Ah, got it.
I lift my leg up and set my boot on the toilet. Then I pull up my pants and take a snapshot of my calf. I hit send.
I yank my pantleg down and wait for Josh’s reply.
Josh: Seriously?
I smile. Hey, I tried.
What else, what else?
Well, no one in the history of ever, complained about my breasts, soooo.
I pull off my winter coat, lift up my sweater over my head, dip my camisole low and take a cockeyed cleavage shot of my breasts. As I try to pull my sweater back down I stumble over the trash can and fall back onto the toilet. I hit with a thud and the trash can rattles, making a racket.
I wait a second. My heart beating hard.
There’s a knock on the door.
“You alright in there?”
Oh jeez. It’s the disinterested scheduler.
“Good. Fine. Just…busy.”
Oh lordy. Busy?
I hit send on the photo of my boobs. Then I try to pull myself back together.
My phone vibrates.
Josh: Not a breast man.
Are you kidding me? Not a breast man? I sent him a deep cleavage shot that should have soared him into boner territory.
Gemma: Then what?
I scowl down at the phone.
There’s another knock on the bathroom door.
“Just a minute,” I call. “I’m busy in here!”
I stare at my phone as I wait for Josh to reply.
“Come on…”
I pace back and forth in the small space. Finally, Josh starts to text. Deletes it. Starts to text again, deletes it.
Gemma: Come on. What?
Finally his text comes through.
Josh: Just send a shot of your bare shoulders, or your back.
What? What the weird? Fine.
I pull off my coat and scarf, strip off my sweater, camisole, and bra, and stand with my bare back to the mirror. I look behind me. My hair is down and falls over my shoulders in a straight dark line. My shoulders are narrow, and my back shows the exaggerated curve of my figure. I never noticed or thought about it before, but looking at my smooth skin, the gentle flare of my hips and the curve of my spine, there’s something strangely erotic about a woman’s bare back. I take a shuddering breath. My nipples go hard from the cold air. I look over my shoulder at myself, there’s a strange look in my eyes. I don’t think about it. Instead, I lift up my camera, and snap a shot of my back in the mirror.
It’s a half-blurry shot, my head is turned away, and my back is exposed. You can just barely see the edges of my breast under my lifted arm. It’s almost…erotic.
I stare at the photo for a moment, and then I hit send.
Gemma: Show this to anyone and I will kill you.
Josh doesn’t write back.
I throw on my bra, my cami, my sweater, my coat and my scarf, and then I splash ice cold water on my face. I wait a few minutes for Josh to text back, but he doesn’t.
Another knock comes at the door.
“Hang on,” I call.
I take a deep, steadying breath and open the bathroom door.
“All yours,” I say to the woman waiting.
Then, I look toward the reception desk.
Josh is already there. He’s leaning against the counter talking to the scheduler.
A full body flush rushes over me. I don’t want him to look at me. I’m embarrassed…I’m…sure okay, yes, we’ve already had sex, but that was eons ago, a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am job in my parents’ garage, for crying out loud. And this, well, it was nothing. Just some pictures. But still. I don’t know why, but it feels different.
I stay at the edge of the waiting room, afraid of the moment that Josh turns around and realizes I’m here.
Then he does.
The scheduler points at me, and Josh turns.
I hold my breath.
I don’t know what I expected, but nothing out of the ordinary happens. Josh is just his usual self.
He looks me up and down, winks, and gives me his devil-may-care smile. Then he pushes away from the counter and strides toward me.
“Hey.”
I shake out of my embarrassment. “Hey yourself. Did it work?”
He smiles down at me. “Consider it done.”
I sigh in relief.
“Come on,” he says. He nods toward the exit and slings his arm over my shoulders. When we walk out into the cold early evening air, I shiver and lean closer to him. Rush hour is here and the car headlights and office windows light up the darkening sky. I shift and start to pull away from him.
“Well, thank you. I mean…I can’t tell you how much this means, I’ll keep you in the loop, I—”
“Hey. Isn’t it a rule, that when someone puts out they at least get dinner?” He looks down at me with raised eyebrows.
“What?” I squeak.
He shrugs. “I just put out. The least you can do is buy me dinner. It’s a long, hungry train ride back to my dad’s.”
I shake my head. He’s so irreverent. So…Josh.
Although, it is a long haul back north. And I don’t think he has much money. And this part of the city really does have some excellent restaurants.
I think of the Korean place Ian took me to last week, then I frown. If Ian and I start to date exclusively, then I shouldn’t be going out with Josh.
“Or not. I can take a rain check,” Josh says, studying my expression.
“No. It’s not that. It’s just, we’re friends right? We can be friends?”
Josh studies me, and he’s so still and quiet that I don’t have any clue what he’s thinking. The sounds of rush hour traffic, the cold of the air, and the smell of New York City in the winter—exhaust, snow and food stalls—fills the air. I wait for his answer.
“Friends with benefits?” he finally asks.
I smile and let go of the tension that had quietly and suddenly filled me. Of course he’d answer that way. “Just friends. No benefits.”
He chuckles and elbows my side. “What’s good to eat around here? I’m starving.”
11