My eyes are closed. My body is aching and hot and my hips are tilted. There’s a pool of warmth growing in me and all I need, all I need is for Josh to keep talking dirty to me.
Josh makes a noise of approval and then he says, “And when I’ve sucked and licked and eaten my fill I’m going to…”
“Yes?”
“To…”
I open my eyes. Josh stares down at me, his eyes are caught on my mouth. I lick my lips and I swear I can taste lime.
He leans forward, closer, closer. My stomach flips and I stare up at him, caught by the look in his eyes.
My word.
He’s going to kiss me.
Josh Lewenthal is going to kiss me.
He draws closer and my heart thunders in my ears.
I want him. I need him. I— “Boy toy? I heard that boy toy. Where is he?” A man booms.
Josh rears back and looks around the small curtained area.
My hand flies to my mouth and my eyes go wide.
Un-freaking-believable. It’s the gold unitard lady and her husband.
“You heard nuthin’,” the woman says.
Oh jeez. They’re right next door. They’re on the bed next to ours.
Josh sits upright and looks at me, his eyes full of shock and yes, laughter.
I put my finger to my lips and shake my head.
He better not start laughing. I scowl at him, because now that he’s not about to kiss me I feel achy and deprived and really, really cranky that he got me turned on with his bull crap lime Jell-O farce.
“I did hear him. He was telling you he was going to suck you and lick you and eat your cream. Was he on your phone?”
Josh snorts and then cuts it short. I shush him and wave my hand for him to be quiet.
We are literally three feet from these crazy people with only a thin piece of fabric separating us. Didn’t he learn his lesson last time? You can’t reason with crazy.
“No, he wasn’t on my phone. He ain’t here.”
“You told him to call you. I heard him saying he’d lick your cream. I’m telling you, baby, I’ll punch that boy toy in the face.”
Josh was trying to hold in a snicker, but when he hears the ham-armed husband threatening to punch him he stops looking amused.
“Is he here?” Ham-Arm asks.
“You’re crazy,” Gold Unitard says.
On that, we agree.
“I’m gonna find him,” the husband says.
There’s a shuffling noise and then I see black shoes stomping around on the other side of the curtain. I glance at Josh and you better believe he looks concerned.
He rubs his forehead and I think he’s remembering the “private parts” painting smashing down on his head.
“Gemma,” he whispers. He stands up and looks at the curtain.
I shush him and shake my head. Then I have an idea. I lift up the sheet. “Get under,” I hiss.
He gives me a confused look.
“Get under there,” I whisper.
He raises his eyebrows. Yes, I’m inviting him to climb in bed with me.
“Desperate times,” I whisper.
And of course, of course, he can’t let an opportunity for a good joke to pass him by because he says, “But where’s the Jell-O?”
I smack my head, and just at that moment the curtain that separates our bed from the one next to us rips back with a metallic screech.
Mr. Ham-Arm stands there with a triumphant look on his face.
“We don’t got Jell-O. We just got knuckle sandwiches,” the guy says, and to emphasize the point he smacks his fist into his hand.
Josh can’t help himself, really he can’t, because at the phrase “knuckle sandwich” he lets out a sharp laugh.
Ham-Arm isn’t having any of it. “You tell my lady you want her cream? You don’t get her cream. You don’t get her Jell-O. You sick pervert. You stay out of my lady’s business. She’s getting pregnant.”
Oh jeeeeeez. Why? Why?
Josh lifts his hands in a calming gesture.
But the guy roars and rushes forward like a bull. His big head’s down, aimed at Josh to deliver a head butt.
Josh swiftly sidesteps him.
The guy has his head down, so he can’t alter his course in time. Instead, his momentum carries him into my bed. He rams into the edge and flips over my legs. Then he crashes into the curtain and yanks the fabric down on top of him.
From her bed, the gold unitard lady screeches.
Ham-Arm rolls around on the floor and tries to get himself out of the tangle of curtain.
I look between Ham-Arm and his shrieking wife. Then I look at Josh.
He’s not laughing.
He’s stunned. And, bless him, he knows when it’s time to make an exit.
“Come on. Time to go,” he says.
I go to jump out of the bed, but he leans down and puts his arms under my knees and my back and scoops me up. I wrap my arms around his neck.
“You have to stay horizontal,” Josh says. “Twenty minutes. For the baby.”
There’s the light in his eyes again, that glimmer of laughter. It’s only been ten minutes. He’s going to keep me horizontal come hell or high water. For the baby.
I give him a beaming smile, and Josh wastes a precious few seconds to just look at me, a stunned expression on his face, like he’s never seen my smile before.
Ham-Arm has almost extricated himself from the curtain.
“Come on. We gotta go,” I say.
Josh nods and hefts me closer to his chest. I can feel the hard beating of his heart. He starts to go, then, “Wait. My purse, my coat,” I cry.
Josh grabs them from the side table, then he makes a swift exit from the recovery area. Shouts of “boy toy,” “Jell-O” and “cream” follow us.
When we make it to the lobby, I see Joy at the desk. As Josh jogs by, I call, “You might want to send someone to the back. A couple had an accident.”
Joy pokes her head out from behind her high desk. Her mouth drops open when she sees Josh running through the lobby with me in his arms.
“I’m not paying for it,” he calls over his shoulder. “This time, his head broke it.”
I start to laugh, then I can’t stop. I bury my face in Josh’s chest and laugh until I’m out of breath. As we pass through the lobby, the same security guard as last time rushes past us toward the fertility office.
Once we’re out onto the sidewalk, Josh slows to a walk. The crisp air bites at my cheeks and I blink at the brightness of the late morning.
We made it.