The Revelation

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Published by SoCoRo Publishing

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Photography: Kelly Elaine Photo

Cover design © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations LLC

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from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief
excerpts in connection with a review

Kat

The door to Jonas and Sarah’s suite closes behind
Josh’s back and I look down at Josh’s laptop, holding my breath
with excitement. This is it. I can’t believe I’m finally gonna read
Josh’s application to The Club, after all this build-up. My chest
is tight. My stomach is in knots. What on earth did that man write
that’s made him so skittish about revealing it to me? Well, I guess
there’s only one way to find out:

Name?

“Joshua William Faraday,” he writes. Oh, I didn’t
know Josh’s middle name is William. For some reason, seeing his
full name makes my heart flutter.

With this application, you will be required to
submit three separate forms of identification. The Club maintains a
strict “No Aliases Policy” for admission. You may, however, use
aliases during interactions with other Club members, at your
discretion.

“OK,” he writes.

Age?

“29,” he writes.

I stop and think. Josh is thirty. I wonder when he
had his birthday? I’d love to know his zodiac sign. Damn, it sure
would suck donkey balls if it turned out we were cosmically
incompatible.

Provide a brief physical description of
yourself.

“I’m 6’1, 190 lbs. I’ve got brown hair and blue eyes
and tattoos on my torso and arms. I prefer not to talk about the
meanings of my tattoos at length, so please tell whoever gets
assigned to me not to ask about them.

“I work pretty hard at keeping fit,” he continues.
“I’m a big believer that a man only gets one chance at a first
impression, so I try to make mine count, every time. Just to be
clear: I’m not applying for membership to The Club because I have
some sort of inferiority complex about my appearance (I don’t) or
because I can’t attract women on my own (I can).”

I can’t help but smile. Even when Josh is being kind
of douche-y, he’s sexy as hell to me.

With this application, you will be required to
submit three recent photographs of yourself to your intake agent.
Please include the following: one headshot, one full-body shot
revealing your physique, and one shot wearing something you’d
typically wear out in a public location. These photographs shall be
maintained under the strictest confidentiality.

Oh, this I gotta see. I scroll down, assuming Josh’s
photos will be attached to the end of his application, but they’re
not there. I scan the top of the document, looking for some
indication of where I can find his pictures—but, nope. There’s
nothing. Goddammit! I grab my phone.

Josh answers my call immediately. “Wow, that was
fast,” he says. “I’m only just now walking into the casino.”

“Where are your photos?”

“My photos?”

“Yeah, the three photos you submitted with your
application.”

“Oh, my
photos
.” He pauses. “Why do you want
them? You already know exactly what I look like.”

“I just want to see them.”

“But you’ve already seen every inch of me—you’ve
seen my YOLO’d ass, for Chrissakes.” He snickers. “Not to mention
my balls.”

I join him in snickering. “Up close and
personal.”

He snickers again.

“But I still wanna see your photos.”

He sighs. “How ’bout this? I’ll come back up there
and let you take three photos of me any which way you want. We’ll
have a photo shoot, just you and me, baby.”

“Ooh, sounds fun—I’ll definitely take a rain check
on that offer. But I still wanna see the photos
.
”

He grumbles. “But
why
?”

“Because I wanna see what photos you thought would
best represent yourself to perverts in a sex club.”

There’s a long pause. “You’re such a fucking pain in
the ass, you know that? A terrorist and a colossal pain in the
ass.”

“I told you—I’m a
Scorpio
. We’re extremely
focused and we also have a disproportionate sense of entitlement.
Plus, I gave you my three photos—a deal’s a deal.”

He laughs. “Oh my God, those photos, Kat.”

“You liked them?”

“I
loved
them. The one of you in your undies
was so hot—and then I practically pissed myself laughing at the one
of you pretending to barf over the toilet. You’re so funny.”

“Thank you. You’re pretty funny yourself—but funny
ain’t gonna get you off the hook, dude. Those photos are part of
your application, which means they’re part of your promise.”

He grunts. “
Fine
. Are you familiar with
Macs?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one—from your brother,
actually.”

“My brother gave you a Mac?”

“Yeah. To replace the one The Club stole from
me.”

“That was awfully nice of him—I didn’t know Jonas
knew how to be nice.”

“Yeah. He’s been super nice to me. Okay, quit
stalling. Where are the photos?”

He groans. “
Fine
. Go to ‘Finder’ and click on
‘Pictures’ on the left side of the screen.”

“Yep. Okay.”

“And now do you see the folder...” Josh says, but I
don’t hear the rest of his sentence because something has caught my
attention on Josh’s laptop screen: a folder labeled “Sick Fuck.”
Well, jeez, with a name like that, the folder might as well be
named “Open me, Kat!”

“Do you see it?” Josh says.

“Mmm hmm,” I say, clicking on the “Sick Fuck”
folder.

Oh my God.
I’m looking at a bunch of photos
of naked women—lots and lots of naked women—all of them blonde, all
of them gorgeous, and all of them striking poses like porn
stars.

“Kat? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, scrolling through the
photos. There’s probably close to twenty different women here.
“Josh, who are all the blondes?”

“What?” he asks, his voice suddenly tight.

“The porn stars in the folder labeled ‘Sick
Fuck’?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ! Get out of there, Kat! That’s
personal!”

“Who are they?”

“I didn’t give you permission to look through my
private stuff.
Get the fuck out of there right now.
Jesus!”

“Oh, waah, waah. So you like porn—you’re such a
pervert.” I laugh, but he doesn’t join me. “Come on. Just tell me
who they are. It’s no big whoop.”

“This is a total breach of trust. Absolutely
inexcusable.”

I ignore his outrage. It’s an extremely effective
tactic I’ve learned from observing my brothers over the years:
remain calm in the face of indignation and then deny, deny, deny
any and all wrongdoing until the person angry with you simply
forgets what they’re mad about.

“Are these photos off the Internet, or are they
women you actually know?” I ask calmly.

There’s a long silence. “This is total bullshit,” he
grumbles, but it’s clear his outrage is already beginning to
soften. “I want to lodge a formal complaint,” he says.

I laugh. “With whom?”

“With... the Common Decency Police.”

“Okay. Duly noted. Complaint lodged.”

“Because you
suck
.”

“Yes, I do, actually, as we both know very well. And
if you ever want me to do it again, then answer my question.”

Out of nowhere, his fury roars back to life. “Oh,
fuck no,” he bellows. “Let me set you straight about something
right here and now: I do
not
tolerate any form of sexual
extortion in a relationship. That’s an absolute deal-breaker with
me. You wanna suck my dick? Great; then suck it. You don’t wanna
suck it? Then don’t. But don’t use sex as a weapon to manipulate
me. I fucking
hate
that.”

My heart lurches into my throat—and not because Josh
is chastising me—I don’t care about that—but because Josh just said
he doesn’t tolerate any form of sexual extortion
in a
relationship
. Are Josh and I
in a relationship
?

“Jeez,” I manage to say. “Overreact much?”

“I’m not
overreacting
,” Josh replies. “I
absolutely
hate
that shit.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez-
us
. I’m sorry. I’ll never
again say, ‘If you want me to suck your dick, then
fill-in-the-blank.’ Happy?”

“Yes. Thank you. I hate that shit.”

“Fine. Got it. But I must say I find your whole
speech awfully ironic considering I used sexual extortion to get
you to give me your application in the first place.”

He pauses. “Hey, wait a minute—you
did
,
didn’t you? Well, that was kinda shitty of you.”

“Hey, whatever works.”

There’s a long beat during which I’m smiling from
ear to ear.

“So,” I say. “You still haven’t answered my
question, Playboy: Who are all the blonde playmates?”

He makes a sound of frustration. “I was hoping you’d
forgotten about that.”

“No chance. I’m a Scorpio. We hold grudges. So who
are they?”

“You don’t have permission to be snooping around in
that folder, Kat. Click out.”

I don’t reply to him—I’m too busy looking through
the folder.

“Hello? Madame Terrorist? Did you hear me? Exit the
folder. You’re trespassing.”

“Yeah, I heard you. And I would totally follow your
instruction, I really would—but the thing is, I’m having somewhat
of a
conundrum
.”

“And what is that?”

“It’s kind of like a dilemma.”

“Have I done something to give you the impression
I’ve got the vocabulary of a sixth-grader? I know what a
conundrum
is—I’m asking what is
your
conundrum,
specifically?”

I seriously can’t wipe the smile off my face. “Well,
on the one hand,” I say, “I really want to respect your request. I
really, really
do, because I’m actually a fairly nice
person, despite the way I tend to behave around you, and also
because I think you’re probably right: it was very, very naughty of
me to go through your personal stuff without permission.”