“Bring it next time.”
Maybe she shifts her weight; maybe he changes the angle a tiny bit. Maybe it’s the mention of “next time.” Whatever does it, the smallest adjustment sends a lightning bolt down her spine, straight to her core, blotting out everything else.
“Right there, right there. Oh God. Josh. Oh God.” He holds her tight against his chest. “God, I fucking love this. I love you. Fuuuuuuuuck.”
She catches it just after the tidal wave rolls over her body.
Shit. SHIT.
Her heart thuds against her chest—and not because of the orgasm.
What was that?
For a second, she’s not sure if she’d actually said it. Like, maybe some insanely impulsive part of her brain was just super loud inside her head.
She lets herself go slack as Josh presses her down against the mattress again. He utters her name a few times and comes in several long bursts before collapsing on top of her like the world’s heaviest weighted blanket.
But, like…she wasn’t in her right mind. People say all sorts of insane things in the heat of the moment.
He knows that. He must know that.
The phrase rolls around her head like a marble in one of those handheld maze games.
Why? Why did it have to be those words?
She’s sweating. Physically and metaphorically sweating. A flashing neon sign in her brain warns: Get out of here. Leave. Get your shit and go.
Funny. That’s the exact same thing she tells herself immediately after some random hookup. It’s like a mantra.
She reaches behind her to tap on whatever part of him is accessible. “You’re, uh, kind of crushing me.”
“Oh. Sorry, I just—” He rolls himself off her, running his hand through his hair, still breathing hard. “Fuck, that was…” She slides cautiously off the mattress, finding her footing on the floor. “Where are you going?”
“I need to get up,” she says, careful not to set off any alarm bells.
“You’re leaving?” Josh sits up a bit on his elbow and stares at her with a faint hint of suspicion. “Now?”
“I need to pee,” she adds, backing away from the bed. “And I have the dog-walking tryout. And then I’m meeting”—oh God—“I have an appointment. I told you.”
He can’t argue with any of this.
“We could get breakfast. The Smile?”
“You hate that place.”
“Yeah, but it’s right downstairs. Or bagels? Russ & Daughters? Tompkins Square? David’s? Wherever you want.”
“It’s six in the morning, Josh. They’re not open yet.”
“You could cancel. Say you’re sick.”
Ironically, she does feel quite ill.
“I don’t get sick days.” She searches the floor for any fallen belongings because she really doesn’t want to have to re-enter the bedroom in search of a hair tie or something. “I’ll text later?”
“You’ll text?”
“I have to go. I’ll be late.”
“Fine.” The tightness in his voice indicates that it’s really not fine for her to leave like this.
But every fiber of her being is screaming to flee.
She’s halfway through the door when she glances back at him. His expression makes her wince. Confusion? Disappointment? But she doesn’t turn around.
In her entire life, she’s never gotten dressed faster.
21
JOSH STARES UP AT THE plaster crack in the ceiling that he’s failed to address for the last eight months. It feels like an apt metaphor for his current emotional state.
He’d worried she’d slip out in the middle of the night, so it was a pleasant surprise when he’d awoken twice and found her softly snoring next to him.
Maybe the encore this morning was a bridge too far. Instead of pressing his luck, he could’ve gotten up and made her breakfast. She’s incapable of leaving a room where food is on the table. This would occur to him now, two minutes after she’s out the door.
Or maybe it all unfolded exactly as it was supposed to.
Because she fucking said “I love you” clear as day and that has to mean something no matter what the context is and she didn’t explain it which means she didn’t take it back but she also didn’t acknowledge it and holy fucking shit he’s going to spin on this unless he gets his mind under control.
He’s not letting himself celebrate it. Not yet.
Instead, he’s running the events of yesterday over and over in his mind on a loop, where all the questionable shit gets warped and exaggerated and interrogated until it seems like the entire twelve hours was a long, tense argument with a few minutes of sex thrown in.
And now every single variable needs to be reexamined in order to create the right circumstance for the last twelve hours to happen again, but with a different ending.
What if he was supposed to run after her? If he’s already fucked that up, then should he call? Or, if that’s too much, what—does he text her? And when? There’s a decision tree here, already branching out of control. If he had something better to do with his time, he could distract himself.
But he doesn’t have anything else.
What he needs is an objective opinion. Someone who knows Ari and isn’t related to him and doesn’t hate his fucking guts.
He reaches for his phone. There is one someone who knows Ari, isn’t related to him, and well…does hate him. But he’ll have to settle for two out of three.
Mon, Jan 16, 7:36 a.m.
Josh: I need you to decode something.
Radhya: Who is this?
Josh: Josh.
Josh: Kestenberg
Radhya: we do NOT have a texting relationship after one lukewarm apology
Especially before 10 am
Josh: Did she talk to you already?
Radhya: who?
Who? Before he can answer, another notification comes in.
Briar: Morning, sunshine.
You left so fast yesterday.
What do you think of Gabe??
I thought we had a really great dynamic?
He flips back to his primary objective.
Josh: We did it.
Radhya: ?
Josh: Yesterday. We did it.
Radhya: are you trying to say you had sex?
Josh: Yes.
Ari and me.
We had sex.
He considers wrapping up the conversation right here, so it could feel like a win. As soon as she offers her begrudging congratulations, he can convince himself that Ari is just about to text her friends and shyly confess her true feelings.
Briar: Would it be weird because he slept with ari?
I mean I know they’re totally just friends now
But maybe still awk?
Josh drops the phone in disgust, only to pick it up again, impatient for Radhya’s response.
Josh: Ari didn’t call you yet?
Hypothetical question:
An “I love you” during sex.
Does it count?
Briar: askdfjsalgkjawoegjoi
FUCK. Wrong fucking text fucking MOTHERFUCKER.
Briar: I’m—
I cannot.
He tosses the phone across the bed. But then it buzzes again, and he has to pick it up because Radhya might suddenly have some crucial insight.
Briar: Alexa, play “Paper Rings”
Josh: Delete my number.
Briar: Okay, let me think
Was there eye contact?
He should just put the phone down, but her excitement is strangely gratifying. He flops down dramatically on his unmade bed.
Josh: Not possible at the time
Briar: Dirty!
What happened after you said it?
Josh: Why do you assume I said it and not her?
Briar: Do you really want me to answer that?
Josh: She said it. And then she panicked and left.
Hold on, Radhya’s calling.
Briar: omg start a gc rn
Josh: Absolutely not.
7:46 a.m.
Josh: How do I do that?
Mon, Jan 16, 7:49 a.m.
Josh: I can explain.
Briar: Hi Radhya!
Did you see my stories?
Btw where did you find those linens for the two-tops?
Josh: FOCUS.
Briar: Start from the beginning. Tell us everything.
Radhya: I do NOT want to hear everything.
Josh: We were arguing.
Briar: Ok but did you yell at each other with your faces really close and then just KISS?
was it Lover era or 1989?
Radhya: Are you fucking kidding me?
Didn’t I tell you to give her space?
Like, yesterday afternoon?
Briar: was it a little magical tho?
Did she touch your hair?
Radhya: ffs
Briar: At least give me an emoji to describe it.
Josh: I don’t use emoji.
Briar: THEY’RE PICTURES! PICK ONE