends in my life—one in high school and two in college.

Besides those three ‘serious’ boyfriends, I’ve also had other ‘relationships’ that have lasted anywhere from one night to, oh, about three or four months maximum, but, for purposes of this application, I’m only gonna bother telling you about the three boys I’ve cared enough about to bring them home to meet my family:

“My first serious boyfriend was in high school—a guy named Kade. Kade was two years older than me and oh man did I love, love, loooooooooooooove him. Holy shitballs, I loved that boy. I used to write ‘Kat + Kade’ on all my notebooks and practice writing my signature using his last name. Kade was the star quarterback on my high school’s football team, and when he went away to college on a scholarship, he decided he needed to have the ‘full college experience,’ which, roughly translated, meant he didn’t want to be tied down by having a sixteen-year-old girlfriend pining for him back home.

Of course, my adult self realizes that was absolutely the best decision for both of us, but at the time I didn’t think my heart would survive the horrible pain.