Page 39 of Revelation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #2)

KAT

“ W ow, you really like black leather, huh?” I say, looking around Josh’s sleek and spacious living room.

“Yeah. Makes life simple.”

“Your house is spectacular. If my mom were here, she’d fall to the floor, weeping.”

He looks at me funny.

“She’s an interior decorator.”

“Oh.” He chuckles. “Yeah, I had a top designer helping me.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward floor-to-ceiling glass on the other side of the room. “Lemme show you the view. It’s gonna make you say ‘Holy shitballs.’”

He pulls me outside into the night air and we’re met with a view of what might as well be heaven on earth.

“Holy shitballs,” I say.

Josh grins. “Amazing, right?” He motions to the infinite expanse of twinkling lights and rugged hills spanning before us into the night.

“This right here is why people pay an arm and a leg for houses in the Hollywood Hills. Okay, so, over there, between those two hills? The Hollywood sign is right through there—you can’t really see it right now, but I’ll give you binoculars in the daylight.

And if you look that way, that’s downtown L.A. over there.”

“Amazing. No wonder you love it here.”

“Oh, I don’t love L.A. I love Seattle. I just tolerate L.A.”

“Really?” I’m floored. I thought Josh loved living in La La Land with all his flashy friends. “I thought you loved living here,” I say.

Josh shrugs. “Nah, L.A. definitely gets old, other than the weather—the weather never gets old.” He points in a new direction. “See that house down there? That’s Chris Pratt’s house... ”

But I can barely process what he’s saying.

Josh doesn’t love Los Angeles? Does that mean he might be open to moving back home one day?

But, whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell is my brain doing?

Josh has made it abundantly clear he’s not thinking about a long-term commitment.

For crying out loud, only an hour ago the dude said he was scratching the two-woman scenario off his bucket list “ at least when it comes to me ”—which means it’s still on his agenda with other women, whenever (if ever?) this crazy whatever-it-is between us has run its course.

“Wow,” I stammer, even though I don’t know what the hell Josh was just saying. I think it was something about Joaquin Phoenix’s house?

“Let me give you the rest of the tour,” Josh says.

He leads me back inside and straight past his gleaming kitchen.

“Hang on,” I say. “Can I see your kitchen? It looks pretty fancy-schmancy.”

“Oh, it is. My designer redid the entire thing top to bottom when I moved in four years ago—we installed professional-grade everything.” He flashes me a crooked grin. “But since I don’t cook, it’s basically just for show.”

“You have a kitchen like this and you don’t cook?”

“Yup. I’m super-smart that way.”

“You don’t cook at all ?”

“Not even a little bit. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve turned on this stove in four years—and at least two of those times, I was lighting a doobie.”

I laugh. “Josh, this is a frickin’ gourmet kitchen. Wolfgang Puck would kill for a kitchen like this.”

“Yeah, I figured a gourmet kitchen would add value on resale, and I was right.” He shifts his weight. “I mean, it... will. Add. Value. Whenever the time comes.”

Josh suddenly looks like he feels sick. I don’t understand the expression on his face. He’s grimacing like he’s in pain.

“Well, if you don’t cook at all, then how do you feed yourself?”

“Um,” he says. “I... uh... I go out with friends or get food delivered. Sometimes, if I’m exhausted, I just make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Speaking of which, are you hungry? I can make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that’s so good, it’ll make you come.”

“Wow. That sounds like quite a PB no simple carbs; all calorie counts precisely calibrated for my weight and fitness goals. All courtesy of the one and only Jonas Patrick Faraday.”

“Jonas orders your meals?”

Josh rolls his eyes. “He kept giving me shit about my burgers and fries and Doritos and I was like, ‘Dude, I travel too much to think about eating right all the time—leave me the fuck alone.’ Next thing I knew, these meals started showing up.” He chuckles.

“The dude’s like having a fucking wife, I swear to God—he’s such a nag.

I haven’t eaten any of ’em yet as an act of protest. ”

“Is that what you think a wife does? She nags her husband about what he eats?”

“Yeah, you know, like that cliché line? ‘Take my wife, please.’”

I roll my eyes. “Wives get such a bad rap.”

“Well, shit, I dunno. I have no idea what a wife does—I’ve never actually witnessed one in its natural habitat.”

“Are we talking about a human or a water buffalo?”

Josh chuckles. “Cut me some slack. My mom died when I was little; my uncle’s wife died before I was born; and my best friends are either single or in what I’d call non-permanent relationships.”

I make a face. I didn’t mean to be insensitive about Josh growing up without a mom or any maternal influences. I didn’t even think about that when I made my snarky comment.

“Plus,” Josh adds, seemingly unfazed by my comment, “and most importantly: there were no wives on Full House. ”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” I say softly. “I didn’t think. I keep forgetting.”

He waves his hands like I’m totally missing his point. “Forgetting what? It is what it is. Long time ago. No worries. I’m just saying I’ve never witnessed an actual wife up close, that’s all. I don’t know what women are really like if you actually live with one.”

I’m suddenly starkly aware of just how different my childhood was from Josh’s. I can’t wrap my head around how disconnected and isolating—and masculine —his upbringing must have been. No wonder he has no freaking idea about marriage and relationships.

“Lori Loughlin,” I say.

“Huh?”

“Lori Loughlin. She played Uncle Jessie’s wife in the later seasons of Full House .”

“Oh yeah,” Josh says. “I forgot about her. I kinda stopped watching by then.”

“Oh. Well, she didn’t nag. She was happy and funny and supportive. That’s what a real wife is like.”

“Really? Well, I don’t remember all that. All I remember is that she was smokin’ hot.”

“I thought you stopped watching by then?”

“I might have caught a couple episodes.” He laughs. “She was hot.”

“Still is. Saw a photo of her the other day. But, anyway, that’s just TV,” I concede. “Uncle Jessie’s wife doesn’t really count as spotting an actual wife in the wild, so your point is still well taken.”

“Well, tell me, then. You’ve observed the species, right?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve spotted a genuine wife scurrying in the bushes a time or two.”

“Well, enlighten me. Does your mom nag the shit out of your dad or what?”

“No. Never. My mom’s the coolest woman who ever lived—super happy and energetic and just sort of like, ‘If you’re not happy, then get yourself happy, motherfucker, and stop bitching.’”

“Does your mom actually use the words ‘motherfucker’ and ‘bitching’?”

“No, not unless she’s really mad—usually at Keane.” I laugh. “She’s much more likely to use words like ‘honey’ and ‘complaining’—but she’d say both in a really ‘motherfucker’ tone. ”

Josh looks absolutely mesmerized right now. “Did your mom stay home with all you kids when you were little?”

“Yeah. But she always helped decorate people’s houses on the side.

At first it was just her friends, and then it expanded to her friends’ friends.

Nowadays, she’s got her own little interior decorating business and she absolutely loves it.

In her spare time she cooks the most incredible food—the best turkey chili you’ve ever had, oh my God—oh, and her spaghetti sauce is next level, and her lasagna is to die for.

I think she wishes her ancestors came from Italy instead of Sweden.

” I laugh. “Oh, sorry, what was I saying? I get all excited when I talk about my mom’s food. ”

“You were saying your mom doesn’t nag your dad.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. She doesn’t. She leaves him the hell alone and makes herself happy cooking incredible food and decorating people’s houses and going to her exercise classes. You should see my mom with her little five-pound weights, doing her classes at the gym. She’s such a little badass.”