“A lot more tattoos, for starters.” Jace watches Ari trace her index finger up his forearm. “Have you got any?”
She nods. “None that I can show you right now. Ask me again later?”
Josh clears his throat. “Unless you’re planning to order food, we’ll shut down the kitchen after that last table.”
“Have you met Radhya’s roommate?” Jace tilts his head. “Sorry, what was your name, again?”
“Twattie,” she says with a nod. Ari is wearing a cropped black T-shirt. Glasses. An army green jacket with a scratched Bernie Sanders button fastened to the pocket is slung over the back of the barstool. And she has bangs now, so she’s basically unrecognizable. Except for the dimple to the right of her mouth.
He knows she’s wearing a bra this time because he can see the outline of her phone poking out of the cup.
“Charming nickname,” Josh mutters.
“Well, Radhya is ‘Cum Slut,’ so that one was taken.” She eyes his chef’s coat. “Do you work for her?”
“No,” he says, the neutrality slipping from his voice. “I’m in charge of the kitchen. She roasts meat.”
Ari betrays no hint of recognition. Not the slightest furrow in her brow, no narrowing of the eyes. In the history of facial expressions, there has never been such a neutral countenance on another human being. Even Sophie’s “that’s so nice” was more scrutable.
“We’ve met,” Josh says, unable to hold it in any longer. Her mouth is turned up ever so slightly at the corner.
“Oh?” she asks, curious rather than hostile. Taking in his face. Maybe trying to place the distinctive nose without being rude about it. “At Radhya’s birthday?”
Josh shakes his head.
“On Tinder?”
“No.”
She furrows her brow. “OkCupid?” So she’s scraping the bottom of the barrel now.
“Ari.”
“Oh! I delivered medical marijuana to your apartment!” she announces triumphantly.
Jace perks up. “Are you still doing that?”
“We call it ‘cannabis concierge service,’？” she replies. “We can charge New School students twenty percent more that way.”
“How entrepreneurial,” Josh says tightly.
Jace rests both elbows on the bar, eyes ping-ponging between them. “Did you two ever…？”
Josh winces. “We absolutely did not—”
“—I was fucking his girlfriend,” Ari declares. “He botched a once-in-a-lifetime threesome opportunity.”
* * *
“THAT’S NOT WHAT happened,” Tall Sweater Nightmare Man insists.
Ari looks into the bartender’s—Chase’s? Jake’s?—giant brown eyes. “I guess not every man can handle that kind of thing.”
Josh scoffs, standing up to full height. He looks a little older, a bit more intimidating, bigger in the shoulders. There’s a slight coldness in his eyes now, different from the needy, searching quality of two （three?） years ago. He’s changed his look, pulling his hair back into one of those ridiculous half-ponytails with a bandana tied around his forehead, like he’s some food warrior, trying to intimidate onions and potatoes with his headgear. It’s baffling at first, seeing him in this new context, when he’s only ever existed in her old apartment—like seeing your middle school algebra teacher at the convenience store purchasing a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.
Josh turns to the hot bartender. “She was my girlfriend’s roommate. We spent one nightmare of an evening together.” He shifts his eyes to Ari. “I still get junk mail from the Nature Conservancy.”
“Sounds like the bobcats still need your help,” she replies, sipping her drink.
“So you do remember?” Josh asks, annoyance seeping into his tone. Ari concedes nothing. “Have you talked to Natalie since she moved to California for her postdoc?”
“Who?”
Chase/Jake slides over another whiskey sour that she definitely doesn’t need. The alcohol is starting to muddle the dopamine hit of the windfall email and successful open mic.
“Your roommate.” Josh shoots her the sort of withering stare he probably reserves for back waiters.
“Oh, that Natalie. Yeah, we Snap sometimes.” She sips her drink, hoping her nonchalance gives off nail-polish-emoji energy. “She’s on my nudes distribution list.”
Chase whips his head up, God bless him.