Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
But damn. Not looking to the future is easier said than done when you’ve fallen in love with someone as amazing as Josh. In fact, that’s all I seem to want to do—fantasize about the future—about one day living in the same city, sleeping every night in the same bed, maybe even planning a trip to Europe for next summer with a little of my finder’s fee money. But in what world can a woman be the first one to say “I want you to be mine and only mine forever and ever until the end of time” and not have everything implode after that? And that’s especially true when the man you wanna say it to is the raging commitment-phobe, Joshua William Faraday. And so, I’ve made a pact with myself to keep my big mouth shut and just enjoy the ride.
The doorbell rings. I look at my watch. Damn. Josh’s deliveryman is freaking prompt. I lope to the front door and open it—and, lo and behold, The Terminator is standing on my doorstep in a T-shirt and jeans, his hand in his pocket.
“Jonas?” I look past him into the walkway. “What are you doing here? Is Sarah here, too?”
Jonas holds up a poker chip.
“No way!” I shriek, instantly elated. It doesn’t matter what specific fantasy Jonas is here to kick off—all that matters is what that poker chip clearly implies about Josh’s current geographical location: that boy is here in Seattle!
Jonas hands me the poker chip and rolls his eyes. “Hi, Kat. I’m Blane,” he says, his tone oozing with complete disdain. “Great to finally meet you. You look even more beautiful than in your online profile.”
I throw my hands over my blushing face with embarrassment and glee. Just from these few words, I know exactly what imaginary-porno Josh and I are about to act out and how I’m supposed to play along. Oh my freaking God.
Jonas makes a face like he’s being tortured. “Is any of what I’m saying making any sense to you? Josh gave me the exact script, but if this isn’t making any sense to you—”
“No.” I laugh. “It makes perfect sense. I know exactly what this is.”
In fact, I’ve got zero doubt about what’s on the fantasy-fulfillment docket for tonight: we’re gonna do my “slut who ditches her boring date to have sex with the hot bartender in the bathroom” fantasy—a scenario I explained to Josh in detail during our last night together in Las Vegas (along with my other fantasies, too). “And in this fantasy,” I explained to Josh that night, “I’m on a first date with some random guy—like, some accountant I met on Match dot com or whatever—and it turns out he’s The Most Boring Man in the World. He’d probably be named Blane.”
“Blane?” Josh said. And then he quoted the exact line from Pretty in Pink I was referring to—about Blane being an appliance, rather than a name.
“Oh my God!” I squealed. “I guarantee no other man on the planet could quote Ducky from Pretty in Pink.”
“I’m wise and powerful, babe,” Josh said. “I keep telling you.”
I laughed.
“So what happens next in this particular fantasy?” Josh asked. “Something tells me it doesn’t end well for poor Blane.”
“No, it doesn’t. I’m on my date with Blane and he’s talking my ear off about taxes or politics or whatever, and I keep locking eyes with the hot bartender. So, after a bit, I excuse myself to go to the restroom. And on my way, I slip the bartender a note on a napkin that says, ‘Bathroom in five.’”
“Whoa,” Josh said. “You little minx.’
“Hot, right?”
“Definitely.”
“So then I fuck the bartender in the bathroom and when we’re done, I go right back to my sweet but boring date like nothing ever happened. When Blane and I leave the bar, the bartender winks at me as I pass by—but we don’t exchange phone numbers or anything like that—we both just know it was a one-time thing. Blane takes me home and I kiss him on the cheek and thank him for a lovely evening like the proper young lady I am. And then I never see him again.”
“Where the fuck do you get this shit?” Josh asked.
“Well, this particular fantasy came about as a total ‘what if’ on a real-life boring date.”
Josh laughed.
“But that’s the thing, I have these little pornos playing in my head all the time, but I’d never actually do them. Believe it or not, I’m actually not as big a slut as I seem.”
“I don’t think you’re a slut,” he said earnestly. “Not at all. Well, not any more than I’m a slut. Am I a slut?”
“Yeah, a little bit.”
Josh laughed. “No, I’m not. Not nearly as much as I seem.”
“Then we’re even.”
Jonas clears his throat, drawing my attention back to my present-day doorstep. He looks remarkably uncomfortable. “So you ready to head out?” he asks. “I’ve been given strict instructions to take you for cocktails and to be extremely boring.” He rolls his eyes again.