Page 68 of Consummation

“I love you, Kat,” Josh whispers.

“I love you, too—I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Josh’s breathing hitches. “Thank you for saying ‘I love you’ and not ‘me, too.’ I had no idea how awesome it would feel to hear you say thoseactualwords to me.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I say. “Forever.”

Josh kisses me—but he doesn’t say that last word back to me, I notice.

Well, damn. I knew I was pushing my luck hoping for a promise of “forever” from Josh Faraday, but, hey, it didn’t hurt to try. Really, I should have known “forever” simply isn’t in the man’s vocabulary. It’s okay, though—I’m content. Josh has promised to be mine—to love me and make a home with me and to be a father for our child. Considering what he’s been through in his life, and how fucked up he is underneath all that glitter, I’m pretty sure that’s the most I could ever hope to squeeze out of this particular turnip.

I pull on his shoulder and guide him to lie back down in the bed with me, nose to nose, just as the song on my laptop flips to the next random song on my computer: “The Distance” by Cake.

“Oh, God, I love Cake,” Josh says.

“Me, too. I saw them last year. They were fantastic.”

“You did? In Seattle?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw them in L.A. last year,” Josh says.

“Oh my God, the dude with the trumpet—”

“I know,” Josh says cutting me off enthusiastically. “I couldn’t take my eyes off him the whole time. He was singing backup-vocals and playing keys and trumpet, all at the same time. Incredible.”

“Incredible,” I agree. I sing the chorus to “Sheep Go To Heaven, Goats Go To Hell,” one of my favorite Cake songs, and Josh laughs.

“I love that song,” he says, nuzzling his nose into mine in the dark.

“Well, I love you,” I reply.

He presses his body against mine. “That Plain White T’s song was a stroke of genius—utterly diabolical,” Josh says. “Thank you for that.”

“I’ve been dying to tell you,” I say. “I thought I was gonna explode if I didn’t finally tell you. I figured if that song plus the thing with Bridgette didn’t finally make you break down and say the magic words to me, then nothing ever would.”

“What do you mean the thing with Bridgette?”

“Yeah. The thing with Bridgette. You know. I figured the way to unlock your tortured heart once and for all was through a trap door marked ‘Sick Fuck.’” I smile smugly in the dark. “And I was right, of course.”

Josh laughs. “Oh my God. You think youmanipulatedme into saying ‘I love you’ tonight?”

“No. Notmanipulatedyou—more like made asafe placefor you to say it. I’d say I ‘set the stage’for you to say it.”

“Well, guess what, Madame Terrorist? I was gonna say it tonight no matter what. So there.”

I scoff.

“It’s true. I had everything planned. I had a romantic dinner lined up at my house and I was gonna tell you tonight.”

“Mmm hmm. Sure thing, Playboy.”

“Babe. I had a violinist and a cellist—a chef and waiter. Five-star meal.Candles. I was gonna do this whole romantic thing.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. I had no idea. Thank you. But you wouldn’t have said it unless I masterfullyunlockedyou—I guarantee it.”

Josh chuckles. “Nope. I was already gonna say it.”

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