Page 63 of Revelation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #2)
KAT
I ’m absolutely screaming with laughter.
Henn and Hannah are onstage right now, delivering a straight-up redonk karaoke version of “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease.
I knew these two would be magic if I could get them together, I just knew it, but even I couldn’t have predicted how truly destined for each other they’d be.
John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John have absolutely nothing on these two in the made-for-each-other department. They’re utter perfection.
I hear Sarah squeal with laughter to my right and I glance at her. She’s dancing in her chair and singing along as she watches Henn and Hannah onstage.
God, this is the best night ever. Better than any fantasy.
Yes, being Josh’s million-dollar whore was pretty damned exciting; and, yes, having him pick me over a supermodel felt pretty damned good; and, of course, being bound and fucked in a sex dungeon was freaking hot, too; and yesterday’s tryst in the bathroom with that Hottie McHottie-pants bartender was ridiculously scorching, not to mention the look on that woman’s face when I emerged from the bathroom and left with two hot guys.
But, as titillating and sexy and hilarious as all that stuff has been, none of it is what I thought about while missing Josh and getting down with my battery-operated boyfriend this week.
Nope. When I crawled into my empty bed at the end of each long and lonely day this past week, aching for Josh a thousand miles away in Los Angeles, I fantasized about one thing and one thing only: Josh making love to me to that James Bay song.
And today at work, whenever my mind meandered to daydreams of Josh (as it so often did), what did I dream about (besides the way he made love to me last week to that James Bay song)?
Sex dungeons? Bartenders? Ski masks? Nope.
I thought about how excited I am to introduce him to my family tomorrow night.
And to sing the “Fish Heads” song at the fish market—an activity we’ve planned for tomorrow, perhaps after a leisurely brunch (after we’ve spent our first night together in my bed).
I lean into Josh’s shoulder and breathe in his scent and he wraps his arm around me. I look up at him and grin and he beams a heart-stopping smile at me.
When Josh picked me up at my apartment two hours ago, dressed to kill in a trim black Armani suit and sunglasses, I immediately checked out his palms, expecting to see him carrying a poker chip. But, nope.
“No poker chip?” I asked as we waltzed down the walkway hand-in-hand toward his car.
“Not right now. But you never know when a sneaky guy might whip one out, so you better keep on your toes, Party Girl.”
I peel my attention off Josh’s striking face and watch Henn and Hannah singing the final lines of their song.
Man, they’re killing it. They’re milk and cookies.
Bert and Ernie. Macaroni and cheese. Peanut butter and jelly.
I lean into Josh’s shoulder again and squeeze his hand and he squeezes right back.
Maybe Sarah was right. This is enough. I’ve been overthinking. I don’t need promises. All I need is the way I feel right now.
Henn and Hannah traipse happily off the stage toward our table, getting high-fives and cheers from everyone they pass, while a large guy with a bushy beard assumes the stage to belt out “Living on a Prayer.”
“Utter brilliance,” Josh says when Henn and Hannah plop themselves down.
“You’re definitely tied for best of the night with Josh and Kat,” Sarah agrees. “You both can actually sing.”
“As opposed to me , is that what you’re saying?” Josh says, laughing.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Your performance was brilliant, Joshy Woshy. You didn’t just sing your parts, you told the truth with every goddamned word.”
Josh laughs and re-enacts his repeated “turn around” refrain from “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” which Josh and I performed together earlier in the night to raucous applause from the entire bar.
“Hey, at least I’m a better singer than Jonas,” Josh says.
“Josh,” Jonas pipes in. “Don’t congratulate yourself on being a better singer than me. I’m literally tone deaf—hence the reason you’ll never catch me doing karaoke.”
“Love, what you lack in actual singing ability, you make up for with the heart of a lion,” Sarah says. “But yeah, the lead singer of our group’s boy-band is definitely Henny. I didn’t know you could sing, Henn.”
“Yeah, I sang in an a cappella group at UCLA.”
I exchange a smile with Josh. Why am I not surprised about that? That’s so damned Henn.
“But I’m chopped liver compared to Hannah,” Henn continues. “I sing like a choir boy, but she’s got true soul . You should hear her singing Beyoncé in the shower. Sexy.”
Hannah pushes up her glasses and busts out the chorus of “Say My Name.” “Queen Bey better watch her back, that’s all I’m sayin’,” she says. And then she snorts.
“I love it when you sing,” Henn gushes. “You’re amazing .”
I exchange a smiling look with Sarah. Oh man, that boy’s in love.
Hannah giggles. “Henn. You think everything I do is amazing. I made you buttered toast the other day and you said it was the best toast you’d ever had.”
“Well, it was—just the perfect amount of butter. It was even better than amazing—it was schmamazing .”
We all laugh, though I personally have no idea what the hell that means.
Henn looks at all of us with puppy-dog eyes. “And you should see how well she draws anime , too. And she makes the best chocolate chip cookies you’ve ever had. They melt in your mouth.”
Oh my God. It’s all I can do not to leap across the table, grab Henn’s lapels and shake him like you’re not supposed to shake a baby. The boy’s in love ! It makes me feel as gooey as a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie.
“Chocolate chip cookies, computer coding. Same-same,” Hannah says. “Both take equal amounts of genius. ”
“You can’t eat code , baby. I’ll take the cookies.
Hey . There’s a hacker-pun in there somewhere, I’m sure of it.
” He snickers. “So, anyhoo, we’ve already seen Josh and Kat’s spectacular rendition of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ which was legendary, by the way, guys, and now Banana and I have stopped the earth rotating on its axis for approximately four and a half minutes with what can only be described as sob-inducing spectacularity—so what are you two planning for our delight and entertainment?
” Henn says, looking at Jonas and Sarah.
“I’ll die a happy man if I get to witness you sing karaoke, big guy. ”
“I don’t do karaoke, like I said,” Jonas says evenly, swigging his Scotch. “I can’t sing for shit. I’m not in the business of embarrassing myself—at least not on purpose.”
“Oh, baby,” Sarah purrs, stroking his forearm. “You have a beautiful voice.” She leans in and whispers something to Jonas and he grins broadly. He looks up and quickly catches the attention of the waitress across the room.
I lean into Josh. “The countdown clock just started on Jonas singing tonight.”
Josh leans his lips right into my ear. “What’s the over-under on how long it takes Sarah to get him up there?”
Josh’s hand is on my bare thigh, making my skin buzz with every touch of his fingertips. His cologne smells divine. His eyes are a scorching blue. I feel intoxicated, though I’ve barely had a sip of alcohol. I feel drunk on Josh.
“Come on, PG. Give me your prediction.”
“I’m not gonna say an amount of time,” I say. “I’m gonna go with the number of Scotches, instead.”
“Ooh, good call. How many?”
“Two more tops, and then he’s gonna be singing like a tone-deaf canary.”
“Two on the outside , huh? That’s pretty ambitious.”
I shrug. “That’s the over-under. So you’re betting over , then?”
Josh grins broadly and runs his hand up my thigh, right up to the hem of my mini-dress, making my skin erupt in goose bumps.
“I’ve learned my lesson, babe. I’ll never bet against you as long as I live.
If you say two Scotches is all it’s gonna take to get my brother up there, then that’s what it’ll take. ”
The “Living on a Prayer” guy leaves the stage and we’re treated to three adorably silly women launching into a heartfelt rendition of Wilson Phillips’ “Hold On.”
The waitress approaches our table. “Hey, folks,” she says. “Another round?”
Josh looks pointedly at everyone, gathering drink orders, and I shake my head, signaling I’m good. For some strange reason, alcohol just isn’t hitting the spot tonight.
But Josh doesn’t seem to understand my headshake. “Yeah, sure,” Josh says absently to the waitress. “Another round. Plus Patron shots for everyone, too, please. With limes.”
“And a club soda,” I add. “Please.”
“And a couple bottles of champagne, too,” Jonas adds. “We’re celebrating tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” the waitress asks. “What are we celebrating?”
“Oh, just, you know,” Jonas says, pulling Sarah into him, his face bursting with pure happiness. “ Life .”
Oh, jeez, those two. I’ve never seen two people more madly in love. I wish so badly I could watch Jonas pop the question to Sarah next week in Greece. I’d bet dollars to doughnuts she’s gonna lose functionality in all four limbs and flop on the ground like a freshly caught trout.
The waitress leaves and Josh leans back in his chair, adjusting his dick in his pants. God, he’s a sexy dude. Gotta love a man in a designer suit whose dick is so big, it won’t fit comfortably inside his pants.
“Well, Jonas might be celebrating life, ” Josh says, “but I’ve actually got a few specific things I’d like to celebrate tonight.
” He raises his old-fashioned and the rest of us follow suit, holding up our various drinks.
“First,” Josh begins, “I wanna celebrate Hannah officially joining our Ocean’s Eleven crew. Welcome, Hannah. You fit right in.”
“Thank you,” she says, pushing up her glasses.
“We all have our roles to play, Hannah,” Josh continues. “So now that you’re officially part of the crew, I’d like to christen you our cookie-baking Olivia Newton-John.”