Page 138 of Infatuation

“What’s going on?” Kat asks, her eyes bugging out.

I explain everything Jonas and I talked about (other than Jonas’ desire to leave no loose ends). “So, hey, let’s hop in the shower real quick and head up to their room,” I say.

Kat’s face ignites. “Oh, so we’re gonna finally leave this room, huh?”

“Yeah, we gotta get the crew together to talk about . . .” I trail off. My heart lurches into my mouth. Oh shit. That’s right. I kiss her. I fuck her.I give her my application.Shit. The jig is up.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave this room without giving me that application,” Kat says evenly.

I exhale a long, exasperated breath.

“You promised,” she says.

“Yeah, I know. But Jonas and Sarah have to go to the airport within the hour and there’s a ton of stuff we all need to figure out before they go. There’s no time for our little game—not right now. We’ve gotta press the ‘pause’ button ’til they leave.”

Kat throws up her hands in frustration. “Seriously?”

“Just ’til they leave.”

She’s fuming.

“Babe, we gotta save the world right now.”

She exhales with exasperation. “Fine. Goddammit. I’ll press the ‘pause’ button. But only because I love Sarah so much and I wanna take those assholes down as much as anyone. But the minute they leave for the airport, you’re gonna give me that goddamned application.”

I take a deep breath. My pulse is pounding in my ears. Shit. Things have been going so well between us. I don’t want to fuck things up.

“Is it on your laptop?” she asks.

I nod.

“Email it to me right now.”

I shake my head. “No way. The deal was you get toreadit—you don’t get tohaveit.”

She rolls her eyes. “Then I suggest you bring your frickin’ laptop with you to Jonas and Sarah’s suite so you can hand it over to me theminutethey leave.”

I don’t respond. I guess some part of me was hoping that, after Ifinally fucked her, Kat would say, “To hell with the stupid application. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Kat touches my chest and goose bumps erupt on my body. “Josh, listen to me. My initials spell KUM. I grew up being called Kum Shot and Jizz. A guy I thought Ilovedturned out to have a fucking fiancée and told me I’m a slut.” She smiles, but there’s no mistaking the insecurity in her eyes. “Not to mention the fact that I just sucked your gigantic dick while riding an orgasm machine and then came so hard I went momentarily blind.” She shoots me an adorable grin. “And you’re nervous about sharing some stupid sex club application with me?” She strokes my face. “Holy Nothing Can Shock Me Now, Batman.”

I close my eyes. She kisses me gently.

“Holy Give Me Some Credit, Batman,” she whispers, continuing to kiss me.

I return her kiss. My dick is hardening. But, shit, there’s no time. My brother’s waiting. I pull away.

She puts her finger under my chin and kisses my lips gently. “HolyYOLO, Batman.”

I smile at her. What man could resist her? I tried my mighty best, I really did, but even I couldn’t pull it off. “Okay,” I say. “A promise is a promise. The minute Jonas and Sarah leave, I’ll hand it over. I give you my solemn word as a Faraday.”

Forty

Josh

The five of us have gone over Jonas and Sarah’s talking points for the big meeting in Washington tomorrow, twice, and Henn has walked us through the logistics of how our very own “Oksana Belenko” is gonna get The Club’s approximately five hundred fifty-four million bucks transferred out of the bad guys’ twelve bank accounts. During the whole conversation, every one of us has looked on anxiously, but none more than Kat—which is understandable, considering she’s the one who’s gonna have to waltz into each and every bank and commit large-scale bank fraud.

I wish I could do the job for her, I really do. In fact, I’ve pushed Henn to come up with some way to transfer the money that doesn’t rely on Kat, but he keeps telling me there’s no other way: the accounts are all in Oksana’s name and the majority of them require in-person transfers for amounts over a million bucks. Henn and I went around and around, but there’s no alternative. We can’t do it without Kat.

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