The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) Read Online Free Page A

Jonas’ tirade, but he won’t listen to me.
“Let’s just talk about this for a minute, rationally.”
    “Oh, you’re gonna tell me how to be
rational?” Jonas seethes. “Mr.
Buys-a-Lamborghini-on-a-Fucking-Whim-When-His-Girlfriend-Breaks-Up-With-Him
is gonna tell me to be rational?”
    I roll my eyes.
    Nice, Jonas. First my stupid-ass brother outs me for
joining a sex club and now he’s gonna give me shit for what a pussy
I was after Emma drop-kicked me and cheated on me with that
Ascot-wearing prick? Talk about a cheap shot.
    Up ’til now I was feeling pretty entertained by my
asshole-brother, maybe even sympathetic, but now I feel like
throttling him. But because I’m the sane and rational twin in this
fucked-up duo, I somehow manage to keep my shit together, like I
always do. “I’m just saying I don’t know; that’s all,” I say,
gritting my teeth. “I’m not saying I disagree. Big difference. Just
sit the fuck down for a minute. Jesus, Jonas.”
    But, of course, Jonas doesn’t immediately shut the
fuck up or calm the fuck down or do anything even remotely
resembling sane rationality. Why? Because he’s Jonas, which, I
guess, gives him a lifelong pass to act like a fucking lunatic
while I sit here holding his shit together for him, even though on
any given day it takes almost all my strength to hold my own shit
together, thank you very much.
    It takes ten minutes of talking to Jonas like the
man-child he is, but I finally get him to sit down and breathe
deeply.
    “Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. Jesus God, give
me strength. “Let’s think. What’s the point in taking down the
entire organization? I mean, really? Just think about it,
logically. That sounds like an awfully big job—and maybe overkill.
Think about it, Jonas. Yes, we’ve got to protect Sarah and Kat, of
course . . .” I smile at Sarah and then at Kat. “ Of course. And we will. I promise. But beyond that, why do we care what The
Club does?”
    Jonas shifts in his seat. He’s considering.
    That’s good. I’m clearly making headway. I take
another deep breath.
    “Why kill a fly with a sledgehammer when a
flyswatter will do?” I continue. “The Club provides a service—and
very well, I might add, speaking from experience. So, yeah, maybe
things aren’t exactly as they appear, maybe they oversell the
fantasy a bit—but so does Disneyland. I mean, you can go ride a
rollercoaster anywhere, right?—but you pay ten times more to ride
that same roller coaster at Disneyland. Why? Because it’s got
Mickey Mouse’s face on it.”
    Jonas’ eyes could cut diamonds right now.
    “Maybe all these guys who join The Club want to ride
a roller coaster with Mickey Mouse’s face on it—and they’re happy
as clams to pay a shitload to do it. They don’t even want to
know they could ride the same roller coaster without Mickey’s face on it for two bucks down the street.”
    I’m trying to make Jonas see another side to things,
something he’s never been particularly good at doing, but I’ve
clearly just tripped yet another Jonas-landmine—I’ve barely gotten
my last words out when the dude begins literally sputtering with
outrage, so Sarah steps in to speak for him.
    “Josh,” Sarah says, putting her hand gently on
Jonas’ forearm. “Your premise is faulty. When you buy a ticket for
Disneyland, you know you’re signing up to ride a Mickey
Mouse roller coaster. Not everyone signs up to ride a Mickey Mouse
roller coaster when they join The Club—but that’s what they give
them, anyway.”
    Okay, now I’m completely confused. What the hell is
she talking about? Why would anyone join The Club, except for the
sole purpose of riding a Mickey Mouse roller coaster? That’s all
The Club is or could ever be—a vehicle for mainlining cotton
candy—no more or less—an unhealthy but delicious diet of pure sugar
to be consumed once in a blue moon for a short period of time, even
though you know it’s total crap for a growing