Page 99 of Infatuation

“Well, I said we had meaningless sex, which we did, as I’m sure you’ll agree.” I pause, waiting for her to agree, but she doesn’t. “Jen,” I continue, flustered, “Kat knew I was with you in New York when she said all that shit. She was just mind-fucking you for the purpose of fucking with me.”

There’s a beat.

“Well, then, she’s an even bigger bitch than I thought,” Jen says coldly.

“Yeah, she tore you a new one, for sure. I’m sorry about that. Kat can be pretty intense. She was just jealous.”

“Why’d you tell her about our night in New York in the first place? I take it you didn’t just meet her in Las Vegas?”

“Yeah, I met her before.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“No, she’s not my girlfriend. It’s kinda hard to explain what she is.”

Jen snickers. “Well, it’s interesting you told her about me. That wasn’t very nice of you.” I can hear her smiling across the phone line. “No wonder she was jealous.”

Shit. This is totally backfiring on me.

Jen’s voice shifts into full flirt mode. “So, hey, enough about The Jealous Bitch. Why don’t you come to New York with me? I’ll take you to the premier of my mom’s show and to the after-party and—”

I take a deep breath. “Jen, no. That’s what I’m calling to tell you. I thought we were on the same page last week in New York—both of us just having some meaningless, drunken fun. I’m sorry if you were up for something different than that.” I clear my throat, suddenly extremely uncomfortable. “I should have been clearer with you, Jen. I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m sorry if I... misled you.”

Oh my God. I’m suddenly realizing something: Kat might have had a point the other night when she called me a douche. It’s distinctly possible I didn’t make my intentions clear enough to Jen last week—even though I could plainly see the girl was way more into me than any casual hook-up ought to be. And, if I’m really digging deep into the honesty bin, I probably left things way too open-ended with Jen, just like Kat said I did, simply because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings... or... actually, because I didn’t want to deal with her feelings at all.

“Josh,” Jen says. “I’m not looking for anythingdeepfrom you. Let’s just hang out and see if—”

My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I pull back to see who it’s from.

“I hit the motherlode,” Henn writes. “All hands on deck!”

“Oh, shit. I gotta go, Jen,” I blurt, pressing the phone back into my ear. “Something really important just came up. Sorry. Gotta go.”

“What?”

“Look, Jen, I’m sorry about the other night at the party. Kat’s got a bit of a temper, it turns out.” The image of Kat stomping like a toddler down the hallway, dripping wet, barefoot, her incredible ass-cheeks hanging out of her black G-string, pops into my mind. “She put words into my mouth. I absolutely didn’t call you an airhead. That’s what I wanted to tell you—and also that I’m not at all interested in a relationship. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I really gotta go.”

Thirty

Kat

I take a deep breath. I’ve got a full flock of butterflies flapping around in my stomach. OurOcean’s Elevencrew is scheduled to meet at ten to head over to the Las Vegas branch of the FBI, Sarah’s report in hand, and by God, I’m determined to give Josh my application before then. I take another deep breath, turn up the volume on the Audra Mae and the Almighty Sound song I’m now officially addicted to (“The Real Thing”), thanks to Sarah, and place my hands on my keyboard. Here goes nothing.

“The following is my application to The Josh Faraday Club,” I type onto my screen. “All answers will be one hundred percent honest. (And bee tee dubs, some of this stuff is kind of personal, so please keep it in confidence.)”

Name?

“Katherine Ulla Morgan,” I write. “But everyone just calls me Kat.” I take a deep breath. I never tell anyone about this. I can’t believe I’m writing this. “I’m named after my dad’s mother Katherine and my mom’s Swedish grandmother Ulla. Pretty name, huh?Katherine Ulla Morgan.Yeah, it’s pretty until you realize my initials spell ‘KUM.’ Let me repeat that, in case you’re not understanding the full implication: my initials spell the word ‘KUM’and I have four brothers. Which means that, in addition to being called Kat and Kitty Kat my whole life, I’ve also been called charming things like... wait for it... Kum Shot, Jizz, Splooge, Pecker-Snot, Man-Yogurt, Dick-Spit, Schlong-Juice, Jerk-Sauce, and, oh, so many more clever and classy things only boys would ever dream up.

“The only one of my brothers who’s never joined in on the semen-infused nicknaming is my oldest brother, Colby—and I’mpretty sure I know why. As family lore goes, my clueless mother had originally wanted to give Baby Colby her grandfather’s name as his middle name, but thanks to a family tradition on my dad’s side (whereby the first-born son is given the middle name of Edwin), Colby narrowly escaped being named ColbyUlyssesMorgan. And so, perhaps in adherence to the philosophy ‘But for the grace of God go I’—a philosophy you’ve expressed a strong affinity for, too—Colby’s always stuck to calling me ‘Kumquat.’ (As a side note, my second oldest brother Ryan ultimately wound up with the dreaded ‘Ulysses’ moniker as his middle name, but being called ‘RUM’ and ‘Bacardi’ and... wait for it... ‘Captain Morgan’ hasn’t exactly scarred him for life.)

“So, there you have it. I’m KUM. What you choose to do with the truth about my name is entirely up to you. But be warned: if you’re suddenly feeling an irresistible urge to call me Cream-of-Sum-Yung-Guy or Baby-Gravy or Protein-Milkshake, you won’t be the first. There’s literally no semen-related name you could sling at me that I haven’t already been called a hundred times in the ‘comfort’ of my own home or in the hallways of middle school (where, for three long years, we were most unfortunately required to mark our full initials onto the hem of our P. E. shorts).

“Beginning in high school (when I thankfully was no longer required to display ‘KUM’ on my P. E. shorts anymore), I started lying and saying my middle name is Ella. And to this day, I never tell anyone the truth about my middle name, just in case they’re apt to put two and two together and start calling me Nut-Butter or Trouser-Juice or Man-Chowder or Spunk.

“Why, you might wonder, am I tellingyouof all people my KUM-tastic secret after all this time? I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that, judging by the way Sarah and Jonas have benefitted from playing the honesty-game right from the start, I’m eager to give the game a whirl, too. With you.”

Age?

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