Josh exhales a breath that clears nothing. He angles the cutting board over a salad bowl, watching the chunks of heirloom tomato slide slowly into the bowl.
Ari leans forward over the corner of the counter in a way that’s both confrontational and an unexpected turn-on. “You just happen to be the only man on Earth who’s not interested in completely meaningless, consequence-free sex?”
He isn’t totally sure whether that’s an accusation or an invitation.
“There’s no such thing,” Josh says finally. “You’re leaving before the other person has a chance to point out the consequences.” Ari raises an eyebrow, turns, and walks back into the living room. “At the very least, you’re missing out on morning sex,” he says, following her. “And still-awake-at-three-a.m. sex. And learning what someone’s brunch order is—”
“You mean the awkward get-to-know-you breakfast?”
“If you knew me before we slept together, breakfast wouldn’t be awkward!”
“Please.” She positions herself in front of the air conditioner and lets the cool air from the A/C blow up under the hem of her tank top. “It’s nothing but obligation and weak mimosas.”
“Congratulations. You’ve figured out how to avoid any shred of intimacy that you could possibly share with another human being.” The shallots and fennel on the stove sizzle too loudly, just on the edge of burning, but he can’t force himself to drop the argument. “I guarantee you that the best sexual experience of your life won’t be with a stranger.”
“You’re right!” she says, taking a step toward him. “It’ll probably be hate sex with someone I despise.”
It’s Josh’s turn to say something—hurl an insult or a self-righteous declaration. But instead, his mind replays that last sentence, the exchange hanging dangerously in the air between them.
“Or maybe not.” Ari shrugs. “You know who is pretty high up on that list?”
“Who?” He tries to sound nonchalant, but fears it comes off pathetically earnest.
Ari doesn’t blink. “Your girlfriend.”
The high decibel scream of the fire alarm on the ceiling drowns out Josh’s response.
* * *
HE LOOKS LIKE he’s trying to keep his balance during an earthquake.
Ari grabs the broom from against the wall, stands on a rickety folding chair, and pokes at the screaming alarm until it stops assaulting their ears.
“Natalie?” Josh looks simultaneously appalled and confused. “What about your—your boyfriend?”
“My what?”
“You’re wearing his underwear.” He glances down at Gabe’s boxers before averting his eyes again.
“Gabe?” Ari drops the broom against the wall. “He’s just a friend.”
Josh dismisses her statement with a judgmental pfft. His device buzzes.
“Natalie’s in a cab,” he reads. “She’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
Maybe it’s the mention of a ticking clock that triggers the panic. The search for the exit. For the first time all evening, it occurs to Ari what might happen if she’s still in the apartment when Natalie returns.
She would have to watch them greet each other with a kiss—the start of a romantic (albeit slightly burnt) dinner. Josh would smugly observe Natalie asking Ari if she could leave the apartment.
Better to get out of here while it’s still a choice and not a humiliation.
Ari rushes into her room and pulls on a pair of jeans she’d left on the floor. She gathers her earbuds, phone charger, and water bottle and drops them in her tote bag.
“You’re leaving?” Josh asks when she brushes past him, heading for the door.
“Yeah.” She pauses in front of the door. “Why? Were you hoping for a threesome?”
He looks bewildered for a moment and then his eyes sweep over her face, giving Ari that weird tingly sensation down her scalp—like he’s invading her personal space with his gaze. “Were you? Because two minutes ago, you were describing our hypothetical sex life.”
“And forty minutes ago, you were staring at my ass.”
“I wasn’t,” he insists, more indignantly than Ari would like. He tilts his head down, making his height advantage more obvious. “I know why you’re like this.”
It’s like he can see through things: Intro to Women’s Studies talking points, her anxious adjustments of Gabe’s boxer shorts on her hips, the false bravado of someone feeling the sting of yet another potential rejection after a day full of them.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she insists, feeling behind her back for the door handle.
“You’re so afraid of rejection, you have to latch on to some cultural studies bullshit to support your behavior.” His accent is poking through. “It doesn’t make you some brave badass. If you had any confidence in your…connection with Natalie, you’d wait for her to show up and let her decide who’s more important to her.”
“If Natalie wants to be your ‘girlfriend,’?” she says, letting the frustration and anger she’s been pushing down all day rise up to the surface, “then why does she ask me to go down on her after she’s been out to dinner with you?”
Josh stares at her, twisting his mouth. “If I had to guess?” Ari has enough experience with volcanic men to know that he’s churning up a response designed to inflict damage. “She likes the convenience.”
Ari wills herself not to show any trace of hurt. “I can hear everything she likes,” she says slowly—really twisting the knife. “Even with her thighs covering my ears.”
Josh’s face is red. There’s a blood vessel bulging from his temple.
Ari pulls at the door handle, hoping for a quick exit before he can muster a response. She has no idea where she’s going, just the unstoppable desire to flee. Better to be the one who walks away than the person who gets left behind.
As she throws the door open, he adds, “You forgot your panties.”
“Sorry, I can’t hear you.” Ari holds her phone up to her ear. “I’m on a fucking call.”
2
ARI STANDS OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT, juggling her phone, a vape pen, and an enormous street-meat skewer with two hands. Not surprising that her roommate, Radhya, isn’t picking up, since dinner service at Scodella is still going. Radhya is somewhere in the kitchen, perfectly roasting and grilling expensive cuts of “carefully sourced” pork or things like squab, which is really just fancy chicken. Rad can press the pad of her index finger to a steak and tell exactly how done it is.
Wed, Sep 13, 10:12 p.m.
Ari: HUGE NEWS
gonna stop by, can you take a break?
Without them tacitly acknowledging best friendship, Ari and Radhya had become each other’s emergency contacts over the summer, when Radhya kicked her husband out of her apartment and began the search for a roommate who wouldn’t mind sleeping in the middle room of a railroad apartment. Enter Ari, who knew it wouldn’t be a problem because she would never bring anyone home to spend the night.
They’d spent most of July and August smoking weed on the couch and bingeing various Real Housewives franchises, while Radhya revealed all of the worst things about her ex (cheating with a hostess, putting ketchup on hot dogs, cheating with a different hostess). Listening to the world’s most depressing listicle every night only increased Ari’s confidence in her own approach to sex and dating. (More of the former, as little of the latter as possible, thank you.)
Radhya makes delicious grilled cheese sandwiches at two a.m. Ari provides the deliciously strong pot brownies that induce the grilled cheese cravings. Radhya appreciates friends who don’t judge her career choice, the men she hooks up with (often messily tangled with the career choice), or the amount of money she spends on cosmetics. Ari always asks before borrowing the cosmetics.
As friends, Radhya and Ari are a better couple than Radhya and her husband ever were.
Ari: loading dock? Or meet you at Milano’s?