The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) (5 page)

My phone stops buzzing and I refocus my attention
onto Derek’s lips.

I kiss him a bit more enthusiastically and he
follows my lead, running his hand over my blouse, right over my
nipple.
Good. That’s good. Come on, Derek. Let me be your
Whitney.

I wonder who was calling. Was that my boss? Or maybe
Hannah Banana Montana Milliken? Or maybe it was Sarah, calling to
tell me some new juicy tidbit about her new boyfriend (who
supposedly loves her but won’t say the actual words)? Or maybe,
just maybe, it was the boyfriend’s Hottie-McHottie-pants brother,
Josh Faraday?

I smile at the thought, even as I’m kissing
Derek.

Josh sure didn’t try to hide his attraction to me
the night before last at Jonas’ house.

“Don’t worry about me, guys,” Josh yelled to Jonas
and Sarah as Jonas barreled to his room with Sarah slung over his
shoulder. “I’ll just party the night away with Party Girl with a
Hyphen.”

“Oh no, you won’t, Playboy,” I shot back at him.
“You’ll have to find another Mickey Mouse roller coaster to ride
tonight.”

Of course, I was wildly attracted to him, too—who
wouldn’t be?—but I’m not sure how I felt about his whole “Mickey
Mouse rollercoaster” analogy. And, regardless, there’s nothing I
love better than taking a cocky guy down a peg. It’s kinda my
specialty, actually.

I was trying to stun Josh into humbled silence with
my little zinger, but Josh wasn’t even remotely fazed. He swaggered
over to me and leaned his lips right into my ear, making the hair
on the nape of my neck stand up and my crotch tingle. “So that’s
how we’re gonna play this, huh, Party Girl with a Hyphen?” he said.
“We’re gonna play it cool? Okay, babe, fine with me—we’ll play it
however you like,” he whispered, his warm breath teasing my ear.
“But we both know where this is headed. Mmmm.” And with that, he
sauntered out of the room, whistling as he went, and never looked
back.

I must have stood there for a solid five minutes, my
mouth hanging open and my crotch pulsing in my panties. Day-am.

My phone buzzes sharply with a voicemail on the
coffee table next to my couch.

Who the heck is trying to reach me so
insistently?

Derek’s tongue is swirling around mine and his
hard-on against my thigh is becoming urgent. Well, whoever’s
calling, they’ll just have to wait. I press myself into Derek’s
erection, goading him on, and he reacts by kneading my ass with his
strong hand. Hmm. That ass-kneading thing isn’t really working for
me, actually. There’s just no finesse to it. It’s like the dude’s
wearing freaking oven mitts. Or maybe the problem is that Derek
just isn’t that great a kisser?

Oh, shit, I’ve still gotta come up with my social
media campaign for that chain of barbeque restaurants. Damn. Maybe
Hannah will help me brainstorm? Yeah, I’ll take her to lunch
tomorrow and see if she’ll pretty-please help me out. We haven’t
been to The Tavern in a while. They’ve got such great salads—

Oh, jeez. I’m thinking about salad while kissing my
hot bodyguard? What the hell? Come on, Kat! Kevin Costner. Whitney
Houston. Bodyguard.
Focus
.

My phone buzzes again, just once, with an incoming
text. Oh jeez. Someone’s really trying to reach me. I push on
Derek’s chest. “Hang on a minute,” I say. “Lemme check my phone
real quick.”

Derek sits up and wipes his mouth, his eyes
blazing.

I grab my phone and look at the display. The missed
call was from a number I don’t recognize. A “323” number. Isn’t
that L.A.? I peek into my texts and the new text is from that same
unrecognizable number, too: “Kat, this is Josh Faraday,” the text
says. My heart skips a beat. “Call me immediately. Please. It’s
urgent that I talk to you.”

Derek kisses me and kneads my ass again.

Could it be the Playboy is calling me with an
“urgent” invitation to dinner? Sarah told me Josh asked for my
phone number last night, intending to ask me to dinner after Jonas
kicked him out of his house, but Sarah told him I was already out
to dinner with my new bodyguard. Sarah said Josh looked deflated
and said he was gonna hop a flight back to L.A.—but did he change
his mind and stay in Seattle?

I push on Derek’s chest again and sit completely
upright. “Excuse me, Derek,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back
of my hand. “I’ve got to make a quick call.”

Derek exhales, clearly frustrated, but I don’t care.
It’s suddenly quite clear to me I’d rather be out on a date with
Josh Faraday, world-class Mickey-Mouse-rollercoaster-rider or not,
than trying to screw a bodyguard wearing oven mitts who couldn’t
kiss his way out of a paper bag.

I practically sprint into my bedroom and close my
door behind me, my heart leaping out of my chest.

Josh Faraday.
Now
there’s
a guy who
makes visions of blowjobs dance in my head. The minute I laid eyes
on the man, I felt like I’d been struck by a sexual lightning
bolt—and I’m positive he felt it, too. He didn’t even try to hide
it.

But I’ve got to be careful. Josh is obviously a
player of staggering proportions, and I’m not a girl who likes to
be chewed up and spit out by any man. If anyone’s gonna do the
chewing up and spitting out, then it’s gonna be me. And I’m not so
sure I could manage getting the upper hand with a seasoned player
like Josh Faraday.

Every article I read about the Faraday brothers when
I was snooping around in Jonas’ office the other night (and there
were a lot of them) made at least passing reference to Josh’s
oversized appreciation for beautiful women. But, of course, I would
have figured that out without the benefit of those articles. One
quick Google search of the guy revealed he burns through
supermodels and reality TV starlets and actresses and daughters of
moguls like a Weedwacker. I mean, seriously. The dude’s face is
plastered all over the Internet with strikingly beautiful women at
black-tie events and fundraisers and concerts and parties all over
the frickin’ world
.
Jeez. I love to have fun, too, God knows
I do—but I’m just a pharmacist’s daughter living in Seattle and
working at a PR firm. My idea of fun is going to a karaoke bar with
my friends on a Saturday night—not the Cannes Film Festival with
Isabel Randolph. Holy shitballs.

And the way he referred to the women in The Club as
Mickey Mouse rollercoasters was kinda Douchey McDouchey-pants I
gotta say. I’m certainly not one to judge anyone, guy or girl, for
enjoying sex and having a whole frickin’ lot of it—more power to
all my horny sistren and brethren—but before I volunteer to be one
of Josh Faraday’s many, many rollercoasters, I’d sure like to know
what I’d be getting myself into. Holy shitballs. That’s an
understatement. I’d give literally
anything
to read that
boy’s application to The Club and find out his dirty little
secrets.

But first things first: why’d he call? Well, no
sense wondering. I’ll just call him back and find out. And, heck,
maybe as a condition to saying yes to dinner (if, indeed, that’s
what he’s aiming for), I’ll ask him to email me his Club
application. Why not? It sure seems like Sarah reading Jonas’
application from the get-go worked out pretty damned well for
them.

I take a deep breath. Okay, yes. That’s my strategy.
I’ll say yes to dinner
if
he sends me his application. Bold.
Ballsy. Kind of obnoxious—but awesome. Yes.

I’m about to press the “call back” button next to
Josh’s text, when I remember his voicemail message. I’d better
listen to it first before calling him back.

“Kat, this is Josh Faraday,” Josh’s voice says—and
the tightness of his tone makes my stomach clench. That’s not the
tone of a man calling to ask a girl out on a date. “Please call me
right away,” he says. “It’s urgent. Thank you.”

Now I’m confused. What on earth could—

I gasp.

Sarah.

Oh my God. Was Jonas right? Was Sarah actually in
grave danger, just like he predicted? I can barely breathe as I
push the “call back” button on my phone.

Josh picks up my call immediately. “Kat?” he says,
his voice tight.

“What happened, Josh?” I blurt. “Is it Sarah?” I sit
down on the edge of my bed, swallowing hard. This is gonna be bad.
This is gonna be really, really bad. I know it is. I suddenly feel
like I’m gonna throw up.

Josh exhales loudly. “Sarah’s been stabbed.”

“No,” I blurt.

“She’s at the hospital now. Jonas just called me.”
His voice wobbles. “She was attacked in a bathroom at school.”

“No.” Tears instantly flood my eyes.
“
Sarah
.”

“I’m trying to get a flight back to Seattle—not
having any luck. I need you to get Sarah’s mom and get over to the
hospital as soon as possible, okay?”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Sarah.”

“Kat. Listen to my voice. I need you to get Sarah’s
mom and get over to the hospital as soon as possible. Can you do
that for me?”

I take a deep breath and wipe my tears. “Okay.”

“Good girl. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

I can’t control my emotions anymore. I lose myself
to sobs. “Sarah. Oh my God. No.”

Kat

There’s a raging storm outside Sarah’s hospital
window, but the rain is no match for my tears. Oh my God, this is
the worst day of my life. Sarah’s my best friend. My partner in
crime. My rock. We finish each other’s sentences. We laugh ’til we
pee. She’s more than my best friend—she’s my
sister
. We tell
each other everything—or, at least,
I
tell Sarah everything.
I’m not sure it works the other way around. But I’ve never cared
about that because that’s just Sarah. She’s this weird mixture of
shy and reserved and confident and insecure and hilarious and crazy
all at once. There’s just nobody like Sarah Cruz. She’s the
absolute best.

And some bastard out there
purposefully
hurt
my girl? Just the thought is making me bawl all over again. How
could anyone even think of hurting Sarah of all people? The girl
wouldn’t hurt a fly. And someone tried to
kill
her just
because she figured out their stupid sex club is actually a
prostitution ring? Who the fuck cares?
That’s
worth killing
the best girl in the world over?

I look across the hospital room at Sarah, asleep in
her hospital bed. She’s bandaged and hooked up to tubes and wires
and monitors. She looks tiny and pale.

I just can’t believe this is happening.

Sarah’s mom is seated next to Sarah’s bed, asleep
and draped over her daughter’s bed. And in the corner of the room,
there’s Jonas Faraday, the so-called “boyfriend” himself, sitting
in a chair that looks way too small for his large body, his muscled
arms crossed over his Seattle Seahawks T-shirt. The poor guy looks
horribly pained, even in his sleep—distraught, I’d even say. Gazing
at him right now, it’s suddenly perfectly clear I’ve completely
misjudged him. I had my doubts about his intentions toward Sarah,
and I told him so, but looking at him now, he sure looks every bit
the devoted and loyal boyfriend. Shit. I wish I’d been nicer to him
at his house yesterday morning. The guy gave me a computer and I
acted like a total bitch. Classic Kat.

I look at Sarah again and tears squirt from my eyes
for the millionth time today.

Sarah always says I’ve got a heart of gold, but
she’s wrong. She’s the one who cares so deeply about making the
world a better place, not me. She’s the one who’s always thinking
about helping people, not me. Compared to Sarah, I’m a downright
bitch. And not just a bitch, a horribly reckless bitch. What the
fuck was I thinking, trying to seduce my
bodyguard
? Jonas
hired Derek to
protect
me, not fuck me. Jonas was right all
along—the bad guys really were out to get Sarah and maybe me, too,
and what did I do? I made the whole thing about me getting my rocks
off. I’m so freaking predictable—and so freaking ashamed of myself,
I feel physically ill.

But wait a minute. It takes two to tango. Derek was
the one who was supposed to be a
professional
, right? How
the hell did he plan to protect me while pounding me? My life was
quite possibly at stake and he was macking down on me!
Oh my
God.
Is my life at stake now? I feel like I’m gonna barf. I
throw my hands over my face. This whole situation is crashing into
me like a ton of bricks.

My phone buzzes in my purse with a text and I pull
it out.
Josh Faraday.
I wipe my eyes. I feel oddly comforted
seeing his name on my screen.

“Are you at the hospital?” Josh writes.

“Yeah, I’m in Sarah’s room now,” I reply. “The doc
says Sarah lost a ton of blood and she’s definitely in a lot of
pain, but she’s gonna be okay, thank God. She’ll probably go home
tomorrow. She got really lucky. The blade didn’t hit anything
critical.”

“SO AWESOME. Huge relief. OMG. Is my brother there?
He hasn’t answered any of my texts or calls. I’m worried.”

I look across the room at Jonas again. His face is
twitching in his sleep like he’s having a nightmare. Just as I’m
about to look away from him, his entire body jolts like someone
just leaped out from behind a bush and yelled “Boo!” Aw, poor guy.
He’s actually kind of breaking my heart right now.

“Yeah, he’s here,” I write. “He’s asleep.”

“When he wakes up, could you tell him I couldn’t get
to Seattle tonight? All flights are grounded due to weather.”

As if on cue, thunder crashes outside the hospital
window. “Yeah, if he wakes up while I’m still here, I’ll be sure to
tell him,” I write.

“Thanks.”

There’s a long beat. Is that the end of our
text-conversation? I drop my phone in my lap and stare at Sarah for
another long moment, listening to the driving rain outside the
window, my thoughts drifting to the thousands of times Sarah’s been
the best friend a girl could ever hope for.