Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(22)

“Tabby never visited,” she dramatically stage-whispers to me, and then moves to the fridge. “We should have a big dinner to celebrate.”

..........

If my current life were a movie, I would (1) be much better groomed, and (2) co-star in a montage of scenes in which Josh sits on the couch in his sweatpants and I dance around in front of him, trying to get him to laugh. Since he cleared his schedule and took the time off work anyway to go see Tabitha, he’s decided he wants a staycation for the remainder of the two weeks, which I insist is super lame. I’m on summer break. We could go to Seattle! We could go to Vancouver! Let’s go canoeing, or hiking, or biking, or even to a bar to get hammered and topless!

Nothing. He’s not into it. Instead, he’s watching Netflix with one hand tucked in the elastic waistband of his sweats. Even telling him that I can practically see his abdominal muscles atrophying—and it is a sad prospect, indeed—doesn’t rouse him from his slouch.

I don’t really know how much he’s told Emily. When we were over there for dinner the other night, she seemed as annoyed at her brother’s ex as she ever was, but there doesn’t seem to be any specific direction to her ire. It was more How could my amazing brother have wasted so much time with that woman than How could that whore have cheated on my amazing big brother for so long?

And I sort of understand why he doesn’t want to tell her. Aside from fanning her protective-sibling fire, being cheated on is obviously humiliating, and I realize that’s ninety-nine percent of why Josh is glued to his couch. It would suck to have his girlfriend choose a job over their relationship, but it must suck even more to realize that Tabby actually chose another dude (Darby!!) who helped her get that job, and she happily strung Josh along because he’s Perfect, and, who knows, maybe because he’s also really amazing in bed.

That sort of understanding—that someone treated him so carelessly and he had no idea—would not only make others see him differently but probably make Josh see himself differently, too.

So I get the couch potato inclination, but it also bums me out. Here’s the thing: Josh is hot, as we’ve established, and not only that but he’s incredibly tenderhearted, despite his sarcastic exterior. He’s still letting me stay with him—even though he’s home. He makes a point to thank me when I clean the dishes once for every ten times he does them, and he always brings me a coffee back from his morning run. We talk in a straightforward, honest way: the dreams we had the night before, political drama, stuff that bums us out or makes our goddamn day. It’s like living with a best girlfriend who is actually male and very nice to look at. It’s not that I want to live here forever, but it hasn’t exactly sucked being with Josh Im for the past couple of weeks.

Still, with two days left of his staycation, I’m about to blow. I’ve gone out every day to do something new. One day, Dave and I went hiking in Macleay Park. Another afternoon, Emily and I found a new farmer’s market and Dave cooked up an amazing dinner. Josh sat on their couch, too, staring at whatever was on TV—a summer softball tournament. Today, I went to play with dogs and cats at the Humane Society, and the only thing Josh says when I walk back in the house is that I need a shower.

“Don’t you want to have sex?” I yell.

He stares up at me, slowly pulling his hand from the front of his pants.

“Look at your body!” I gesture to the splendor of it with my hand. “You’re amazing. And your face? Pretty fucking great, too. Come on, Josh, where is your sex drive?”

His eyes slowly widen, and I realize he thinks I’m propositioning him while I smell like a barn.

“Not with me, Jimin, I mean with someone in your league! Don’t you want a companion—not even just for sex, but for hanging out and talking and enjoying life? Getting your dick played with would just be a bonus!”

“Hazel.”

“Josh.”

He does a dramatic sweeping gesture with one hand. “I’m here, aren’t I? Hanging out and talking with you.” He turns back to the Law & Order rerun.

“Joossssh,” I whine.

He mutes the television and looks up at me with a deep sigh. “I hate dating and I don’t want to be in a relationship.”

“But sex?”

“I like sex,” he concedes, “but what comes with it isn’t appealing right now.” He groans and repositions himself on the couch. “The games? The getting-to-know-you dance? The putting on of actual pants? No, thank you.”

Sitting next to him, I take his hand. It’s nice and warm, but remembering where it’s been, I put it back on his thigh. “Look. I realize Pussycat did a number on your head, and you think that all women are jerks. We aren’t.”

“You aren’t,” he says. “You’re just annoying.”

“Right. But you don’t want to fuck me.”

“And you don’t want to fuck me,” he agrees. “But Hazel, it’s not like you’re getting out there and dating left and right, either. When was the last time you were with someone?”

“With, as in dating? Or with, as in sex?”

He scrunches his nose. “They’re different answers?”

I look at him as if he’s crazy. “I’ve had sex with guys I haven’t dated, and dated guys I haven’t had sex with.”