Page 5 of Revelation

He scoffs.

“You personally tookoneof the non-Clubbers’ photos—notbothof them?”

“Correct.”

“Hmm. So that means one of the non-Clubberssentyou her photo?”

“Correct. You’re now officially out of questions.”

“No way. I’ve still got at least eight left.”

“Eight? You started with ten and you’ve asked like fifty.”

“I’ve been askingsub-questions to questions, Josh—sub-questions don’t count as full questions.”

He grumbles.

“So, come on, which one of these pretty ladies was the one non-Clubber you personally photographed? And why’d you put her in the Sick Fuck folder with all the others?”

He pauses. “No comment.”

“Aw, come on.”

“You’ve got my application. That’s what I promised you—nothing more. Perverted Twenty Questions is now officially over.”

“Aw. Not fair.”

“It’s totally fair—and if not, then too bad. Life isn’t fair.”

“Just tell me why you have all these photos and then I’ll drop it. I promise.”

Josh exhales. “Okay, Madame Terrorist. Fine.” He mutters something to himself under his breath. “I requested a specific type of girl in my application, and so The Club emailed me photos of women they’d selected for me to make sure they were exactly what I wanted. And at the end of my membership-month, I didn’t know what the fuck to do with all the photos so I put them into a folder.”

“And labeled it ‘Sick Fuck.’”

He doesn’t reply.

“And you didn’t have any inkling these women were hookers before Jonas told you?”

Josh pauses. “I was pretty specific about what I wanted in my application, so I figured The Club likely made some kind of special arrangement to deliver on my wishes—but I didn’t know for sure. Just because a woman is willing to meet a rich guy in a hotel room and fulfill his sick-fuck-fantasies doesn’t necessarily make her a hooker, does it?”

I consider that bit of logic. “No,” I finally say. “Not necessarily. Especially when he looks like you.”

“Thank you. But, honestly, I really didn’t care one way or the other if the women were being paid on the side—I just didn’t wanna know about it. All I was trying to do was escape reality for a month—I wasn’t looking for some sort of deep soul connection.”

“So you asked for blondes?”

“Kat,” he says softly. “You’ve got my application. Just read it. No more questions.”

The earnest tone of his voice has thrown me. I thought we were bantering, and now, suddenly, he seems totally sincere. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

I wait a beat. “But can I ask one more teeny tiny itty bitty question? In the name of emotional intimacy?”

He chuckles despite himself. “What?” he asks.

“Thank you. Wow, we’rekillingthe emotional intimacy thing, Josh. We’re emotionally intimate beasts.”

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