Page 6 of Revelation

He chuckles again. “This isn’t emotional intimacy, Kat—this is just plain torture.”

“I’m almost positive they’re one and the same thing,” I say. “Though I can’t be sure.”

He laughs a full laugh, which I take as a good sign. “Okay, Madame Interrogator, what’s your last question?”

“Do you typically only sleep with blondes—or just in The Club? And is it sex withblondesthat makesyou a sick fuck?”

He pauses for a moment. “That’s two questions.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

“Okay. Here’s the deal: I’m gonna tell you the answer to these two questions and then this interrogation is officially done.”

“Okay.”

“I don’tonlysleep with blondes. I’ve been with women of all shapes, sizes, colors, ethnicities, and hair colors, and I’ve enjoyed them all. In fact, I’ve enjoyed them allimmensely.”

“Thanks. Little more info than I needed.”

“And, no, I don’t have some bizarre complex whereby I think sleeping with a beautiful blonde woman somehow transforms me into a sick fuck. Yes, I specifically requestedblondesin The Club because The Club was about fantasy-fulfillment and escape from reality, and, call me unimaginative or trite, but when I shop at the fantasy store, at least for purposes of fulfilling the fantasies I specifically asked for in The Club, that’s what I want—a classic blonde. Why? I don’t know. It’s just the way I’m wired—I definitely have atype.” He makes a sound that emphatically signals he’s done talking.

“Thank you,” I say smoothly, scrolling through the photos again. “Yep, I’d agree you definitely have a type.” I snort. “Actually, they all look just like...” I abruptly stop speaking. Holy shit.

There’s a long beat.

“Yeah, Kat,” Josh finally says. He lets out a loud puff of air. “They look just likeyou.”

He’s read my mind. I swallow hard.

“Less attractive versions of you, of course,” he continues softly. “They’re all wannabe-Kats. You’re what my brother refers to as the ‘divine original.’”

I’m tingling all over. “The ‘divine original’?” I breathe. “What’s that?”

He lets out a long groan. “I can’t believe I just said that. It’s this Plato-thing Jonas is always babbling about. Forget I ever said it—I wanna gouge my eyes out every time my brother mentions it and now it’s me who’s saying it. Gah.”

I press my phone into my ear, my breathing shallow. “What does it mean, Josh?” I ask softly. “Whatever it means, it’s making me tingle all over.”

“It just means you’re the original template and everyone else is a knock-off.” He lets out a long sigh. “Like, you know, you’re the authentic Gucci bag and everyone else is one of those counterfeits they sell on the sidewalk in New York.”

I pause, letting that sink in. I’ve never been to New York,actually, but his metaphor is still perfectly understandable to me. “So does that mean Imake you a sick fuck more than anyone else?”

He growls with exasperation. “You don’t make me a sick fuck—no onemakes me a sick fuck. Someone I cared about oncecalledme a sick fuck and I was pissed as hell about it when I named that folder, that’s all. I was, you know, flipping that person the bird when I named that folder.”

While Josh has been talking, I’ve been leafing through the photos. There’s one girl I keep going back to again and again. She’s not working the lens ortryingto be sexy like the others—in fact, the woman is clearly put off by posing for the photo—and her shyness about the whole thing makes her all the more alluring. Suddenly, there’s no doubt in my mind this shy girl is the non-Clubber Josh photographed himself—and, if my Scooby Doo senses are right, she’s also the one who pissed him off by calling him a “sick fuck.”

“What about the shy one?” I ask.

“The shy one?”

“The one who looks mortified to be posing for a naked photo? She looks pretty divine-original-ish to me. Is she the one you photographed yourself?” I swallow hard. “Is she your ex-girlfriend?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Did she call you a sick fuck?”

“Click out of there, Kat,” he says softly, a stiffness overtaking his tone. “Interrogation over.”

My skin erupts in goose bumps. He’s not kidding around. Shoot. He sounds genuinely upset.

---