The Consummation: Josh and Kat Part III (The Club Book 7) Page 7

  Kat’s eyes soften with sudden and surprising sympathy. “Josh, I’m not being a terrorist, though if I were, you’d certainly deserve it. I’m being kind to you in the long run, though you obviously can’t see it now. This baby was an accident, plain and simple. We both made it, but you’re right, I’m the one who flubbed taking my pill. You were relying on me to have my shit together and I blew it—so I hereby release you. You’ve made it clear how you feel about marriage—you don’t see the point in it.” She adopts a deep voice obviously intended as an impression of mine: “‘If you wanna go, go—if you wanna stay, stay.’ I haven’t forgotten what you said. Just because I’ve got an accidental Faraday in my uterus doesn’t mean you suddenly want to marry me in your heart. And I deserve to marry a man who loves me—not a guy who’s asking me to marry him to appease the ghost of his asshole-father.”

  A lump rises in my throat. Is Kat right? Is my father still controlling me, even after all these years, even from the grave?

  There’s a long beat, during which Typhoid Joe hacks up his tenth lung of the night.

  “Josh,” Kat says softly after Typhoid Joe quiets down. She puts her hand on mine in a gesture of tenderness, making my heart pang. “If it weren’t for this baby growing inside me, you wouldn’t even be thinking of asking me to marry you. Today when you introduced me to your friends at flag football was the first time you ever called me your girlfriend—which I really liked, by the way.”

  “Kat, please just say yes,” I whisper, despair overtaking me. She’s pregnant and I’m proposing. Why won’t she say yes?

  “Thank you, Josh. I really appreciate the offer,” Kat says, her tone surprisingly sweet. “But how are you gonna vow to be my husband ’til death do us part when you haven’t even told me something as simple as ‘I love you’?” She looks at me pointedly, like she’s willing those three words to come out of my mouth right this very minute.

  I run my hand through my hair. Shit. I should say it. I’ve never felt this way about any woman before. I’m addicted to her in every way. I’m ninety-nine percent sure what I’m feeling for Kat is what normal people call love—which means I should say the goddamned words. I open my mouth and close it again. Fuck.

  Kat scoffs. “I know turnabout is fair play and all, but please don’t barf on me.”

  “What?”

  “You look like you’re about to barf.”

  I exhale.

  Kat waves her hand dismissively, anger once again rising in her face. “Forget it. I’m not gonna be the gold-digging whore who proves your asshole-father right and traps you into marital bondage. I don’t want your fucking money or your goddamned name and I certainly don’t wanna force you to say something you’re not genuinely feeling. Give me whatever to sign and I’ll sign it, saying I don’t want your freaking money and that you’re only obligated to take care of your kid and nothing more.” Tears prick her eyes.

  “Kat, I don’t think you’re a gold digger,” I say softly. “I’ve never thought that about you, not for a minute. I know you forgot to take your pill by accident.”

  “It’s okay, Josh. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll keep going the way we are and see where this thing leads—which, if I were placing bets after this conversation, looks to be nowhere—but who knows? And when the baby comes, we’ll see where things stand between us—if we’re even talking to each other by then—and we’ll figure our shit out from there, one day at a time.” She glares at me with glistening eyes.

  “Kat, listen to me. Just gimme a minute to absorb the situation. Maybe I’m not saying all the right words, but my heart’s in the right place.”

  “No, you’re heart isn’t remotely involved in this conversation—that’s the problem.”

  “Kat,” I say softly. If my heart’s not involved in this conversation, like she says, then why does it feel like it’s shattering?

  “It’s okay, Josh,” Kat says. “I’ve had a lot more time to process the situation than you have—a full week. Take your time. Think and regroup.”

  “You’ve known for a week?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I barfed right after I got home from the karaoke bar, so I took a pregnancy test.”

  “You found out the night of the karaoke bar?”

  She nods.

  “Shit.” I shake my head, remembering myself holding a goddamned boom box over my head in front of her apartment building. “I came over that night—I wanted to apologize to you.”

  “Yeah. I got your text,” Kat says softly. “I couldn’t come out. I was too much of a wreck.”

  My heart is aching. Kat obviously has no idea I stood out in front of her apartment with a boom box, ready to hand her my dick and balls in a baggie.

  “Kat,” I say. “Fuck what I said about marriage being pointless, okay? All bets are off. You’re pregnant with my baby. We should get married. Please.”

  Kat shakes her head.

  I throw up my hands, suddenly exasperated with her. “Goddammit. I don’t know what you expect from me. You’ve totally blindsided me here, Kat.” I look up at the ceiling, begging God for patience, and then level her with pleading eyes. “Kat, think about what you’re doing. You’re turning down an offer of marriage from the father of your child—who, lucky for you, happens to be me.”

  Kat scoffs. “Oh, now I’m the ‘lucky one’?”

  I throw up my hands. What the hell is she holding out for? Some sort of fairytale? Some knight on a white horse, whisking her off into the sunset? “I’m sorry my proposal isn’t fulfilling your girlhood fantasies,” I say caustically. “But maybe it’s time to stop dreaming about being Cinderella and get real. This is as good as it’s gonna get under the circumstances.”

  Kat glares at me for a long beat, her eyes full of homicidal rage. “Fuck you,” she finally spits out. “‘Get real’? ‘As good as it’s gonna get’? Fuck you, you arrogant little prick. I deserve the fairytale, whether I’m knocked up or not, you motherfucking asshole-douche-prick-fuckwad.” She glares at me and flips her golden hair behind her shoulder. “I’m Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman,” she says. “And I’m not gonna settle for, ‘Oh, fuck it, we might as well get married,’ simply because I happen to be a street-walker in thigh-high boots and you happen to be Mr. Darcy.” She juts her chin at me. “Let me be really clear about something, Josh: I. Don’t. Care. About. Your. Freaking. Money.”

  I blink rapidly, completely floored.

  “Yes, I’m impregnated with your mighty Faraday spawn,” Kat continues, still seething, “which, according to you, is a huge win for me—from an evolutionary standpoint, I suppose.” She scoffs. “But I’m here to tell you, Joshua, evolution is no reason for me to marry a man who doesn’t actually want to marry me.”

  We stare at each other for a long, angry beat. Yet again, she’s obviously waiting for me to say something very specific. But she can wait for-fucking-ever as far as I’m concerned. She’s crossed a fucking line and I’m fucking done. I ask her to marry me and she calls me a fuckwad? Fuck this shit. She’s right. This is a horrible idea. We’re obviously fundamentally incompatible. God help me if I were to marry this batshit crazy woman and be stuck with her for eternity—I’d quite literally go insane.

  “Well,” Kat says primly, filling the excruciating silence. “I just wanted to come out here and tell you about Colby. I didn’t intend to tell you about the pregnancy. Sorry. It just slipped out.”

  I suppress an eye-roll.

  Kat narrows her eyes, shooting daggers at me. “Let’s just take some time and regroup,” she says stiffly. “Starting right now.”

  I exhale with exasperation. “Have you told your family yet?”

  “No. They’ve got enough to worry about with Colby. Probably won’t tell them for a few months—for however long I’m not showing.”

  “Have you told Sarah?”

  “No. She had her finals last week and now she’s in Greece, getting engaged to the man of her dreams—a guy who actually wants to marry her more than he wants
to breathe, by the way.” She glares at me like I just flicked her in the forehead.

  “Kat, let’s play the honesty-game here for one cotton-pickin’ minute, okay?” I grit out.

  “Yes, please, good sir. I thought that’s what we were doing already, but I guess that was just me.”

  God, she’s annoying. “Let’s talk about the pink elephant in the room, shall we?” I say.

  “I have no idea what the pink elephant in the room is, Josh. I’m pregnant and you’re a dick. Those are pretty much the only pink elephants I see, and I just talked about both of them.”

  I make a noise of frustration.

  “But, please, good sir, enlighten me about the pink elephant you see in the room,” she continues.

  “Would you stop with the ‘good sir’ crap? I don’t even understand the reference.”

  “Because you’re an idiot.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, once again asking God for patience, and when I feel ready to speak without wringing Kat’s pretty little neck, I open my eyes. “The pink elephant is this: my family is worth a shit-ton of money. You don’t need to know exactly how much, but trust me, it’s more than you think. Now I don’t think for one nanosecond you were trying to intentionally trick or trap me—okay? But you definitely fucked up here, let’s call a spade a spade, and now you’re definitely coming out on top in The Game of Life. Under the circumstances, it’s not outlandish for me to point out that through an honest mistake you’ll wind up doing quite well for yourself for the rest of your fucking life.”

  Well, that did it. I just lit the fuse on a gigantic stick of dynamite. She pops up out of her chair and wiggles her body around like she’s suddenly possessed by a demon.

  I recoil in my seat, genuinely scared of her flailing movement. “Jesus, Kat,” I say. “Are you gonna barf on me or dive to the ground and start speaking in tongues?”

  Kat abruptly leans into my face. “Go back to L.A. before I do grave bodily harm to you, Josh,” she seethes.

  “Kat, you’re misunderstanding me. What I’m saying to you is that—”

  “I know exactly what you’re saying to me. And here’s what I’m saying to you in reply: Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, you arrogant little rich-boy-prick. My answer to your romantic proposal of marriage is ‘no thank you.’ And not only that, in the interest of the honesty-game, I should also tell you that I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last goddamned man on earth.” With that, she turns on her heel and marches away, just like she did after Reed’s party—just like she always does.

  I follow her, rolling my eyes. Obviously, what I’ve said came out wrong. Horribly wrong. I just meant that she’s pregnant and the best outcome for her would be marriage to the father of her child, especially when he can support her and the baby in ways she’s never even dreamed of. She was out of her head about getting a million bucks for taking down The Club? Well, how’s she gonna feel about snagging a husband who could buy her a million-dollar diamond necklace on a fucking whim?

  “Kat, wait,” I say.

  But Kat keeps stomping away.

  I follow her as far as I’m allowed to go, but there’s only so far a guy can chase a girl in this particular hospital when he’s not a part of her fucking family.

  Kat bursts through the swinging doors leading into the Hallowed Land of Family Members, leaving me decidedly behind in her pissy, dramatic, tempestuous wake.

  “Fine!” I yell toward the doors. “Have yet another tantrum, Kat. See if I care.”

  “Fine! I will!” she shouts, continuing to stomp away.

  Goddamn her. Who does Kat think she is, turning me down? Who’s she planning to marry, if not me? Cameron Fucking Schulz? Well, I hope she really likes Shirley Temples and watching motherfucking baseball. I hope when her initials are KUS, she’ll appreciate the irony of her name being synonymous with “curse word.”

  I turn around in a huff and take two angry steps away from her and then abruptly stop dead in my tracks.

  Oh shit.

  Kat could marry Cameron Schulz—or any other guy in the entire fucking world. Kat could literally have any guy she wants—it’s the God’s truth. All she has to do is crook her index finger at any man, rich or poor, young or old, professional athlete or accountant, and he’d come running, engagement ring in hand—and she knows it.

  Oh my God. Kat’s gonna give birth to my child and then marry someone else!

  “Kat!” I shout, loping back toward the double doors. “Wait!”

  Kat stops dead in her tracks. She turns around slowly and stares at me with burning eyes.

  “Come back,” I say. “Please. I have something I need to say to you.”

  She bites the inside of her cheek for a moment, but then slowly saunters back toward the swinging doors, her eyes as sharp as knives. When she reaches the doors, she pokes her head out, raises her eyebrows and exhales, deigning to give me a moment of her time. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

  I exhale. I have no idea why she keeps calling me that. “Just think about what you’re doing,” I say. “You’re being a suicide-bomber.”

  Kat squints at me. “That’s what you called me back here to say?”

  I shift my weight. “No. That just slipped out. I called you back to ask you to please marry me.” I pause. “It’s the right thing to do all around. For everyone. And it’s... what ... I... want.”

  “It’s the right thing to do?” she says slowly. “All around?”

  I nod, but I can already tell this isn’t going my way.

  Kat crosses her arms over her chest, keeping the double-doors open with her shoulder. “No thank you,” she says, cold as a fucking sniper.

  “Think of the baby,” I say earnestly. “Let’s not be selfish, either of us. Let’s do the right thing. Now’s not the time to be a terrorist, Kat.”

  Without warning, Kat pushes completely through the swinging doors toward me—to the “non-family members” side, as it were—and glowers over me with such ferocity, I leap back, surprised. “I guess you didn’t pay very close attention in Las Vegas when I taught Henn how to bag a babe.” She leans into my face, her eyes on fire. “Remember what I told him?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then I’ll refresh your memory. ‘Every time you’re about to say something to a woman, ask yourself: is this more or less likely to get me a blowjob? If the answer is yes, then say it. If the answer is no, then shut the fuck up!’”

  “What are you talking about? I just asked you to marry me, and you’re acting like I spit on you.”

  “Because you did,” she says, her eyes flooding with tears.

  I throw up my hands, at a total loss.

  “Oh for crying out loud,” she says. “Let me spell it out for you, plain and simple.” She wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath, gearing up. “Whoever I wind up marrying one day—whether I’m the mother of his accidental spawn or not—” She gives that last phrase “or not” exaggerated emphasis. “It’ll be for no other reason than he desperately wants me and only me to be his wife, forever and ever, as long as we both shall live.” She glares at me for a beat, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’ll be because he couldn’t stand the thought of living his life without me in it—couldn’t stand the thought of me being with any other man—because he loves me more than the air he breathes—more than life itself.” She wipes her eyes again. “And it sure as hell won’t be because he felt some begrudging sense of obligation toward the unwitting incubator of his accidental spawn.” Without letting me respond, she literally harrumphs at me, turns on her heel, and marches down the hallway, her arms swinging wildly with sudden fury.

  I watch Kat striding away through the panes of glass in the doors, feeling like I’ve just been kicked in the balls with a steel boot. When she’s gone, I swallow hard and shake my head, the full enormity of the situation descending upon me.

  I’ve got quite the track record with the ladies, don’t I? I told Emma I loved her and she said, “Me, too” and promptly
ran off with Ascot Man on a polo pony. And now, a year later, I’ve asked the mother of my impending child to pretty-please marry me, and Kat basically flipped me the bird and told me she wouldn’t marry me if I were the last man on earth. Talk about winning in The Game of Life. Yahtzee.

  I swallow hard again. Fuck this shit. I’m done begging a woman to love me, even if that woman’s a unicorn and the most incredible woman I’ve ever been with. And most of all I’m done handing Katherine Ulla Fucking Morgan my motherfucking dick and balls in a motherfucking Ziploc baggie and letting her throw them into a fucking meat grinder at her bitchy little whim. Clearly, she’s always gotten everything she’s ever wanted from every other motherfucking man she’s ever run across, but not anymore. I’m done.

  I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, leaving a surprising streak of wetness on the fabric. And then I flip off the swinging doors with both hands, turn the fuck around, and march out of the hospital without looking the fuck back.

  Chapter 11

  Kat

  “Do you wanna wait for your friend before being seated or go to your table now?” the restaurant hostess asks me.

  “I think I’ll be seated now. My friend texted she’s running a bit late.”

  “Of course.” The woman picks up two menus. “Right this way.”

  She leads me to a small table in the back and I immediately set down the thick stack of bridal magazines in my arms. “Thank you.”

  “Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

  “Ginger ale? Extra ice, please,” I ask, taking a chair. I pull a Saltine from a baggie in my purse and take a little nibble. Gah. This round-the-clock nausea is getting really old.

  A busboy brings a ginger ale to the table along with a basket of bread, and I take a greedy bite of a roll, hoping it’ll calm my churning stomach.