The Revelation (37 page)

“Josh,” I breathe. I can barely push air into my
lungs. I’m gasping for air, suddenly overcome by a surge of energy
coursing between us.

I want him. I need him.
I love him.

“Don’t go,” he says. “Stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I breathe. “Oh, Josh. I’m
all yours.”

Kat

For the past kajillion hours, Josh and I have been
sitting on his black leather couch, smoking weed and listening to
the Black Keys (the current song is “Tighten Up”) and semi-watching
our favorite scenes from our favorite movies (on
mute)—
Twenty-One Jump Street, Zoolander, Happy Gilmore,
Anchorman, Harold and Kumar, This is the End,
and selected
episodes of
Parks & Recreation,
too. And while we’ve
availed ourselves of the aforementioned samplings of musical and
comedic genius, Josh and I have also been voraciously gobbling down
every single morsel of the gourmet, healthy meals supplied by
Josh’s ever-so-thoughtful and fitness-conscious brother.

Oh, and perhaps I should mention we’ve done all of
the above-mentioned activities in our birthday suits.

Oh, and perhaps I should also mention “eating”
Jonas’ gourmet, healthy meals has actually entailed licking,
nibbling, and slurping food off each other’s stomachs and thighs,
and out of each other’s belly buttons, and, yes, okay, if you
really must know, off of (or out of) each other’s most sensitive
places.

I take a long drag on the joint Josh offers me and
blow the smoke into his face in a steady, controlled stream. Man,
I’m stoned. Stoned out of my mind. Fred-Flintstoned. Emma Stoned.
Sharon Stoned. Rolling Stoned. Sly Stalloned. Oh, wait, no. That
last one doesn’t really work. I think I meant Sly and the Family
Stoned? Wasn’t that the funk band Josh introduced me to yesterday
in the sex dungeon? Well, in any event, let’s just say tonight I’ve
definitely become a naturalized citizen of the peaceful and
munchie-eating land of Estonia. I burst out laughing.

“What?” Josh asks, his eyes glazed over.

“I dunno. It was funny, though.”

“God, you’re beautiful,” Josh coos, obviously
feeling rather Oliver Stoned himself. “I could look at your
gorgeous face forever.” He leans forward, grabs my face, and kisses
me deeply.

“You said
forever
,” I say into his lips,
smiling.

“What?”

“I didn’t know your mouth was capable of uttering
that word.”

“You must have misheard me. I don’t even know that
strange word. What I actually said was,
‘
Florebblaaaah
.’”

I roll my eyes.

Josh flashes me a goofy grin. “Aw, come on, baby. My
douchebaggery is my charm.”

“Mmm hmm.”

He sighs audibly. “Oh, Kat, Kat,
gorgeous
Kat. Are you gonna wait for me or not, Gorgeous, Stubborn Kat?”

“Hmm? Sure, I’ll wait.” I grab the remote control
and pause the movie, freezing Michael Cera grabbing Rihanna’s ass
in
This Is the End.
“Go ahead.” I motion toward the
bathroom.

“No, no. I don’t mean wait for me to go to the
bathroom
. I wanna know if you’re gonna wait for
me
?”

I stare at him for a long beat. “You mean
florebblaaahhhhhh
?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Dude, what are you talking about?”

He bristles. “Never mind.” He grabs a bottle of
Patron from the floor next to him and takes a swig.

My stomach twists. How does this man make me feel so
freaking good and so flippin’ insecure all at the same time? Last
night in the sex dungeon, after he’d untied me, Josh made love to
me so passionately, so
urgently,
I felt that crazy
electricity coursing between us again—that same supernatural
electricity as the prior night in Josh’s bed—and I thought my heart
was gonna burst with joy. But, afterwards, did we talk about what
we were both so obviously feeling toward each other? Nooooope. Of
course not. Because, it seems, talking about our ‘fucking feelings’
is off limits with Joshua William Faraday.

“You mean will I wait for you to pull your head out
of your ass?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Josh says without hesitation. “Exactly.”

“Yeah, I’ll wait. You’re definitely worth the
wait.”

He smiles broadly. “Thank you.” He hands me the
bottle of tequila.

“But I won’t wait three fucking years, I’m telling
you that right now, motherfucker.” I take a swig from the
bottle.

“Well, how long will you wait, then?” he asks.

“I dunno. It depends.”

“On what?”

“On what happens between now and then,” I say.

He nods. “That’s a very deep statement, Kitty
Katherine.” He runs his hand through his hair and I’m assaulted
with the words “Welcome to” flashing me from underneath his bicep.
“Hand over the tequila, babe.”

I hand him the bottle and he takes a swig.

“I’ve never done this with a woman before,” he
says.

“Done what?”

Josh motions to the tequila and the half-eaten food
and the TV. “Partied with a girl like she’s a dude.”

“You call eating vegan creamed spinach out of my
cooch ‘partying like a dude’?”

He bursts out laughing. “You’re so fucking funny,
Kum Shot. You’re as funny as any of my friends. Funnier.”

“Yeah, I’m hilare. And don’t call me Kum Shot.”

“I could do anything with you and have fun. We could
go to the fucking dry cleaners and it would be fun.”

“Dude, who wouldn’t have fun at the dry cleaners?
Those motorized racks are rad. Or here’s an idea,” I say. “We could
go to the fish market and sing the ‘Fish Heads’ song. Now
that
would be fun.”

“I don’t know the ‘Fish Heads’ song.”

“No? Are you kidding me?”

He shakes his head.

“Well, shit, boy, Google it now. Search ‘Fish Head
song YouTube.’” I lean back into the leather couch and spread my
naked legs wide, surrendering completely to the chemicals coursing
through my bloodstream. “You’re welcome, motherfucker.”

“I like it when you say motherfucker,” he says.

“Motherfucker.”

“Sexy.”

“Come on, Joshua. Google. ‘Fish Heads.’ Song.
YouTube.”

Josh grabs his phone off the table and the moment
the unmistakable vocals begin, he laughs his ass off—which, of
course, makes me laugh, too.

“How did I not know about this?” Josh asks when the
song ends. “Best song ever. Oh my God. When I visit you in Seattle
next weekend, I’m gonna take you to Pike’s Place Market just so we
can sing this song at the top of our lungs.”

“At the stall at the very end? Where the guys throw
the fish?”

“Of course.”

“Aw, that sounds like a fun date. You really know
how to razzle-dazzle a girl, Playboy.”

“I told you that from day one, didn’t I? I said,
‘Get ready for the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle.’ But did you believe me?
Noooooo.”

“Oh, I believed you. I just
pretended
not to
believe you.”

“What was the point of doing that, may I ask? You
knew how our story was gonna end. Why torture me?”

I shrug. “I had no idea how our story was gonna
end—I still don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Do you?”

He pauses. “No, actually. I thought I did. But now I
realize I only knew the ending of the first chapter—not the ending
of the
story.
”

“What’s the ending of the first chapter?” I ask.

“We fuck like rabbits.”

“Oh, that’s a good ending.” I exhale. “Well, if I
tortured you in Vegas, then I’m not sorry. You were too frickin’
cocky for your own damn good. You had to be taken down a peg.”

“Ha! Liar. You were dying to get into my pants from
minute one. You were like, ‘Gimme your application, Playboy!’ And I
was like, ‘I’m gonna fuck you first and
then
give it to you,
Party Girl!’ And you were like, ‘Yippee! Yes! Please fuck me!’”

“Is that what I sound like? A chipmunk?”

“Yeah, and I sound like Mr. T. ‘I pity the
fool!’”

“Well, you’re delusional. You were the one dying to
get into
my
pants. When I kissed Henn, you practically had a
stroke.”

“Ooph. Totally. But the worst was thinking about you
with Cameron Fucking Schulz.” He grunts. “Even stoned, thinking
about him fucking you makes me wanna break that guy’s
Captain-America-fucking-face. No one touches my Party Girl with a
Hyphen but me. Fuckin’ A.” He swigs from his bottle again.

I bite my lip. “Wow. Sounds pretty serious,
dude.”

He bites his lip in mimicry of my gesture. “It just
might be.”

“It
might
be?” I ask coyly.

“Yeah. It
might
be.”

“Can’t I at least get a
probably
out of
you?”

Josh makes a face that says, “Sorry, come back
later.”

I scrunch up my face. “You suck balls, Josh. You
suck big ol’ donkey balls. God, you piss me off.” I grunt
loudly.

“Whoa! Where’d Stubborn Kat come from all of a
sudden? Don’t stress me out, Stubborn Kat. This is a stress-free
zone. I’m chillaxing.”

I glare at him.

He flashes a toothy grin. “I’m a drifter, baby. It’s
part of my charm.” He flexes his arm and kisses his bicep. “You
know you can’t get enough of me.”

“Yeah. Pretty sure I can. Pretty sure I just
did.”

He laughs. “Aw, why you so mad all of a sudden,
Stubborn Kat? What’d I do to piss you off this time?”

I grunt with exasperation. “Why the
fuck
do
you even have a calendar-app on your goddamned phone, Josh? That’s
what I wanna know. You can’t keep straight what you’ve got planned
for the next
week
? Hmm?”

“What?” He laughs. “You’re making zero sense. I have
no idea what you’re talking about.”

I huff. “It doesn’t matter. Blah, blah,
blaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.”

“What are you ranting about, you nutjob?”

“Never mind. Forget it.”

“Okay. Forgetting is something I’m good at.” He
looks around at the half-eaten trays of food around us. “You hungry
again, babe?”

“Hmm. I might be able to eat a little
something-something.”

“Green beans? Some sort of squash-thing? What’s your
pleasure, Party Girl?’

“Squash
a la dick
, please,” I say.

“Excellent selection.” He smears himself with a
trail of veggies from his tattooed chest down to his tattooed
waistline and then down his dick and balls—and then he lies back,
his arms behind his head, his muscles bulging, his douche-y
underarm tattoos on full, douche-y-McDouche-y-pants-display, and
flashes me a lascivious grin. “
Bon appetit, beau bébé.
”

Without hesitation, I lean in and lick up every
morsel of food off his pecs and abs and his “Overcome” tattoo and
finally work my way downtown—and I’m not even the slightest bit
grossed out as I do any of it. In fact, I find the entire
experience highly enjoyable. When every crevice, ridge, crease,
bulge, wrinkle, and fold of him is clean as a whistle, I continue
licking and sucking on his hard-on for quite some time, doing my
damnedest to give him the Katherine Morgan Ultimate Blowjob
Experience, but although Josh seems to be enjoying himself
tremendously, he doesn’t seem even close to climaxing.

“Dude. That is some serious stamina,” I finally say,
sitting up and loosening my jaw. “Are you made of steel?”

“Sorry, babe. I’m too stoned to come. It feels
amazing, though. But, yeah, you could stick a Dyson on there and
I’m not gonna blow. Sorry.” He laughs and pulls me into him for a
kiss. “Jesus, Kat. You’re so fucking beautiful, you make me wanna
punch a professional athlete.”

I laugh. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you make me
wanna roll you in Nutella and lick you from head to toe.”

“Will you please remind me to buy a huge jar of
Nutella tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. As long as you remind
me
to
remind
you
to buy a huge jar of Nutella tomorrow.”

We laugh hysterically.

“Shit,” Josh says. “I can barely remember my own
name right now. I’m so fucking high.”

“Your name is Joshua William Faraday and you’re the
sexiest man alive.”

“Thank you, Katherine Ulla Morgan. You’re the most
gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. And you’re smart and sweet
and funny, too. Best girl ever, ever, ever.
Florebblaaaaaaaaaaaah
.”

“Wow. Can you write my eulogy, please?”

“No, because I don’t want you to die. People always
seem to die around me and I hate it.”

I make a sad face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m over it. Just please don’t die,
Kat.”

“I’m totally down for that plan—I promise to live
florebblaaaaaaah.”

“Cool. Let’s live florebblaaaah, just you and me.
We’ll eat healthy, gourmet food sent to us by my dear brother and
we’ll fulfill each other’s sick-fuck-fantasies and we’ll be happy,
happy, happy florebblaaaaaah.”

“Okay. Cool. Where will we live and be happy, happy,
happy florebblaaaaaah?”

“Seattle, of course. Where else?”

I sigh wistfully. “That would be amazing. I wish we
both lived in Seattle so bad.”

“‘Twould be amazing,” Josh says. “Hey, did I mention
you’re sweet? Because you are.”

“Yep. That’s what you said.”

“And you’re smart, too.”

“Yep. That’s me. Sweet and smart.” I snort. “That’s
what everyone always says about me.”

“You don’t think you’re sweet and smart?”

I pause. “I think I’m sweet with the people I care
about, but you’re not gonna hear anyone say, ‘Oh, that Kat—she
never says an unkind word about anyone.’”

We both laugh at the ridiculousness of anyone saying
that about me.

“And I’d say I’m
witty
. Sometimes
clever
. Often
diabolical
. But, no, based on my
college transcripts, not particularly
smart
.”

“Fuck that shit. You’re smart. Which is why your new
company’s gonna kick ass. Speaking of which, when are you gonna
quit your job and stop waffling?”