You, Again(8)

Ari narrows her eyes—almost pleased to have set him off.

“I’m not ‘incapable’ of anything,” she says, dropping the ice in her water glass. “I’m honest with people about what I expect. They can’t hurt me and I can’t disappoint them. We both get what we want.”

“If what you want is to fuck someone you don’t care about, roll over, put your clothes on, and see yourself out, you’re set for life.”

“Usually, we pretend to watch a movie first, but what difference does it make if I put my clothes back on ten minutes later or eight hours later?” She tilts her head back and takes four enormous gulps of water, as if the effort of the argument requires rehydration. The glass lands on the counter with a thunk. “We could have the hottest, most inconsequential hypothetical sex of your life and then—”

“We could?”

“Hypothetically.” She huffs out an exhale. “I’d quietly collect my panties and steal away into the night without waking you up.”

“Assuming you can locate them.” He notices a spot of mustard on the side of her mouth. It gives him a zing of schadenfreude.

“I always send a thank you text the next day.” She pauses. “Unless you went down on me for three minutes with zero enthusiasm but also expected a messy blow job thirty seconds later.”

It’s not often that Josh is rendered speechless. Which is to say that his train of thought shifts to the length of Ari’s shorts. Their intense little sparring contest. Handing her his knife.

There’s something there—a frisson of excitement. Somewhere in between extorting him for charity and her description of their hypothetical one-night stand, Josh must have decided—begrudgingly—that she’s pretty. Even if she does have pink hair that’s starting to wash out. She’s obnoxious and wrong about everything, but this is the most invigorating encounter he’s had with anyone in—well, his social life hasn’t been very robust lately.

“You’re missing out on the exciting part.” He sets down his knife. “Don’t you ever have those conversations with people, when you’re lying in bed after the first time you…” He trails off, like it’s risky to use certain words in front of her. “And you’re both vulnerable and nervous and hopeful because this could be a night you’ll reminisce about years later? They tell you things you couldn’t have known about them? The walls come down, and you start to understand who they really are?”

Ari squints at him, as if she’s trying to see a color that doesn’t exist yet.

“Have you spent ten minutes on a dating app?” Her voice is distinctive—maybe a hint of a rasp from shouting at strangers all day. “I don’t want to see who these people really are.”

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?”