He shakes his head and says sadly, “I was in a terrible accident. A hot dog vendor cart fell on me in the park. The doctors said I’d never have sex again unless I did years' worth of physical therapy involving zero gravity, plasma pools and—”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I elbow him and start walking again. “You’re ridiculous. Just admit it. You lost your mojo. You lost that magic man-fairy dust that made all the girls drop their pants for you. You lost it, buddy. Admit it.”
The infamous hot dog cart.
He shakes his head. “Fine. There was no accident. Two years ago…”
“Yes?”
“I realized if I was ever going to win the girl I wanted to marry, I better start acting like a man for her.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling sorta starry-eyed for his romantic notion.
Josh shakes his head. “No, Gemma, that one was even more fabricated than the hot dog cart crushing my balls.”
I laugh. “You are such a freak.” Then, “Speaking of. What kind of guy gets off from a picture of a girl’s naked back?”
Josh stops and gives me a look that’s so hot, his eyes so full of dirty suggestion that I forget all about the fact that it’s so cold outside that there’s snow on the ground and frost on the windows.
I clear my throat and look away from him. There’s no way I’m feeling all hot and bothered for Josh Lewenthal. He’s not my type. Not at all. He makes a joke of everything, he creates web comics in his dad’s basement, he’s a nice guy, but he’s not…he’s not…
Well, Ian.
For instance, Ian has an international business, he inspires millions with his quotes, and he dresses in tailored suits instead of jeans and anime T-shirts.
Getting emotionally involved with Josh would be a big mistake. He’s the perfect donor, but not anything more. We’re keeping everything platonic, friendly, and contractual. In fact, we should lay out a contract covering the future as soon as possible.
“There’s an ice cream shop up ahead. We found dessert in time,” I say. My voice is tight and the transition is super awkward, but I start walking again.
At the corner, I drop my paper plate into a garbage can. Josh throws his in too. He takes another sip of water and puts the bottle back in his pocket. I haven’t even opened my water yet, it’s still tucked in my purse.
The silence between us is heavy, I glance at Josh, but he’s not looking at me. Instead, he’s staring to the side, seeming lost in thought.
I push open the door of the ice cream place. The bell on the door tinkles and the smell of waffle cones and sugar greets us. It’s a tiny shop, there are two barstools at a narrow counter at the window, and a glass case full of eight icecream flavors. The shop is empty of customers, although that’s not surprising since it’s after dark and below freezing outside.
I order a waffle cone covered in gummy bears and two scoops of lime sorbet.
Josh gives me a funny look. “You and your love of lime.”
I shrug, but I wonder how he knows I love lime. The only time I eat it around him is when I gorge on my mom’s lime Jell-O salad mold at the New Year’s party every year. It’s not like he’s been watching me.
He remembers she likes lime.
“What do you mean my love of lime?” I ask.
“You ate two slices of key lime pie and three bowls of lime Jell-O at my high school graduation party,” he says off-handedly.
“That’s an oddly specific thing for you to remember. Especially since that was sixteen years ago.” Then I blush, because that was also the day he deflowered me in the garage, apparently right after he got turned on by my mad lime Jell-O-eating skills.
Josh ignores my comment and orders a sugar cone with a scoop of chocolate ice cream.
The older woman behind the counter hands us our cones. “Eleven fifty.”
Josh pays again.
“You can’t keep doing that,” I say. “I’m supposed to be paying for this.” Honestly, he can’t have much money to spare, living in his dad’s basement, drawing comics.
“Don’t worry about it.”
He holds open the door for me, and I shiver as we step back out onto the sidewalk. It’s freezing. I turn back toward the shop—there were two barstools inside after all. But Josh shakes his head.
“Ah ah, the whole point is to walk and eat.”
He takes a bite off the side of his ice cream scoop. I lick mine. There are bright green bits of lime zest mixed into the ice cream. It’s tart and sweet on my tongue. It’s delicious, but my lips start to feel like they’re going numb.
“Never again will I suggest eating ice cream when it’s below freezing. This is probably my worst idea ever.” I give an involuntary shiver and the icecream cone shakes in my hand.
“It’s g-g-good,” says Josh.
And I laugh, because he’s literally shaking so hard he can’t talk. He takes another big bite of the chocolate ice cream. Apparently, he’s a biter/nibbler, not a licker.
“Keep moving, it’ll keep you warm,” he says.
We start walking north, toward Central Park. The wind has picked up and the night is really, really chilly.
Josh looks over at me. “Your lips are turning blue.”
“It’s the price you pay.” I take another lick.
He takes a huge bite of his cone and then drops the last bit in the trash. I look at my ice cream and back at the trash can. I should throw it away, it’s too cold, but…
“Here. I’ll fix it,” Josh says. He unzips his down-filled coat and holds it open.
“What?”
“Get in here.”
He’s got that laughing spark in his eyes. I step up close to him, so close I can feel the heat coming off his chest, then he wraps his down-filled jacket around me.
“Now you can eat your ice cream.”
I lean into his warmth and take a long lick of my cone. “Mmm. That’s good.”
“That’s what they all say,” Josh says.
I laugh and keep licking my ice cream. It’s actually really, really nice standing in the warm, insulated stillness of Josh’s arms. He looks down at me with an amused expression on his face as I gulp down my ice cream cone.