You, Again(69)

A bead of sweat is dripping along her back, she’s sure of it.

“Josh?” She’s almost shouting. “Are we gonna talk about this?”

“What?” he yells. His hand is still hanging on to the open flap of her coat.

She reaches in her pocket for her phone and dismisses the increasingly dire battery life notification.

Sun, Jan 15, 5:16 p.m.

Ari: should we talk about this?



He pulls out his device and Ari stares over his shoulder at an ad for a mattress startup promising “the best snuggles of your life” with a photo of four entangled feet sticking out from underneath a soft, gray duvet.

She swallows as her phone lights up.

Josh: All we’ve done for months is talk.

We’ve said every fucking thing to each other except what we really want.

Ari: what do you want?



“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”

The “Showtime” crew exits the car as the applause peters out and the train rumbles down the track again.

The train empties a bit. They sit down and let their knees brush. She wouldn’t have noticed it before, but now? The friction of her tights against his pants feels so…apparent.

Josh: We walk to my apartment.

I take off every winter layer you have on.



She runs the knuckles of her right hand across her lips, reciting the stops in her head…Twenty-third Street, Union Square, Eighth Street…

Maybe this will be a sort of freebie. A blip.

Josh: Probably in the elevator.



Even though another bead of sweat meanders down the curve of her lower back, Ari takes her crocheted rainbow scarf out of her bag and winds it around her neck, high enough to cover the lower half of her face.

Josh: You get on my bed, or my kitchen table or any surface you prefer.

And I make you come all afternoon.



Ari bites down on the inside of her lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

It would be smarter to pump the brakes right now. Give it some breathing room.

But her brain is only providing one piece of data: I want you. She plays it back, trying to decide whether he’d placed the emphasis on want or you. He’s not looking at the person to her left. He’s not evaluating. He’s tugging on something—some loose thread that never quite got mended after Cass left.

She swallows hard. Her thumbs say fuck breathing room and press down on the gas.

Ari: The surface I prefer is your face.



“This is…Twenty-third Street. This is a Brooklyn bound…N train.”

She peeks at Josh, now wearing a smug little grin on his face. Just two more stops. They’ll be getting off soon.



* * *



—

WHEN ARI PACKED HER POTENTIAL-SEX tote bag this morning, she did not think she’d be potential-sex-ing with Josh.

Josh has a sudden burst of energy: barreling ahead, unaffected by the blasts of frigid wind down Great Jones Street, practically jogging five steps ahead of her to his door, already gripping his keys. Like he’s shedding any doubts with each giant step, while she’s letting them whip her in the face.

In the cold, fluorescent light of the elevator lobby, her final text feels like a slight misstep. It’s not untrue—it’s just the wrong format for communicating with nuance. Instead, she might’ve gone with: Hey, I think I’ve always kind of wanted to ride your face, but I’m currently suffering from acute emotional distress and it’s so much easier if I only sit on faces I don’t have memorized.

At least it’s more specific.

They step into the elevator. Josh jabs at the 5 button and turns around to face her. The nervous tension in her stomach calls to mind their elevator ride in the Strand—but this is different. Less playful. Quieter.

Everything that moved at fast-forward on the walk over transitions to slow motion. The elevator lurches upward in a way that suggests it also has concerns about this scenario. The delay gives Ari more time to consider the various ways this could play out. Are they about to dismantle the friendship they carefully forged, knocking down one brick after another? Or pick up those bricks and form something new?

Will this eventually become fodder for a set of inside jokes? Remember that one time we did it? When we couldn’t figure out how to navigate the height difference and you got annoyed because I stretched out your Egyptian cotton boxer briefs? Crying-laughing emoji.

But when he pulls the lapel of her coat and tilts his head down, it becomes clear that this is something very different from her usual frenzied hookups. That now, there’s all the time in the world and he’ll want to kiss her—slowly—and touch her and look at all the parts of her that he hasn’t seen before and that hadn’t really been part of the discussion on the train, had it?

Turning her head to dodge the kiss, Ari tugs on the sleeve of his coat. She’s always been good at pivoting, downshifting, making situations more manageable for her brain. She places his hand under the skirt of the dress—this, here, now—guiding his fingers inside the waistband of her tights. He’s more than willing to oblige. She might be death-gripping the sleeve of his coat with her other hand because holy shit. Her legs are tense, even though she’s used to this part of the repertoire—a little show-and-tell so new partners can feel what she likes. But Josh’s face isn’t screwed up in the “I’m concentrating, gotta remember this” expression that she’s used to. He’s looking again, watching her. And, for once, she’s not talking.