Page 24 of Revelation

After we hung up from our call with Jonas, I suddenly felt like I was gonna melt onto the floor with exhaustion. “I’m gonna get into my jammies, get nice and cozy in my bed, and do somereadingbefore I drift off to sleep,” I told Josh and Henn. “Nighty-night, boys.”

“Okay, Kitty Kat,” Henn said. “I’ve got everything I need now. See you in the morning.” And off he went.

“How ’bout I come to your room with you?” Josh offered, pulling me into him.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m going in alone. It’s finally time for me to find out what kind of perverted-sick-fuck-goat-fucker you really are, Joshua William Faraday. No distractions.”

Josh pressed himself into me. “Aw, come on, PG. I’ll lie next to you in bed while you read. That way I can answer any questions you might have.”

“No way, Playboy,” I replied.

“I’ll massage your feet while you read.”

I paused, considering. I really love a good foot massage. “No,” I finally said. “No more distractions. Nighty-night.”

And now, here I am. Finally. Sitting in bed in my tank top and undies with my computer on my lap, a huge smile on my face and an Avicii song blaring through my speakers (“Addicted to You,” featuring vocals by my new obsession, Audra Mae).

I quickly check my phone. I’ve been horrible about replying to texts and emails since coming to Sin City. This whole trip has been like entering some sort of Twilight-Zone-alternate-dimension. I scroll through my texts. I’ve got a text from my mom, asking me to call her so she can “hear my voice.” No rush there. And a text from my oldest brother, Colby, (addressing me as Kumquat), asking me if I’ve gambled away next month’s rent yet and telling me to call Mom so she can “hear my voice.”

There’s a text from my baby brother, Dax, (addressing me as Jizz), informing me he used the extra key to my apartment to “hang out” in my place for a few days and, oh yeah, by the way, oops, he ate all my food.

I’ve got a text from Hannah at work, telling me she misses her lunch buddy and asking me to call her whenever. I wince. Hannah’s really picked up my slack at work while I’ve been gone. I owe her big-time.

I’ve got a text from Sarah from an hour ago, telling me she and Jonas landed in Washington D.C. and are set to meet at FBI headquarters later this afternoon. “Oh muh guh,” Sarah wrote. “I’m crapping my pants. But Jonas is cool as a cucumber about the whole thing so he’s keeping me sane.”

I smile at that last sentence. Jonas is keepingSarahsane? Gotta love those two.

“Go get ’em, girl,” I reply to Sarah’s text. “You’re gonna blow all those fancy G-men away. The Vegas branch of our crew is standing by.”

And, finally, there’s a text from Josh from five minutes ago: “Hey, PG. Do me a favor and text me the minute you’re done reading my application,” he writes. “You don’t have to tell me what you think about it. Just tell me when you’ve read it or else I won’t be able to fall asleep.”

“Will do,” I reply. “I’m about to start reading now.”

His reply is instantaneous. “Just keep an open mind,” he writes. “Just remember when I wrote that thing, I was really upset.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t sweat it, PB. How bad can it be?”

“Um... ” he writes.

I’ve got a pit in my stomach. “I’ll text you when I’m done,” I write.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I grab my laptop, find the email with Josh’s application attached, snuggle into my soft, white pillows, happily listening to Avicii and Audra Mae serenade me, and begin reading:

Name?

“Joshua William Faraday,” he writes. And, yet again, the sight of his full name sends a shiver down my spine. “Sexy man,” I say out loud in my empty hotel room.

With this application, you will be required to submit three separate forms of identification. The Club maintains a strict “No Aliases Policy” for admission. You may, however, use aliases during interactions with other Club members, at your discretion.

“OK,” he writes.

Age?

“29,” he writes.

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