Ari sympathizes. “Showtime” dancers are basically the street canvassers of the NYC subway system, except with a slightly higher likelihood of kicking a bystander in the face while somersaulting off the ceiling of a moving train car.
When a sneaker comes within an inch of Ari’s head, Josh pulls her behind him, tucking her into the corner near the door.
It’s both a chivalrous gesture and a convenient way for Josh to maneuver them into a face-to-face position. Actually, more like her-face-to-his-chest.
If she’s flushed, it’s because she never feels comfortable when she’s not facing an exit. Which he probably doesn’t realize because she feels funny admitting that to people. Radhya picked up on it after a couple months of living together. Ari had chalked it up to feng shui; Rad called bullshit and rearranged the furniture without saying anything more about it.
But Josh doesn’t know that and it’s too weird to mention it now, so she looks straight ahead, right into his shirt, which is peeking out from his unzipped, heavily insulated parka. Her stomach is one giant, tightening knot.
“You’re warm.” Josh’s voice is barely audible over the thunderous bass of the music. The back of his hand feels like ice against her cheek.
She nods and he lowers his hand down to her coat, slowly undoing the oversized buttons one by one, brushing his fingers against the front of her dress as he moves down, down, down. It doesn’t help at all. Every passing fantasy she’s had about Josh is playing out in her mind’s eye and the way he’s looking at her kind of indicates that he can see this montage, too.
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.