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 finding it a bit hard to breathe. “All of them specific?”
“Most of them.”
“Tell me some of them,” I say. I can feel my cheeks blazing.
She leans forward. “I’ll tell you all of them—just as soon as you tell me what you wrote in your application.”
I smile. “Here we go again. No.”
She exhales. “Okay, then. No fantasies for you.” She licks her lips. “Too bad. You would have liked them.”
I squint at her.
“Answer a question for me, Josh.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I sip my drink.
“Did you sleep with someone while you were in New York?”
I choke on my drink. Jesus. This woman’s gonna be the death of me.
Under any other circumstances, I’d lie right now. But after what she told me about Cameron, that’s obviously not an option.
I take a long, deep breath. “Yeah.”
Her eyes light up. “I knew it. Such a hypocrite.”
“I’m not a hypocrite. I slept with a girl I used to know a long time ago. We both just happened to be in New York at the same time, by sheer coincidence. Completely meaningless.”
She smiles. “Ah. Blast-from-your-past sex—definitely not a fantasy of mine.” She shudders. “That can be dangerous.”
“Dangerous? How so?”
“It can bring up old feelings—and usually only for one person, which is never good.” She shudders again.
I scoff. “There were no old feelings to bring up. We dated for, like, four months seven years ago, and I don’t think we had sober sex more than twice.”
She purses her lips. “How’d you guys wind up hooking up after all this time?”
I exhale. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
I have no desire to tell this story. I exhale and run my hand through my hair.
“Come on, Playboy. Spill it.”
I roll my eyes. “My good friend Reed happened to be in New York last week because one of his bands was doing Saturday Night Live. Coincidentally, Reed’s ex-girlfriend Isabel and her best friend—the girl in question—had just come back from a week in France and stopped in New York so Isabel could do this TV interview thing. The girls figured out Reed and I were both in New York by total coincidence—thank you, Instagram—so they invited us to go to the show taping with them. After the show, we all went out for dinner and drinks and I... got... shit-faced... and made an impulsive and extremely stupid decision.” I feel sick. I wouldn’t normally be saying a word of this to anyone, let alone a woman I’m interested in sleeping with. Why am I saying all this?
Kat sips her drink quietly. “So your friend Reed’s in a band?”
“That’s what you want to know after everything I just said? You wanna know if my friend Reed’s in a band?”
She shrugs. “To start with, yeah.”
“No, Reed’s not in a band—he owns a record label. He also co-owns a dance club here in Vegas. Maybe I’ll take you there tonight.”
“Oh, I’d love that. I love to dance. Who’s the band that played on Saturday Night Live?”
I pause. “That’s really what you’re curious about? You’re not gonna ask me about her?”
“Oh, I’m getting there, trust me. I’m just playing it cool.”
I laugh. “Ah, stealing a page out of my book.”
“It’s a good page.”
“Red Card Riot.”
“That’s the band on your friend’s label? Wow. I love them.”
“Yeah, they’re awesome.”
She screeches the chorus from Red Card Riot’s monster rock hit, “Shaynee.”
“Great song,” I say.
“Have you met them?” she asks.
“No, the guys in the band didn’t come out with us in New York. I think they had some groupies to ‘meet and greet.’”
“I’m sure they did. They’re huge right now—your friend Reed must be thrilled.”
“Yeah. He’s always had quite the knack for spotting talent. A bit of a Midas touch.”
She takes a sip of her drink and then levels me with an unflinching gaze. “So do you plan to see her again?”
“Okay, here we go.”
“I told you I’d get to it.”
“And you did.”
She pauses. “So do you plan to see her?”
“No.” I snort. “Never. Like I said. It was completely meaningless.”
She chews the inside of her mouth.
“Do you plan to see Mr. Baseball again?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“No.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“He wants to see you again, though, right?”
She nods.
“You’re not gonna say yes when he asks?”
“He’s already asked twice. And I’ve already said no both times.” She presses her lips together. “I told him very clearly it wasn’t gonna work out. I was nice about it, but clear.”
I make a caveman sound.
“What does that grunt mean?”
“It means I’m plotting his murder in my head.”
“Why? He didn’t do anything wrong.”
I grunt again.
She smiles. “You’re jealous?”
“Of course, I’m jealous. Fuck yeah, I am.”
“But I just told you I’m not gonna see him again.”
“So what. I can’t get a certain visual out of my head and it’s making me crazy.”
Her smile broadens.
“You like that I’m jealous?”
She thinks for a minute. “Usually, I’d say no—that I hate jealous bullshit. But, yeah, I’m liking it.” She bites her lip. “So does Miss Blast from Your Past wanna see you again?”