Page 46 of Infatuation

Josh

She continues staring at me, her blue eyes sparkling with defiance.

“YoufuckedCameron Schulz?” I blurt.

Her cheeks flush. “Back at his place.” She maintains my gaze, her eyes blazing. “He has a very nice house, bee tee dubs. Just what you’d expect of a professional baseball player.”

I don’t know whether to cry or scream. Or charter an airplane to Seattle and kick Cameron Fucking Schulz’s ass. Oh my fucking God. I glance around the bar, my heart racing, clenching and unclenching my fists.

She fishes a crunchie thing out of the bowl in front of us and pops it into her mouth. “And I’m not sorry or ashamed about it. He was sweet and I got to check off one of my fantasies. (I’m big on fantasies, bee tee dubs. It’s kinda mything.) So, yeah, I count the entire experience as a win-win.”

I open and shut my mouth like a fish on a line.

“News flash, Playboy. Not all sex has to be deep and meaningful. Even for the members of the species withvaginas.”

I’m still speechless.

She drains her drink.

“What fantasy did you get to check off?” I finally say. Oh my God, I feel physically ill just saying the words.

“Well, gosh, that’s kind of a personal question.” She laughs. “But since we’re being completelyhonestand all, I’ll tell you. One of my all-time fantasies has always been to have sex with a professional athlete—though admittedly, in a manner much more exciting than it went down with Cameron.” She pops another crunchie into hermouth. “I slept with a guy on the football team in college who was drafted by the Lions his senior year, but he went proafterI slept with him so I don’t think that counts as having sex with a pro athlete. Do you think it does?” She pops another crunchie thing into her mouth and washes it down with her martini.

I press my lips together, incapable of saying a goddamned thing. I’m feeling a strange mixture of arousal and rage and complete repulsion.

“Oh, please,” she finally says. “You think sexalwayshas to be something deep and meaningful and profound? Pffft.”

I make a face.

“Well, then. Why should it be any different for me? Just because I have avagina?”

I lean back in my chair. “So you say. I’m not sure I believe it.”

She laughs.

“Just tell me right now, Kat. Do you really have a vagina? Because I swear to fucking God, if you’re hiding a dick and balls under there, I’m gonna lose my fucking shit.”

She laughs. “I’m not a dude. I promise.”

“Because you’re acting like a dude right now.”

“Nope. Rest assured, I do indeed have avaginaand ovaries and fallopian tubes. Oh, and boobs, too, which I’ve been told multiple times are ‘absolutely perfect,’ bee tee dubs. But I can certainly understand your confusion about my genitalia, because I’m actually anhonorarydude, probably from growing up with four brothers and all.”

I can’t formulate a response. My head is reeling.

“And, to be clear, I don’t haveonlymeaningless sex. I absolutely love meaningful sex, too, but I’m not hung up about it either way. I do what I want—oh, and I’m veryselective. I’m just saying when Idohave meaningless sex, it’s because I want to do it—and, therefore, I’m not at all sorry or ashamed about it. My choice.”

I mull that over.

“So I take it you’ve never had meaningless sex, then?” she asks. “That’s so sweet.”

“This is a really bizarre conversation. Excuse me,” I say to the bartender. “Two more shots of Patron, please.”

“Have you ever wished you could have meaningless sex, Josh?” she persists.

I roll my eyes. “I’ve had meaningless sex, Kat.”

“But it was somehow supposed to be simultaneously meaningfulfor the woman you were screwing, is that it?”

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