The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) (3 page)

Jonas is glaring at me again, obviously waiting for
me to say something.

I clear my throat. “Wow,” I say. But he’s still
waiting, and so are Sarah and Kat. “I’m not sure, bro,” I add. “I
met some really great girls.” It’s a true statement—I honestly did
meet some really great girls in The Club—but, nonetheless, even as
I say it, I cringe at how douche-y it sounds.

I glance at Kat and, yep, she’s put off.

Oh, really? So she’s intrigued when she finds out I
joined
a high-priced sex club, but put off to learn I
actually
enjoyed
my short time in it? Ha! This one’s a
handful, I can already tell.

“How long was your membership, Josh?” Sarah
asks.

“A month,” I reply.

“And you... completed your entire membership
period... successfully?”

Oh my God. Sarah can barely get the words out. This
girl really is adorable—and, yep, clearly, there’s not a kinky bone
in her body. A total goody-two-shoes, through and through, which is
funny considering she processed sex club applications for a
living.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” I say, looking at Kat and
smiling broadly. Maybe I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t help it—I’m
enjoying how every little thing I say about The Club pulls an
animated reaction from Kat of one kind or another.

Plus, shit, I’m just being honest here: My month in
The Club was fucking awesome—just what the doctor ordered after
Emma ripped my heart and stuck it into a blender. Fucking yourself
back to happy truly shouldn’t be underrated, I gotta say—it was
exactly what I needed at the time. Plus, in an unexpected twist, a
handful of the women I hooked up with that month stayed with me in
my hotel room for hours after we’d fucked and listened to me pour
my guts out about my shattered heart. I normally never would have
been such a blathering pussy-ass, of course—I’m not Jonas, for
fuck’s sake—but I guess there was freedom in knowing I’d never see
any of those women again. And so, I let my guard down completely
and let it flow—and at the end of that whirlwind month of fucking
and fantasy-fulfillment and unexpected gut-spilling, I actually
felt like myself again, ready to move on and stop acting like a
brokenhearted little pussy.

I’ve never told anyone about my month in The Club,
except to suggest to Jonas that he join—(if anyone needs to fuck
himself to happy, it’s my brother, that’s for fucking sure)—but now
that it’s out in the open in front of Sarah and Kat (and especially
Kat), I’m not gonna crawl into a hole and act like I’m embarrassed
by it. I was single. It was fun and uniquely cathartic. As far as
I’m concerned, I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of when it
comes to my time in The Club. Might some of those girls have been
hookers? Well, now that I think about it, sure—how else could The
Club have supplied everything I asked for in my application, to the
letter? But I can’t believe
all
of them were straight-up
hookers. Some of them might just have been looking for a very
wealthy boyfriend with a big ol’ dick.

“There’s no way all those girls were prostitutes,” I
say, but even as the words come out of my mouth, I realize I don’t
actually believe them. The truth is, even as I filled out my
application, I didn’t care
how
The Club supplied what I
asked for—just as long as they did. So, okay, if it turns out the
women I fucked in The Club were all prostitutes, then fine, they
were well worth the money, and then some. Clearly, I needed to do
something to move on from Emma—and fucking my way back to
beastliness with a bunch of super cool, nonjudgmental, hot-as-hell
women was a helluva lot cheaper (and a lot more fun) than a month’s
worth of therapy. “They were super cool, all of them,” I say,
matter-of-factly. Fuck it.

Sarah crinkles her nose. “They were
all
super
cool, huh?” she asks. “Well, Julia Roberts was ‘super cool’ in
Pretty Woman
, too.”

I chuckle. Oh my God, I absolutely love this girl.
“True,” I say. I flash Jonas a look that says, “She’s a cutie,
bro,” but his eyes are as hard as fucking flint right now.

Shit. Here we go. I know that look. It means my
brother’s about to lose his fucking shit.

“How many women could you possibly have gone through
in a month?” Kat suddenly blurts from across the room.

Oh, hello. I lock eyes with Kat and, yup, it’s
written all over her gorgeous face: she wants me. Oh, fuck yes, she
does. I can’t help but smile as my cock begins tingling at the
blatant desire on her face.

“I mean . . .” Kat says, but she doesn’t
continue.

I keep staring at her, making her squirm, daring her
to say more and show her cards, but she doesn’t.

She bites her lip.

“A couple,” I finally say slowly. Oh yeah, this is
gonna be fun.

Sarah lets out a little moan that wrenches my
attention away from Kat’s gorgeous face. “Josh, did you ever use
your membership to meet a ‘super cool’ girl in the Seattle area?”
she asks, her face darkening with anticipatory horror.

I wanna laugh at the expression on Sarah’s face. Oh
my God, she’s so fucking cute, this woman.

I nod. “Once,” I say. I scowl, but my scowl is for
Sarah’s benefit—mainly to match her look of obvious horror at the
thought of Jonas and me having been unwitting Eskimo brothers with
some random, nameless woman in Seattle. As far as I know, Jonas and
I have never fucked the same woman, and I’m certainly not fond of
the idea, but if it happened by sheer chance with a woman neither
of us cares about or intended to pursue for something more serious
than a one-night stand, it really wouldn’t be the end of the
fucking world.

“Brunette. Piercing blue eyes—like the bluest eyes
you’ve ever seen—fair skin,” Jonas says, rattling off the
description of his Seattle girl like he’s doing the play-by-play at
a Seahawks game. “C-cup. Perfect teeth. Smokin’ hot body—” He looks
at Sarah apologetically. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay.” Sarah says—and, damn, it sure sounds
like she means it. Well, that settles it: Sarah’s totally awesome
in my book. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a jealous
woman.

“No,” I say. “That doesn’t describe my Seattle
girl.” Honestly, I don’t actually remember my Seattle girl
specifically—my whole month in The Club is a bit of a blur—but by
Jonas’ description, it’s abundantly clear we didn’t hook up with
the same woman. “When I filled out my application,” I continue,
glancing at Kat, “I requested only—”

I stop talking midsentence, thanks to the look on
Kat’s face: the girl’s sitting on the edge of her seat, looking
like she’s literally holding her breath at whatever I’m about to
say. Ha! What the fuck does Kat think I’m about to say?

That’s funny. The truth is I was about to say
something pretty innocuous—but obviously, the girl’s imagining
something pretty fucking titillating, or maybe even really fucked
up. Well, far be it for me to disappoint her depraved imagination.
In fact, I can plainly see by the revved-up expression on Kat’s
face, it’s in my extreme interest to let this girl’s imagination
run wild.

“Thank God, bro,” I say, making a big show of my
relief. “That would have been just like having sex with
you.”
I mock-shudder at the thought.

Jonas flashes me his usual look of annoyance. “We’re
totally off track here,” he barks out. “The only thing that matters
is that these bastards have fucked with Sarah and Kat, and we have
no way of knowing whether they’re done fucking with them or if
they’re just getting started.”

I lean back on the couch and sigh. Yep. My gut tells
me Jonas is overreacting to this situation, probably spurred on by
somehow trying to impress Sarah. “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, putting
my hands behind my head.

Oh shit. Oops. I just unleashed Jonas’ crazy as
surely as if I’d opened the door to a rabid dog’s cage.

“
Sit down, Jonas
,” I say emphatically, over
and over, in response to Jonas’ tirade, but he won’t listen to me.
“Let’s just talk about this for a minute, rationally.”

“Oh,
you’re
gonna tell
me
how to be
rational?” Jonas seethes. “Mr.
Buys-a-Lamborghini-on-a-Fucking-Whim-When-His-Girlfriend-Breaks-Up-With-Him
is gonna tell
me
to be rational?”

I roll my eyes.

Nice, Jonas. First my stupid-ass brother outs me for
joining a sex club and now he’s gonna give me shit for what a pussy
I was after Emma drop-kicked me and cheated on me with that
Ascot-wearing prick? Talk about a cheap shot.

Up ’til now I was feeling pretty entertained by my
asshole-brother, maybe even sympathetic, but now I feel like
throttling him. But because I’m the sane and rational twin in this
fucked-up duo, I somehow manage to keep my shit together, like I
always do. “I’m just saying I don’t know; that’s all,” I say,
gritting my teeth. “I’m not saying I disagree. Big difference. Just
sit the fuck down for a minute. Jesus, Jonas.”

But, of course, Jonas doesn’t immediately shut the
fuck up or calm the fuck down or do anything even remotely
resembling sane rationality. Why? Because he’s Jonas, which, I
guess, gives him a lifelong pass to act like a fucking lunatic
while I sit here holding his shit together for him, even though on
any given day it takes almost all my strength to hold my own shit
together, thank you very much.

It takes ten minutes of talking to Jonas like the
man-child he is, but I finally get him to sit down and breathe
deeply.

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. Jesus God, give
me strength. “Let’s think. What’s the point in taking down the
entire organization? I mean, really? Just
think
about it,
logically. That sounds like an awfully big job—and maybe overkill.
Think about it, Jonas. Yes, we’ve got to protect Sarah and Kat, of
course . . .” I smile at Sarah and then at Kat. “
Of course.
And we will. I promise. But beyond that, why do we care what The
Club does?”

Jonas shifts in his seat. He’s considering.

That’s good. I’m clearly making headway. I take
another deep breath.

“Why kill a fly with a sledgehammer when a
flyswatter will do?” I continue. “The Club provides a service—and
very well, I might add, speaking from experience. So, yeah, maybe
things aren’t exactly as they appear, maybe they oversell the
fantasy a bit—but so does Disneyland. I mean, you can go ride a
rollercoaster anywhere, right?—but you pay ten times more to ride
that same roller coaster at Disneyland. Why? Because it’s got
Mickey Mouse’s face on it.”

Jonas’ eyes could cut diamonds right now.

“Maybe all these guys who join The Club want to ride
a roller coaster with Mickey Mouse’s face on it—and they’re happy
as clams to pay a shitload to do it. They don’t even
want
to
know they could ride the same roller coaster
without
Mickey’s face on it for two bucks down the street.”

I’m trying to make Jonas see another side to things,
something he’s never been particularly good at doing, but I’ve
clearly just tripped yet another Jonas-landmine—I’ve barely gotten
my last words out when the dude begins literally sputtering with
outrage, so Sarah steps in to speak for him.

“Josh,” Sarah says, putting her hand gently on
Jonas’ forearm. “Your premise is faulty. When you buy a ticket for
Disneyland, you
know
you’re signing up to ride a Mickey
Mouse roller coaster. Not everyone signs up to ride a Mickey Mouse
roller coaster when they join The Club—but that’s what they give
them, anyway.”

Okay, now I’m completely confused. What the hell is
she talking about? Why would anyone join The Club, except for the
sole purpose of riding a Mickey Mouse roller coaster? That’s all
The Club is or could ever be—a vehicle for mainlining cotton
candy—no more or less—an unhealthy but delicious diet of pure sugar
to be consumed once in a blue moon for a short period of time, even
though you know it’s total crap for a growing boy. I mean, shit,
only a fucking moron would think he could consume cotton candy as
his diet’s main staple, right?

I wait for Sarah to explain further but, apparently,
that’s all she’s gonna say. She sits back down on the couch and
primly folds her hands in her lap.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Jonas exhales. “She means not everyone is totally
fucked-up like you and me.” He clears his throat. “Or, at least,
like me—you seem to have been cured of your fuckeduppedness by that
stupid book.”

I burst out laughing at that one. Good times.

“She means some people are, you know,
normal
,” Jonas continues. He sits down on the couch next to
Sarah and puts his arm around her, obviously displaying some sort
of solidarity with her. Wow, he must really like this girl, because
what he just said is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard him
say.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” I ask.
“
Normal?
”

Jonas doesn’t answer. (Of course, he doesn’t—because
there’s no defending the idiocy of his comment.)

“Okay, fine, let’s say there are
normal
people out there... Why the fuck would any
normal
person
join The Club?”

“To find love,” Jonas says quietly. “That’s what
normal people want. That’s what The Club promises to the normal
ones. And it’s a scam.”

I burst out laughing again. Oh my God, that’s the
funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. But Jonas and
Sarah don’t look the slightest bit amused. I glance at Kat, hoping
to find one other sane person in this room besides me, and,
thankfully, the Party Girl With a Hyphen doesn’t disappoint—she
flashes me a sexy little smirk that says she thinks Jonas and Sarah
are being ridiculous, too. I match her smirk with one of my own and
she flashes me a wide smile that bares her perfect, white
teeth.

“It’s true,” Sarah says, like she’s defending truth,
honor and the fucking American way.