Page 50 of Infatuation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #1)
Thirty-Five
Kat
“What the fuckity, Josh? You didn’t feel the slightest urge to mention the ‘YOLO’ tattoo on your ass cheek when I was going on and on about how ‘YOLO’ tattoos are social suicide?”
We’re sitting in our underwear on Josh’s bed, macking down on double cheeseburgers, fries, and Moscow mules from room service, laughing hysterically and involuntarily wiggling our bodies to the beat of the disco song blaring on Josh’s laptop (“You Dropped a Bomb on Me” by The Gap Band, which Josh says is now his official theme song).
“How the heck did you manage to keep quiet about your tattoo? That must have taken Herculean willpower.”
“Meh, I figured it’d be best for you to find out about it exactly the way you did—by seeing my ass in all its glory after I’d fucked you.” He smiles wickedly. “So much more fun than just telling you about it. Am I right?” He chomps a French fry.
I laugh. “Why the hell do you have ‘YOLO’ stamped on your ass cheek, Josh? It’s inexcusable. Seriously, if I had any self-respect whatsoever, I’d grab my shit and go.”
He laughs. “I lost a bet.” He takes a big bite of his burger.
“What?” I shriek.
“I lost a bet,” he mumbles, his mouth full of burger.
“Well, what was the freaking bet?”
He finishes chewing. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t remember exactly.”
“What?” I shriek. “You got ‘YOLO’ tattooed onto your ass-cheek and you don’t even know why ? ”
“Well, I know why— generally speaking. The bet was over a quote from Happy Gilmore . I just can’t remember which quote we were arguing over.”
I smack my forehead with my palm. “Please tell me you’re kidding. You got YOLO inked onto your ass over a quote from Happy Gilmore ?”
Josh laughs and turns off the blaring disco song. He looks at his laptop for a moment, searching for something. “Oh, this is a good one. Listen to this—Jonas turned me on to these guys.” An acoustic guitar suddenly fills the room. “X Ambassadors. ‘Renegades.’”
“Yeah, great song,” I say. “You were about to tell me how Happy Gilmore led to your tragic ass-tattoo.”
He shrugs. “It’s embarrassing.”
“All the more reason to tell me.”
He rolls his eyes. “It was when I was at UCLA, when I lived in my fraternity house. A group of us used to say ‘YOLO’ all the time, laughing our asses off about it, thinking we totally made it up. And, hell, maybe we did, for all I know—several years later, Zac Efron got ‘YOLO’ tattooed on his hand and my friends and I texted each other like crazy about it, like, ‘Did you see Zac Efron stole our thing, man? We came up with that years ago!’ And, then Drake claimed he invented it in a song, and Reed was like, ‘Yeah, that’s ’cause the fucker came to my house for a fucking party and we were all saying it! ’”
I laugh. “You guys started a trend.”
“That’s what cool kids do, baby.” He winks.
“But that doesn’t excuse you getting it stamped onto your ass, Josh Faraday. That’s just inexcusable. Seriously.”
He chuckles.
“Please explain this horrifying tragedy to me.”
He laughs gleefully. “Well, like I say, ‘YOLO’ was kind of a thing with my friends and me, but only because we thought it was super douchey and hilarious and stupid. And one night at the house I was drinking beer with Henn and Reed and a few other guys and we were throwing out movie quotes and guessing the movie, as one does, and Henn threw out some quote from Happy Gilmore. I was like, ‘Dude, no, you’ve got it wrong.’ And he was like, ‘No, dude, I have it exactly right.’ And I was like, ‘No, no, man, it’s this.
’ And he was like, ‘No, man, it’s definitely this other thing .
’ And I was like, ‘I love you, man, like a brother, but you’re wrong as shit.
’ So we went around and around, both of us positive we were one-hundred-percent right, until finally Reed said, ‘Okay, dudes, put your money where your mouth is. Whoever’s wrong has to get ‘YOLO’ inked onto his ass.
’ Well, everyone in the room lost his shit.
For some reason, that was the funniest idea we’d ever heard.
So, of course, I was like, ‘Hell yeah. I’m in, motherfucker.
’ Because the chance to saddle Henn with a fucking ‘YOLO’ tattoo, and on his ass cheek no less, for eternity, was too good to pass up.
And I guess Henn was thinking the same exact thing about me, so he was like, ‘Boo-fucking-yah.’ So we shook on it and then Reed put on a DVD of Happy Gilmore and found the scene with the quote, whatever it was, and, motherfucker , Henn was exactly right. ”
For a long beat, I’m laughing too hard to speak and Josh is right there with me.
“That’s just... insane,” I finally choke out. “What a horrible, horrible reason to get YOLO stamped on your ass.”
“Could there possibly be a good reason?”
I consider. “Yes. If Make-A-Wish called and asked you to do it for some poor kid with cancer. That’s literally the only defensible reason to get a ‘YOLO’ tattoo anywhere on your body.”
Josh laughs. “But, see, the thing is I never go back on my word—no matter what. We went out that very night to a tattoo place in Hollywood and I did it.” He chuckles to himself, seemingly at a memory.
“Henn and Reed were laughing so hard the whole time, they wound up on the floor of the place, sobbing like little girls.”
“Well, I hope it was worth it,” I say. “Because you’ve got that horrible thing forever, Josh . ”
He shrugs. “Meh, there’s no such thing as forever. Skin’s just temporary—we’re all gonna die, right? Sooner or later, maybe sooner. And, yeah, it was totally worth it—in fact, it turned out to be a very good thing.”
“How could a ‘YOLO’ tattoo on your ass possibly turn out to be a good thing?”
“Because it’s a constant reminder to me of something I don’t wanna forget.
” He considers his words for a moment. “I was so fucking sure I was right about that damned quote—and I was dead fucking wrong. So I guess that stupid tattoo reminds me not to get too cocky or comfortable in life—no matter how much I think my shit doesn’t stink, I could always be dead wrong.
” All joviality in his demeanor is gone. He swigs his drink.
His face has turned dark. I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure how to respond.
“And, hey, either way, it’s a good story, right?” he adds. He’s obviously trying to lighten things up again. “So that’s always a win in my book.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely a good story,” I agree. “And a very telling one, too.”
“Telling? In what way?”
“About you as a person.”
“Oh yeah? Pray tell—what does my YOLO ass-tattoo tell you about me as a person? Besides the fact that I’m a total dumbshit, of course.”
I chuckle. “It tells me plenty of stuff—some of it kind of deep.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Well, this ought to be good.”
I take a long sip of my drink, gathering my thoughts. “Well, okay, they’re not all deep and profound things—some are kind of, you know, online-profile-ish.”
“Tell me all of it.”
“Okay. Well, you were in a fraternity, obviously.”
He nods.
“And you’re fun.”
“I am.”
“You’re a guy who’ll do frickin’ anything for a laugh.”
He makes a face like that’s patently obvious.
“You’re an extremely loyal friend.”
“I am. Extremely.”
“You’re a man of your word,” I continue. “That’s pretty deep and profound, I’d say.”
He nods decisively. “I am most definitely a man of my word.”
“Unless you’ve promised to give a girl your application to The Club after you kiss her.”
He rolls his eyes. “Patience, little terrorist. It’s coming. The review process is just a bit lengthier than you realized. Kiss, fuck, application, I told you—we’re still in the ‘fuck’ stage of the proceedings. What else? ”
I make a stern face about the application, but he looks so adorably charming, I melt. “Well, you like to party—or at least you did back then.”
He holds up his drink, making it clear this observation is still accurate and I return the gesture. We clink our glasses and take giant swigs of our drinks.
“What else?” he asks.
“You like dumb comedies like Happy Gilmore ,” I reply.
He laughs. “Definitely . Oh shit. Please tell me you like dumb comedies. I should have mentioned that’s a bit of a deal-breaker with me. No movies with subtitles, please.”
“Of course, I love dumb comedies,” I say. “ Duh . I have four brothers, remember? Until I went off to college, I didn’t know televisions were capable of showing anything besides dumb comedies, football, and my mom’s HGTV.”
Josh laughs. “I really should have asked you about your movie preferences before I fucked you. I got lucky, but it could have gone horribly wrong for me.” He grins. “So what are some of your favorite dumb comedies? Anchorman ?”
I nod enthusiastically. “‘I love Scotch. Scotchy, Scotch, Scotch,’” I say, doing my best Ron Burgundy impression. “‘Here it goes down—down into my belly.’”
Josh belly laughs. “‘I’m kind of a big deal.’”
I giggle.
“So what’s at the tippy-top of your list of favorites?” he asks.
“Well, in the modern era I’d have to say Twenty-One Jump Street is pretty damned high on the list.”
“Ah, good one. ‘Hey, hey, stop fuckin’ with Korean Jesus! He ain’t got time for your problems! He busy—with Korean shit!’” Josh shouts, doing his best Ice Cube impression.
I laugh hysterically. “‘Chemistry’s the one with the shapes and shit, right?’” I reply, doing my best stoned Channing Tatum.
“‘Did you just say you have the right to be an attorney?’” Josh adds, laughing his ass off.
“‘You do have the right to be an attorney, if you want to,’” I reply, and Josh laughs his ass off.
“‘You have the right to... suck my dick, motherfucker!’” he says.
Oh, jeez. We’re laughing so hard we can’t breathe .
“Oh my God, Kat—you’re a dude, through and through,” Josh finally says, beaming at me. “A really, really hot dude with a tight, wet, magic pussy.”
I bite my lip. Man, I love this boy’s dirty mouth.
“So what about a classic?” he asks. His face is glowing.
“Hmm. I’d have to go with Zoolander .”