“What?”
I shake my head at her.
“What?”
“I thought I was coming here tonight to play out my fantasy, but we were doing yours all along, weren’t we? Right from the start.”
She doesn’t reply, but her slow blink tells me I’m right—and that I played my part perfectly.
“Evil genius,” I whisper.
She grins wickedly. “I was totally prepared to do it for you, I really was—and I still will, if that’s what you want. But, yeah, I do admit I like that you couldn’t stand watching me with someone else—that you wanted me all to yourself.”
There’s a very long beat. I don’t know what the fuck to say or do, so I kiss her. And then I kiss her again, my heart racing. When we part lips, I touch her face again. She’s so fucking beautiful. And so fucking evil. She’s perfect.
“So, hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I think I’ve had enoughof hotels for a while. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve slept in my own bed this past month. If it’s cool with you, I’d prefer to ditch this ramshackle motel and take you to my house. I wanna kiss every inch of the great Katherine Ulla Morgan in my own bed tonight.”
She presses her body into mine. “Awesome. Yeah, I didn’t wanna say anything, but this place really is a dump.”
I laugh.
“You’re sure you don’t feel like you’re missing out if I don’t lesbo-out with Bridgette?” she asks. “Maybe we could do it on my next trip if you’re still—”
“Babe.” I touch the cleft in her chin and she abruptly stops talking. “No.” I exhale a long, shaky breath. “The thought of seeing you with someone else makes me wanna break a face.” Her face lights up. “And if I break a face, it’s quite possible I could get punched in return. And if I get punched, I might get a mark on my pretty face.” I shake my head, chastising her. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
She shakes her head in mimicry of my movement. “No way. Your face is much too pretty to get marked up.”
“Exactly. So that means from here on out, no one touches my Party Girl With a Hyphen butme.”
23
KAT
“Wow, you really like black leather, huh?” I say, looking around Josh’s sleek and spacious living room.
“Yeah. Makes life simple.”
“Your house is spectacular. If my mom were here, she’d fall to the floor, weeping.”
He looks at me funny.
“She’s an interior decorator.”
“Oh.” He chuckles. “Yeah, I had a top designer helping me.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward floor-to-ceiling glass on the other side of the room. “Lemme show you the view. It’s gonna make you say ‘Holy shitballs.’”
He pulls me outside into the night air and we’re met with a view of what might as well be heaven on earth.
“Holy shitballs,” I say.
Josh grins. “Amazing, right?” He motions to the infinite expanse of twinkling lights and rugged hills spanning before us into the night. “This right here is why people pay an arm and a leg for houses in the Hollywood Hills. Okay, so, over there, between those two hills? The Hollywood sign is right through there—you can’t really see it right now, but I’ll give you binoculars in the daylight. And if you look that way, that’s downtown L.A. over there.”
“Amazing. No wonder you love it here.”
“Oh, I don’t love L.A. I loveSeattle. I justtolerateL.A.”
“Really?” I’m floored. I thought Josh loved living in La La Land with all his flashy friends. “I thought you loved living here,” I say.
Josh shrugs. “Nah, L.A. definitely gets old, other than the weather—the weather never gets old.” He points in a new direction. “See that house down there? That’s Chris Pratt’s house...”
