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)
“Michelangelo was the coolest one,” Kat insisted during one of our many conversations this past week.
“How can you use the word ‘cool’ in reference to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” I asked.
“Oh, come on. You know you watched them,” she chided me.
“Yeah, I watched them,” I said, laughing. “But I never thought they were cool.”
“Honesty-game,” she said.
I exhaled. “Damn, that fucking game. Okay, yes. I thought Raphael was dope.”
I smile to myself at the memory and look at my watch. The woman working behind the check-in counter is still helping that goddamned family of five and the couple’s three young children are bouncing off the walls.
“Jeremy?” the clerk yells over her shoulder toward an open door behind the front desk. “Are you available to assist, please? Jeremy?”
But Jeremy must be off smoking a bowl because no one walks through that open door. It’s just the one poor clerk behind the counter, and the line is growing behind me.
As I wait, my mind drifts to Kat again, the way it has all week long. Kat. She’s upstairs right now, soaking her panties at the thought of being treated like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Kat. What the fuck? Kat, Kat, Kat. That’s all my brain is capable of thinking about anymore. I smile to myself. Kat.
I broke down and told Kat every little thing about our plans for Climb & Conquer this week, even though I’d planned to tell her about it in person. I was naked in my bed, listening to her sexy voice and feeling particularly relaxed after some pretty damned good phone sex, and everything just spilled out of me. Well, not everything. I didn’t tell her about the fact that, since Climb & Conquer will be headquartered in Seattle, I’ll finally be moving back home in a couple months. I was tempted to mention it several times, but I stopped myself. I mean, shit, God only knows where things will stand between Kat and me in a couple days, let alone a couple months. Why set her up for some kind of disappointment if things don’t work out? All I can do is take it a day at a time and see where things lead, right?
The family of five bounces away from the front desk and the old-guy-Asian-woman-couple in front of me steps up to the desk.
“I’m so sorry for the wait, sir,” the hotel clerk says to the old guy, and then her eyes drift apologetically to me. “I’ll be with you shortly, sir.”
I put my hand up to signal it’s all good and the clerk smiles gratefully. The minute she looks away, though, I look at my watch impatiently. Kat’s in this building right now, wetting herself at the thought of me treating her like my whore tonight, and I’m standing here, growing gray hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I seriously can’t wait to see Kat.
Kat.
During another conversation this week—and God only knows how we got on the topic—Kat and I talked about what we believe happens to a person’s soul after death—which led to a discussion about spirituality versus religion—a topic I’d normally avoid like the plague with anyone but Jonas (that’s what years of Catholic school will do to a guy). But with Kat, the whole conversation flowed easily and naturally.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Josh?” Kat blurted at one point during our discussion about spirituality, shocking the hell out of me.
“What?” I asked, worried I’d offended her with my frank honesty on the topic.
“You’re not supposed to be the deep-thinking Faraday brother. Pull yourself together, Playboy—you’ve got a shallow rep to live up to.”
“Sorry,” I replied, laughing. “It won’t happen again.”
The old-guy-Asian-girlfriend-couple in front of me finally steps away from the front desk, and I step forward.
“Checking in?” the hotel clerk asks. She looks totally frazzled.
“Yes. Joshua Faraday. My guests should have already checked into the room.” I hand her my identification and credit card. “I arranged in advance for my guests to access the room before my check-in.”
The woman clicks her keyboard for a brief moment. “Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Faraday.” She suddenly looks stricken. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting in line. Oh my gosh. Please forgive me.”
“No problem,” I say smoothly, flashing her a smile.
“Let me send you a complimentary bottle of champagne to your suite to make up for the delay.”
“Thank you, but, no, I’d prefer no interruptions tonight.”
She blushes. “Oh. Of course.” She clears her throat. “Uh, looks like your guests have already checked into the suite with no problem—it’s the penthouse, as you know—and all catering and amenities requested have already been sent up.”
“Excellent,” I say, my heart clanging with anticipation. “The bar is stocked with Gran Patron, right?”
“Um, actually, it looks like they brought Roca Patron to the suite. Is that acceptable to you?”