You, Again(108)

BIGGEST BOYFRIEND



Relief floods his face. His phone buzzes again.

GIRLFRIEND : Thanks for the sex!



Ari’s mouth breaks into a wide smile. “Gabe might have questions when I return this—”

Josh drops the phone onto the counter. He slides his right arm around her waist and lifts her up until their faces are just about level. She’s too overwhelmed to be anything but deadweight as he kisses her hard, his nose pushing into her cheekbone.

“Can we try that again?” she asks when he slowly eases her down to the ground. “I feel like I wasn’t ready for that.”

“That could be the pull quote for our entire relationship.” He turns his attention to the sizzling butter.

Ari hops up on his kitchen table, letting her legs dangle.

Josh turns around from the stove, his expression cycling between indignation and titillation. “There’s a chair right there and you’re sitting on the tabletop I just cleaned? Get off.”

She feels a frisson of excitement low in her belly. “Make me…Chef.”

“Make you what?” He takes a few steps toward the table, raising his eyebrows.

She looks him in the eye, still kicking her legs and using a measured tone. “Make me get off.”

“Do I need to get the spatula?” He takes another step closer, and she’s convinced he smiles for half a second, before reaching out to grab her right ankle when she swings it forward. “Or the hairbrush?”

His eyes roam down her stomach, just below her belly button.

“Still, with this underwear?”

She looks down to confirm. “Well I haven’t received my two-hundred-dollar panties yet.”

“These are threadbare. I can’t let you walk around like that.”

“So don’t,” she says with a hint of a smile. Ari reaches for his hands, guiding them to the worn elastic waistband around her hips. They pull it down together.

He places a hand between her breasts and pushes until she’s lying back on the tabletop.

Over her heaving chest, she sees him kneel down. His nostrils flare as he grabs under her left thigh, and with a leg in each hand, pulls her forward just a bit roughly over the edge of the table. Something under her skin thrums.

“You have three minutes until your breakfast burns,” he mutters, resting her legs on his shoulders.

Eight minutes later, Ari bites into matzo brei that’s completely charred.

She doesn’t mind one bit.





31


“WE SHOULD’VE BOUGHT TICKETS IN advance.” Ari buttons her coat against the February wind as they walk up Crosby Street. “The Moth Story Slam always sells out.”

“Briar invited us. I had to agree to work three closing shifts next week so that Radhya would let me off tonight.” Josh turns his head to look one more time at the line snaking down the block in front of the Housing Works Bookstore. “I assumed our names would be on a list. Then again, I’m not sure we need to hear Briar’s Chris Evans story. Again.”

“I love that story.” She pauses at the corner of Houston, winding the scarf around her neck. “Imagine going on a date with Chris Evans for the sole purpose of getting Jenny Slate’s number so that she could call her and beg her to get back together with Chris Evans. What a hero.”

“That did not happen.”

“It totally happened. Gabe helped her workshop the monologue,” she says over the dissonant sound of multiple honking horns. “Pizza?”

“Arturo’s? On a Friday night?” Josh looks at her pleading face. “We can see how long the wait is.”

Through the window of the enormous Crate & Barrel flagship on the corner of Broadway and Houston, he can see a couple arguing over place settings. The woman holds her phone out to scan something—probably for their registry—while the man shakes his head.

“I just got this coat back from the dry cleaners,” he suddenly remembers. “I’ll have to get it cleaned again.”

“I’ll pay for the cleaning,” she says, even though dry cleaning is a luxury on an improv teacher’s salary. There’s a red light at the corner of Mercer. Ari stops and turns to face him in front of the Angelika while the traffic passes. “But you should know, when you smell like coal oven pizza, you’re ten times more attractive to me.”

“I didn’t think that was possible,” he says, wrapping her in his arms. He doesn’t get tired of this—of holding her, or the way she looks up at him. Ari pulls at the lapels of Josh’s coat and kisses him softly. He can taste her artificial cherry–flavored ChapStick on his own lips when he pulls back.

“Hey.” She grins. “I like you.”

“You’re all right, I guess.” He leans down, pulling her scarf aside, and kisses along her neck and jawline, back up to her mouth. I will buy you an entire set of monogrammed cereal bowls, he promises silently.

When the light turns, Ari grabs his hand and tugs him across Houston, in the other direction.

“I thought you wanted pizza.”

“Always. But there’s something I need to do first.”

They walk south, passing the designer boutiques lining the dark street, most of which are closing up for the night.