Page 44 of Infatuation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #1)

“About six months into our relationship, I invited Garrett to meet my family and, much to my thrill, he said yes. I was super nervous about it because Garrett meeting my family was a pretty big deal to me, but, much to my relief, everyone in my family wound up loving him to pieces. Well, everyone except my oldest brother Colby, who despised Garrett almost instantly. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Kumquat?’ he said. ‘Can’t you see he’s using you? ’

“I couldn’t believe my ears. I felt completely offended and hurt, like Colby was telling me I wasn’t good enough for a guy like Garrett from a fancy family with a senator-dad.

‘No, honey,’ Colby said. ‘He’s a loser—not even close to good enough for you.

He’s completely full of shit.’ Well, I lost it.

I told Colby I was gonna marry Garrett one day and it’s too bad he wouldn’t be invited to my wedding and until he learned to say something nice about my future husband he could just forget he had a fucking sister.

(Full disclosure: I’m sort of overly dramatic sometimes when I get mad.) Colby said, ‘Don’t worry, Kumquat, I’ll be there to pick up your pieces when he breaks your heart. ’

“I was pissed as hell at Colby, especially since everyone else loved Garrett the way I did. But Colby’s comments did make me wonder why Garrett never brought me home to meet his family.

But Garrett just kept finding excuses, telling me his dad (the senator) was traveling, or his mom was getting a facelift or bringing school supplies to underprivileged youth in Guatemala or some other rich-person-helping-the-world thing like that—and it just never worked out.

“Finally, about eight months into our relationship, I was supposed to go to a concert with Sarah for her birthday, but she came down with the stomach flu. So I decided to use the opportunity to give Garrett a sexy surprise at his apartment.

“When Garrett opened his apartment door, I clutched my trench coat, intending to rip it open and flash him my birthday suit underneath, when I glimpsed a beautiful brunette over his shoulder inside his apartment.

She was sitting at a candlelit table-for-two, a vase of red roses at its center—something Garrett had never once set up for me.

Even from a distance, I could see a large, sparkling cross around her neck.

And when she moved her hand to her mouth in surprise, something twinkled brightly on her finger in the candlelight.

“Instantly, every doubt and concern I’d stuffed down and reasoned away for months—and every single word Colby had said to me—came slamming into me full-force.

In a flash, I knew that pretty, demure girl in Garrett’s apartment was his girlfriend—and maybe even his fiancée if I was reading that flash on her hand correctly—and I knew with every fiber of my being that he’d already said those three little ‘trite’ words to her, the ones I’d longed to hear him say to me. Motherfucker.

“When I tore out of there, sobbing, Garrett followed me, explaining to the back of my head that Maggie’s father was some lah-de-dah über-wealthy businessman who’d invented air freight or some shit like that and she was a really sweet girl from his church back home and well-connected and, he said with utmost reverence, Maggie was saving herself for marriage.

At that last statement, I whirled around to face Garrett, my mouth hanging open, my heart shattering.

‘Are you calling me a slut?’ I asked. He didn’t reply, which was reply enough.

‘I thought you loved me ,’ I said, wiping away the hot tears streaming down my cheeks.

‘I thought you wanted to marry me one day.’ And do you know what that motherfucker did?

He chuckled at the thought of marrying me.

And then he said, ‘Come on, Kat, you’re a great girl—super fun— but you’re just not marriage material. ’ ”

I sit and stare at the screen for a minute, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Man, those words from Garrett still cut me to the core.

I wipe my tears and place my fingers on my keyboard again, but I can’t see well enough to type yet.

I can’t believe I’m letting The Asshole get to me, even to this day.

But I can’t help it. The pain of getting blindsided like that never fully goes away, I guess.

“I’ve never told anyone (except Sarah) what The Asshole said to me that night,” I finally type. “I’ve always been too embarrassed and ashamed, I guess. I didn’t even tell Colby what Garrett said. All I told him was, ‘You were right.’

“And yet now I’m telling you,” I write. “Why? Honestly, I don’t fucking know.”

I have to stop typing for another minute. I’m too emotional. Why the hell am I baring my obviously pathetic soul to Josh like this? Is getting his stupid application really this frickin’ important to me?

No, it’s not. I don’t care about his application right now. Writing this to Josh isn’t about me getting his stupid application anymore. This is about something much bigger than that .

I wipe my eyes again. I’m veering way off track here. Have I even answered this particular question yet? I’m not sure. I re-read the question at the top of the page again. Oh yes.

“So that’s pretty much the story of my ex-boyfriends,” I write. “Besides those three guys, I’ve dated plenty of guys for a few months here or there and had sex with a truckload besides that, as I’ve mentioned, but no one serious enough to bring home.”

I glance up at the question I’m supposedly answering again. Oh, yes. Okay.

“As far as blood tests,” I write, “I’ll submit to any kind of testing you require (as long as it doesn’t involve math).

But in the interest of saving time, let me just tell you what the testing would reveal: I’m clean.

About two months ago, when I went in to get a new prescription of birth control pills, I got tested.

And even though I’m on the pill, I insist on condoms every single time I have sex, no exceptions, unless I’m in a committed relationship and the guy’s been tested.

(But, hey, like I say, if you require formal medical testing before my application can be approved, then I’ll sign or do whatever you request.)”

Sexual orientation? Please choose from the following options: Straight, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, other?

“Straight. But in the interest of full disclosure, I should inform you I made out with a girl during my senior year in college. It’s a long story that can be summarized as follows: Truth or Dare combined with Ecstasy combined with a pervy boyfriend (hers) can lead a girl to do anything once.

I can honestly say the experience didn’t cause me to question my sexual orientation whatsoever.

In fact, it wasn’t nearly as hot as it sounds, I’m sorry to say.

But, regardless, I’m definitely straight. ”

Do any of your sexual fantasies include violence of any nature? If so, please describe in detail.

I sit and think. Well, jeez. I have lots and lots of fantasies, for sure, some of them pretty darn elaborate, but do any of them involve actual violence ? No.

I place my hands on the keyboard and begin typing.

“I have lots and lots of fantasies—it’s kind of a thing with me,” I write.

“And not a single one of them involves actual violence. However, a couple of my fantasies involve the threat of violence, but only as a backdrop to setting the scene. For instance, I’ve got a bodyguard fantasy that only makes sense if there are bad guys coming to get me, or else why the heck do I have a bodyguard?

(And to answer the question that’s just popped into your head, no, I didn’t have sex with any of the bodyguards Jonas hired to protect me from The Club.)”

I smirk to myself. Sure, I almost had sex with Derek the Bodyguard, but Josh doesn’t need to know that.

I begin typing again.

“The threat of violence is also prevalent in another one of my fantasies, one in which I’m held captive by a sex-slave-master.

The sex-slave master absconds with me one night and forces me to be his slave, but he never actually hurts me.

And, also, in regards to violence, a second sex-slave-master comes to steal me away from the first, but my original captor fights the other bad guy to the death and protects me (which kinda turns this scenario into yet another bodyguard fantasy, doesn’t it?). ”

I stare at my screen. Holy What the Fuck Am I Doing, Batman?

I can’t write all this shit to Josh. He’s gonna think I’m a freaking loon, which I am.

I’ve never told anyone about the elaborate, imaginary pornos bouncing around in my head.

What if Josh reads all this and decides I’m too much of a freak?

Or worse, that, based on this stuff, we’re not sexually compatible? That would be pretty soul crushing.

I let my fingers hover over my keyboard again, trying to decide what to do.

Fuck it. Better to be completely honest and get rejected for who I really am than to hide myself and make him like me. Like my new favorite singer, Audra Mae, said in her powerful song, better to be The Real Thing, for better or worse.

Are you a current practitioner of BDSM and/or does BDSM interest you? If so, describe in explicit detail.

“I am not a current practitioner of BDSM,” I write. “As I’ve described above, the idea of being tied up as part of my ‘captive’ fantasy interests me—although, I should tell you, I’m not turned on by the idea of being physically harmed in any way.”

Shit. I hope that last part’s not a deal-breaker with Josh. Goddamn, I wish I knew what Josh wrote in his freaking application.

Payment and Membership Terms. Please choose from the following options: One Year Membership, $250,000 USD; Monthly Membership, $30,000 USD. All payments are non-refundable. No exceptions.

“I’d like a one-month membership, please,” I write. “I don’t have $30,000 to pay you for your services, unfortunately—but, hopefully, you’ll find it in your heart to waive your membership fee (or maybe accept services in lieu of payment, heehee?).”

Please provide a detailed explanation about what compelled you to seek membership in The (Josh Faraday) Club.

“I wanna get in your pants.”

I chuckle to myself. That’d be funny if I left it at that. But I’m not going for funny. I’m going for full-scale nuclear decimation of this man.

“Remember how you accused me of dripping down my thigh in that hallway after Reed’s party?

” I write. “And remember how I scoffed and said it was just pool water trickling down my leg? Well, I lied. I was dripping down my thigh for you, just like you said. Before witnessing your muscled, tattooed body in that hallway, I was already quite fond of masturbation, I must admit—but ever since I saw you in that hallway, Josh, I’ve taken self-love to an art form.

I want you so badly I’m in pain, desperate to feel your hard-on sliding deep inside me.

“But I’m not gonna give in to my desire for you without seeing your motherfucking application first. Why?

Because it’s not about the application anymore, Josh.

It’s about something bigger than that. I don’t want Happy Josh.

I want Real Josh. And I’m willing to show you the real Katherine Ulla Morgan to get him.

Please provide a detailed statement regarding your sexual preferences. To maximize your experience in The Club, please be as explicit, detailed, and honest as possible. Please do not self-censor, in any fashion.

“Well, I feel like I’ve already answered this one.

I want to read your application, word for word, without censorship of any kind, and then I want you to do whatever freaky things you’ve asked for in your application to me, exactly as described.

I want to be your Mickey Mouse roller coaster, Josh—and I want you to be mine.

Come on, Josh. YOLO . I’ve told you my secrets.

Now it’s time for you to tell me yours.”