Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
I’m rendered speechless for a moment. “Well, joke’s on you because I also grew up with four brothers,” I finally manage to say. “All of them contained in the sole person of Jonas Faraday. You’d be shocked what I’ve had to do to survive and thrive in a house with a brother with four personalities. Holding off on kissing you ’til I get my way, even though all I wanna do right now is kiss the hell out of you—including biting that goddamned lower lip of yours and doing unmentionable things to that goddamned cleft in your chin—is freaking child’s play.”
She parts her lips but doesn’t speak.
“Do I give off a Jeffrey Dahmer vibe or something?” I ask, leaning forward into her personal space.
“Not at all.” She leans back and sips her drink. “Maybe that’s why I’m so damned curious. Your seeming normalcy makes me wonder even more why a guy like you felt the need to join a sex club.”
“I didn’t need to join a sex club—any more than I need to go to Tahiti or Monaco.”
“Or Disneyland,” she adds, snickering.
I roll my eyes. “Or Disneyland. Correct. Joining The Club was a vacation.” I sip my drink calmly. “Which means it’s soundly in the realm of ‘none of your fucking business.’ I don’t owe you a play-by-play of my vacations. And, news flash, I’m not gonna let you run my credit report or call my ex-girlfriends, either.”
She takes another long sip of her drink. “Oh, that’s a great idea about calling your ex-girlfriends, Playboy. I didn’t think of that. You can email me their contact information along with your application.”
I smirk. “You do realize, in theory, you could wake up gagged and chained to a donkey after fucking any guy, right? The fact that I joined The Club doesn’t make me any more or less of a pervert-weirdo-serial-killer-donkey-fucker than the average guy.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ll know for sure after I read your application. And by the way, I didn’t say anything about waking up gagged. You just added that part.” She raises one of her eyebrows at me.
I feel my cheeks blazing, despite my best efforts to keep a neutral face.
“Sarah sure enjoyed reading Jonas’ application,” she says. “Maybe I’ll like yours as much as she liked his.”
“Ah, so that’s what this is about. Jonas and Sarah.”
She shrugs, but her body language tells me I’ve hit the nail on the head.
“But Jonas didn’t willingly give Sarah his application, you might recall—he sent it to an anonymous intake agent. If Jonas had met Sarah in real life the way I’ve met you, he never would have given her his fucking application, not in a million years, I guarantee it. Sarah only had it because Jonas had no choice in the matter—and she misappropriated it for her personal use.” I sip my drink slowly. “Shame on her.”
“But that’s my whole point. Jonas wouldn’t normally have given it to her—and yet that’s exactly why they clicked so hard and fast. All cards on the table. Nothing to hide. No way to hold back, even if they wanted to. I think there’s something to that kind of forced honesty.”
Oh, she’s good, but I’m not gonna fall for her manipulations. “Sure you wanna try it—it’s a one-way street. No downside for you.”
We sip our drinks again, eying each other.
“Yeah, but most likely a huge upside for you,” she says. “Think about it like that.”
She makes an excellent point, I must admit. But I’d never tell her that. “Did Sarah show you Jonas’ application, by any chance?” I ask.
“No. She wouldn’t even summarize it verbally for me. And she wouldn’t tell me what she wrote to him in response, either.”
“Yeah, neither would Jonas. Not a word.”
“Damn. I’m dying to know.”
“Me, too.”
“Well, whatever they said to each other, it sure seems to have worked out well for them.” She looks earnest. “It seems like maybe they’re on to something with all that... forced honesty.”
Well, shit. If I knew she was right—if I knew participating in some sort of bizarre honesty-game would turn out to be some sort of unparalleled aphrodisiac, I’d be all in. I really would. But I don’t know if she’s right. For all I know, my application could easily have the opposite effect than she’s anticipating. It could make her run away, screaming. And, regardless, at this point, I’m probably doomed no matter what it might say. She’s pinning so much expectation on the damned thing, it can’t possibly live up to whatever kinkfest she’s imagining it to be. No matter what it says, it’s gonna be anticlimactic now.
And, more importantly, is it gonna open up an entire dialogue I have no intention of having? What I wrote in my application is a fucking time capsule—a moment in time I have no desire to revisit or fucking explain. My stomach twists. Yeah, it’s settled. No matter what, I’m not gonna give this goddamned terrorist my fucking application.