Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“That’s your definition of a fancy salon?” I say. “They give you water and a shampoo?”
“Hey, I go to Supercuts, man. What do I know?”
“You do? Oh, I totally couldn’t tell that from looking at you, Henn.”
Henn laughs. “So, here’s the sitch, man. When you get there, the name ‘Frank Farmer’ is on the approved visitors’ list at the guard station. Just text me when you’re there and I’ll go in and freeze the bastard’s hard drive.”
“Will do. We’re almost there. Sit tight and wait for my signal, okay?”
“Yup. No worries. I’ll just be sitting here, watching him watch porn,” Henn says. “Don’t you worry about a thing except bagging that babe.”
“I’ll do my mighty best.”
“Is that a note of anxiety I detect in your voice, boss?”
“Yeah, this is life or death, man—I don’t wanna fuck it up.”
“Aw, come on. You can’t fail. Just dick it up and the babe will be eating out the palm of your hand.”
“Gee, thanks for the tip.”
“No prob.”
“I’ll text you when we’re there.”
“Roger that.”
Ten minutes later, the limo pulls up to an exclusive gated community in Del Mar, California—a wealthy seaside enclave north of San Diego—and our driver tells the security guard at the gate the name of the resident we’re here to see.
“And what’s the visitor’s name?” the guard asks.
“Frank Farmer,” the driver says, motioning to me in the back seat. “He should be on your list.”
“Wait here.”
The guard disappears into his guardhouse, presumably to look at his approved visitors’ list, and my stomach clenches sharply. But when the guy comes back out, he’s all smiles.
“Do you know how to get there?” the guard asks my driver.
“We have the address,” the driver replies.
“Well, lemme just tell you: follow the main road here for two miles and then take the third right. Mr. Bennett’s house is on the left.”
“Okay, thanks,” the driver says.
As we cruise slowly down the main drag of the complex, I survey the McMansions lining the street, my stomach bursting with butterflies. In just a few minutes, my life will be forever changed. And I can’t wait.
My eyes drift down to Kat, still asleep against my chest.
It feels like a lifetime ago that Kat waltzed out of the bathroom at Jonas’ house and straight up to me like she owned me—which she did, of course, right from the start. I fought her on it, for sure, but now in retrospect it’s clear this very moment with Kat was unavoidable. My fate. A beautiful brick wall I’ve been barreling toward my whole fucking life.
I nudge Kat gently. “Babe,” I whisper. “Time to wake up, beautiful.”
Kat’s dead to the world.
“Party Girl,” I whisper. “It’s time to party, sweetheart.” I nudge her again and she rustles.
“Hmm?” Kat says. She lifts her head and looks around with dazed eyes.
“It’s time to party, honey,” I say softly.
Kat wipes the drool off her chin and gazes out the car window, just as the limo turns right onto a street lined with the same cookie-cutter mansions on the main drag.
“Where are we?” Kat asks, stretching her long arms and looking around.
The limo comes to a stop in front of our destination.
“It’s a surprise,” I say. “Stay here, baby. I’m gonna set something up for us—it’ll just take a minute. While I’m doing that, you freshen up—put on some lip gloss, wipe your chin, whatever—and when you hear blaring music, come out of the limo and stand next to me, okay?”
“What?” she asks. “Come stand next to you?”
“Yeah, baby, when you hear blaring music, that’s your cue to come out of the limo and stand next to me.” I stroke her hair. “Freshen up your makeup, babe—make yourself extra pretty—I want you looking like a man-eater when you step out of the car, okay? And the minute you hear the music, come out and stand next to me.”
“Okay,” she says. She grabs her makeup bag out of her duffel. “Your wish is my command, sir.”
I grab Kat’s face and kiss her. “See you soon, my love,” I say.
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“Um. I’m really sorry, but I have to pee—like, really, really bad. Is this gonna take long, whatever it is? I’m about to explode.”
I chuckle. Damn. I didn’t think about Kat’s constant need to pee these days when I planned this mini-porno-rom-com. I peek out the window of the car. There are definitely plenty of bushes in The Asshole’s manicured landscaping, including some fairly large bushes along the side of the house.
“Okay, Party Girl—come with me,” I say. “We’ll find a place for you to pop a squat.”
Kat laughs. “I’m dressed in a Carolina Herrera gown, diamonds, and Manolo Blahniks—and you’re asking me to ‘pop a squat’ behind a bush?”
“Do you have a better plan?”
“Well, no. I just didn’t want you to think I’m low-class.”
“Babe, you’re the classiest broad I know. Now, come on. Let’s go take a classy piss behind a bush.”