The Revelation (38 page)

“I dunno. It’s one thing to have a faraway dream
about something you
might
wanna do ‘one day’ and another to
all of a sudden be expected to make it happen overnight.” I shrug.
“Maybe I’m not as
entrepreneurial
as I thought. Damn, that’s
a big word.”

“What are you afraid of?”

I make a “duh” face. “Failure.”

“Bah. Fuck failure. It’s what happens right before
success.” He flexes and kisses his arm again. “I should know. I’ve
failed a lot.”

I purse my lips, unconvinced.

“Don’t be scared. I’ll help you. You can’t fail with
the muscle and charm of Joshua William Faraday behind you.” He
flexes his other arm and kisses it.

“Yeah, as long as I don’t need help in, say, a
month
?”

He makes a face of pure annoyance.

“Seriously, thanks for the offer,” I say. “I
appreciate it. It’s just a huge decision—definitely not one to make
while high as a kite.” I pause, not remembering what I was just
about to say. “This is only the fourth time I’ve smoked pot in my
whole life. Did I tell you that? Last time was in college. I
haven’t done this in
florebblaaaaaaah
.”

“Really? A party girl like you? I’m shocked.”

“Well, Sarah’s the one who named me ‘Party Girl with
the Heart of Gold,’ don’t forget. Everything’s relative, I
guess—compared to Sarah, I’m Keith Richards.”

He laughs.

“So do you smoke a lot, Playboy? You seem much more
composed than I am right now—your tolerance must be pretty
high.”

“Nah, these days hardly ever. I’ve just got too much
shit to do to put my brain on mental lockdown for hours on end.
Back in the day, though? Oh my God. I was baked my entire first
year at UCLA. I’m shocked I didn’t get kicked out of school, I was
such a fucking screw-up. I finally cleaned myself up that first
summer, thank God—and then I had a bit of a wobble again right
after graduation, before I’d figured out what the fuck to do with
myself—but then I finally pulled myself together for good at
twenty-four. That’s when Jonas suggested I open an L.A. office of
Faraday & Sons. I followed his advice and it was exactly what I
needed—it gave me some purpose in my life
.
”

“How did you pull yourself together that first
summer?”

“I went to Jonas Rehab. We backpacked together
through Asia and some other places that summer. Funny thing was,
Jonas had just gotten out of the psych hospital, and I was
supposedly on that trip to help
him
—but he’s the one who
helped me, by far.”

“How? What’d he do?”

“He was just Jonas. There’s nothing like being
around Jonas Patrick Faraday and his constant ‘pursuit of
excellence’ to make a guy realize he’s a total flop-dick.”

“Is that when you got your dragon tattoo? You said
you got it in Bangkok, ‘drunk and high as a kite.’”

“Damn, you’ve got a good memory.”

“I remember everything you’ve told me.”

“Yeah, it was on that trip—about a week in. Remember
how in the beginning of
The Karate Kid
he starts off being a
little punk? That was me the first week of my trip with Jonas. We’d
been climbing all week and I was like, ‘I’m sick of this
wax-on-wax-off shit, man; I wanna party,’ so I flew Reed and some
homeys into Bangkok while I left my dorky brother to climb more
rocks on his own up north.” Josh shakes his head. “I was such a
little prick to leave Jonas like that—such a total fucking
douchebag. Inexcusable.” He sighs. “So, anyway, when Jonas and I
met up again a few days later in Cambodia, I knew I’d fucked up,
and I just was like, ‘Okay, Mr. Miyagi, I’m ready now. Teach me the
art of
karate.
’”

I laugh.

“Jonas had just come from climbing all alone for
days and he was this savage
beast
—just, like, oh my God,
this golden god—and I looked like something the cat barfed up. I
took one look at Jonas, and one look at my pitiful self, and
realized it was time for me to stop being a total
asswipe-douchebag-waste-of-space. And that was that. Jonas and I
became this unstoppable duo—two savage beasts crushing it across
three continents. The Faraday Twins. The ladies never stood a
chance.” He laughs.

I snicker. “Oh, I bet. I can only imagine how women
across three continents soaked their panties over The Faraday
Twins.”

“Oh, shit, it was like stealing candy from a baby.
Well, actually, not at first because Jonas was the biggest dork in
the entire fucking universe.” He rolls his eyes. “But, oh my fuck,
even when Jonas was a total train wreck, women still practically
threw themselves at the guy everywhere we went. Once, this woman
was sitting next to Jonas at this bar, and when she got up to
leave, she left her room key in front of him. And Jonas stood up
and held up the key and shouted to her across the bar, ‘Excuse me,
ma’am! You forgot your room key!’” Josh buckles over laughing.
“Classic Jonas. But then I started coaching him and he got way
better. The trick was not letting him talk—making him the
‘something shiny.’ That was always our best strategy.” He
winks.

I laugh. “Josh, you’re not exactly the ‘something
dull,’ you know.”

“Meh, I’m a good-looking guy—I’m not gonna pretend I
don’t know that. But Jonas is, like, supernatural. People always
fall all over themselves when he walks into a room. He’s just got
this weird magic about him no one can resist. I think it’s the fact
that he’s obviously so fucked up. People love that shit.”

“Well, I think you’re every bit as magical and
fucked-up as your brother and then some.”

He laughs.

“I’m serious. I swear to God, if I’d been one of the
girls who encountered you and Jonas during your travels, I would
have gone for
you
, hands down.”

“Really?”

“Heck yeah. You’ve got that mischief in your eyes I
can’t resist. Jonas is sweet and crazy, but you’re the bad boy—and
I can never resist a bad boy.”

“Oh yeah? I’m a bad boy, huh?” He runs his
fingertips up my bare thigh.

“Oh, yeah,” I say.

“Well, guess what? This bad boy’s suddenly hungry
again, baby. You got any sweet potatoes over there? I’m thinking
about macking down on some sweet potatoes
a la pussy
.”

“Oooh, sounds delish.” I smear the requested food
all over my pelvic bone and clit. “
Bon appetit,
monsieur
.”

Josh leans down and laps up the mashed potatoes off
my pelvis, making me writhe, and then he devours my clit like a
starving man on a Snickers bar. It feels insanely awesome, but
there’s just no way I’m gonna reach orgasm.

After a while, Josh sits up from between my legs and
stares at me. “Nothing?”

I shake my head. “Feels fantastic, but I can’t get
there. Too stoned.”

He leans back. “Well, at least we look good, huh,
PG?”

“Damn straight, we do, PB.” I flex my bicep and kiss
it.

Josh laughs. “Okay, it’s official,” he says. “This
sucks. No more weed for you. It’s been fun and all, super-duper
fun, you’re hilarious—but it’s now abundantly clear I’m the idiot
who turned a Ferrari into a fucking lawnmower. I should be taken
into the woods and shot for doing that.”

I shrug. “You didn’t do it. I’m the one who sucked
on the joint.”

“No, I’m the one who pulled it out and said, ‘Hey,
PG, ya wanna?’ But I’ve officially learned my lesson. From here on
out, I’ll never do anything ever again to keep my beautiful Ferrari
from hitting top racing speeds like she was built to do.”

I sigh. “Probably for the best. But we had fun,
though, didn’t we?”

“Fuck yeah, we did. Good times were had by all.” He
smirks. “So, hey, PG, whaddaya say we take a shower and clean all
the spinach and sweet potato out of your cooch and then roll around
naked in my bed for a while? I wanna see if I can get my little
Ferrari’s engine revving to full-throttle again, against all
odds.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Everything’s fun with you, babe.” He kisses the top
of my hand, pulls me up, and leads me toward his bedroom like a rag
doll. He lets out a long, happy sigh. “Another fantasy checked off
the list,” he mutters softly, seemingly to himself. He makes a
sloppy checkmark with his finger in the air.

“We just fulfilled a fantasy?”

“Fuck yeah, we did. The very best one.”

“What was it?”

Josh beams me a goofy smile. His eyes are droopy and
glazed. “Hottest Girl Ever Turns Out To Be
Coolest
Girl
Ever.” He makes another checkmark in the air with his finger. “And
she says we’re gonna be happy, happy, happy
florebblaaaaaaaaaaaaah
.”

Kat

My phone beeps with a text just as I’m walking
through the front door of my apartment. I put down a stack of mail
on my kitchen counter and check my phone.

“Hey, PG,” Josh writes.

My heart explodes the same way it does every time I
see the name “Josh Faraday” land on my screen.

“Hey, PB,” I write back, grinning broadly.

Oh my God, being away from Josh this past week has
been torture—I’ve literally been counting the hours until he lands
in Seattle to visit me and meet my family. Just forty-eight more to
go. Gah.

“Are you home from work yet?” Josh writes.

“Just got home this very second.”

“Cool. A package is being delivered to your
apartment in exactly five minutes. You’ll have to sign for it
personally. Wanted to make sure you’ll be there.”

“Five minutes? Lucky I’m here.”

“I’m a lucky guy.”

“Are you hiding in the bushes outside my apartment
watching me?”

“No. But that’s a good idea. Note to self.”

“Why not bring this package with you when you come
on Saturday?”

“Nope. This particular package had to be delivered
to you TODAY.”

“Ooooooh! Is it youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?!!” I
write.

“LOL,” he writes. “No. Sorry.”

“Derby Field,” I reply. “Darn.”

“I gotta go. Just wanted to make sure you’ll be
there for my package. T-minus four minutes.”

“So mysterious! Gimme a hint, PB.”

“Okay, one hint: good things come in very large
packages.”

“OMG!!!”

“Namibia!!! What?”

“It’s youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!”

“Nope.”

“Darn. I thought I was so smart. Waaaaah.”

“LOL.”

“Derby Field.”

“Haha. Bye, PG. See you in two days. Can’t wait.
Enjoy your package.”

My heart melts. “Bye, PB. Can’t wait.” I add a heart
emoji and a kissing emoji.

I stand and stare at my phone for a minute.

Oh my God. I’m a smitten kitten. A fish on a line.
Done-zo, as Sarah would say. And the amazing thing is that Josh
seems to feel the same way about me. Of course, I still don’t know
where I stand with the guy beyond next week. There are no labels
allowed, no relationship-status updates, no declarations of serious
feelings—ha!—nothing ever assumed, planned, or implicitly promised
more than ten days out (it’s kind of hard to put
florrebblaaaaaah
on the calendar). But still, as long as I
stay in the moment and don’t wonder what might happen a month from
now, everything’s fantastic. Better than fantastic.

But damn. Not looking to the future is easier said
than done when you’ve fallen in love with someone as amazing as
Josh. In fact, that’s all I seem to want to do—fantasize about the
future—about one day living in the same city, sleeping every night
in the same bed, maybe even planning a trip to Europe for next
summer with a little of my finder’s fee money. But in what world
can a woman be the first one to say “I want you to be mine and only
mine forever and ever until the end of time” and not have
everything implode after that? And that’s especially true when the
man you wanna say it to is the raging commitment-phobe, Joshua
William Faraday. And so, I’ve made a pact with myself to keep my
big mouth shut and just enjoy the ride.

The doorbell rings. I look at my watch. Damn. Josh’s
deliveryman is freaking prompt. I lope to the front door and open
it—and, lo and behold, The Terminator is standing on my doorstep in
a T-shirt and jeans, his hand in his pocket.

“Jonas?” I look past him into the walkway. “What are
you doing here? Is Sarah here, too?”

Jonas holds up a poker chip.

“No way!” I shriek, instantly elated. It doesn’t
matter what specific fantasy Jonas is here to kick off—all that
matters is what that poker chip clearly implies about Josh’s
current geographical location: that boy is here in Seattle!

Jonas hands me the poker chip and rolls his eyes.
“Hi, Kat. I’m
Blane
,” he says, his tone oozing with complete
disdain. “Great to finally meet you. You look even more beautiful
than in your online profile.”

I throw my hands over my blushing face with
embarrassment and glee. Just from these few words, I know exactly
what imaginary-porno Josh and I are about to act out and how I’m
supposed to play along. Oh my freaking God.

Jonas makes a face like he’s being tortured. “Is any
of what I’m saying making
any
sense to you? Josh gave me the
exact script, but if this isn’t making any sense to you—”

“No.” I laugh. “It makes perfect sense. I know
exactly what this is.”

In fact, I’ve got zero doubt about what’s on the
fantasy-fulfillment docket for tonight: we’re gonna do my “slut who
ditches her boring date to have sex with the hot bartender in the
bathroom” fantasy—a scenario I explained to Josh in detail during
our last night together in Las Vegas (along with my other
fantasies, too). “And in
this
fantasy,” I explained to Josh
that night, “I’m on a first date with some random guy—like, some
accountant I met on Match dot com or whatever—and it turns out he’s
The Most Boring Man in the World. He’d probably be named
Blane.
”