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)
I hear Sarah squeal with laughter to my right and I glance at her. She’s dancing in her chair and singing along as she watches Henn and Hannah onstage.
God, this is the best night ever. Better than any fantasy.
Yes, being Josh’s million-dollar whore was pretty damned exciting; and, yes, having him pick me over a supermodel felt pretty damned good; and, of course, being bound and fucked in a sex dungeon was freaking hot, too; and yesterday’s tryst in the bathroom with that Hottie McHottie-pants bartender was ridiculously scorching, not to mention the look on that woman’s face when I emerged from the bathroom and left with two hot guys. But, as titillating and sexy and hilarious as all that stuff has been, none of it is what I thought about while missing Josh and getting down with my battery-operated boyfriend this week. Nope. When I crawled into my empty bed at the end of each long and lonely day this past week, aching for Josh a thousand miles away in Los Angeles, I fantasized about one thing and one thing only: Josh making love to me to that James Bay song.
And today at work, whenever my mind meandered to daydreams of Josh (as it so often did), what did I dream about (besides the way he made love to me last week to that James Bay song)? Sex dungeons? Bartenders? Ski masks? Nope. I thought about how excited I am to introduce him to my family tomorrow night. And to sing the “Fish Heads” song at the fish market—an activity we’ve planned for tomorrow, perhaps after a leisurely brunch (after we’ve spent our first night together in my bed).
I lean into Josh’s shoulder and breathe in his scent and he wraps his arm around me. I look up at him and grin and he beams a heart-stopping smile at me.
When Josh picked me up at my apartment two hours ago, dressed to kill in a trim black Armani suit and sunglasses, I immediately checked out his palms, expecting to see him carrying a poker chip. But, nope.
“No poker chip?” I asked as we waltzed down the walkway hand-in-hand toward his car.
“Not right now. But you never know when a sneaky guy might whip one out, so you better keep on your toes, Party Girl.”
I peel my attention off Josh’s striking face and watch Henn and Hannah singing the final lines of their song. Man, they’re killing it. They’re milk and cookies. Bert and Ernie. Macaroni and cheese. Peanut butter and jelly. I lean into Josh’s shoulder again and squeeze his hand and he squeezes right back.
Maybe Sarah was right. This is enough. I’ve been overthinking. I don’t need promises. All I need is the way I feel right now.
Henn and Hannah traipse happily off the stage toward our table, getting high-fives and cheers from everyone they pass, while a large guy with a bushy beard assumes the stage to belt out “Living on a Prayer.”
“Utter brilliance,” Josh says when Henn and Hannah plop themselves down.
“You’re definitely tied for best of the night with Josh and Kat,” Sarah agrees. “You both can actually sing.”
“As opposed to me, is that what you’re saying?” Josh says, laughing.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Your performance was brilliant, Joshy Woshy. You didn’t just sing your parts, you told the truth with every goddamned word.”
Josh laughs and re-enacts his repeated “turn around” refrain from “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” which Josh and I performed together earlier in the night to raucous applause from the entire bar.
“Hey, at least I’m a better singer than Jonas,” Josh says.
“Josh,” Jonas pipes in. “Don’t congratulate yourself on being a better singer than me. I’m literally tone deaf—hence the reason you’ll never catch me doing karaoke.”
“Love, what you lack in actual singing ability, you make up for with the heart of a lion,” Sarah says. “But yeah, the lead singer of our group’s boy-band is definitely Henny. I didn’t know you could sing, Henn.”
“Yeah, I sang in an a cappella group at UCLA.”
I exchange a smile with Josh. Why am I not surprised about that? That’s so damned Henn.
“But I’m chopped liver compared to Hannah,” Henn continues. “I sing like a choir boy, but she’s got true soul. You should hear her singing Beyoncé in the shower. Sexy.”
Hannah pushes up her glasses and busts out the chorus of “Say My Name.” “Queen Bey better watch her back, that’s all I’m sayin’,” she says. And then she snorts.
“I love it when you sing,” Henn gushes. “You’re amazing.”
I exchange a smiling look with Sarah. Oh man, that boy’s in love.
Hannah giggles. “Henn. You think everything I do is amazing. I made you buttered toast the other day and you said it was the best toast you’d ever had.”
“Well, it was—just the perfect amount of butter. It was even better than amazing—it was schmamazing.”