Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(22)

“All yours,” I say to the woman waiting.

Then, I look toward the reception desk.

Josh is already there. He’s leaning against the counter talking to the scheduler.

A full body flush rushes over me. I don’t want him to look at me. I’m embarrassed…I’m…sure okay, yes, we’ve already had sex, but that was eons ago, a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am job in my parents’ garage, for crying out loud. And this, well, it was nothing. Just some pictures. But still. I don’t know why, but it feels different.

I stay at the edge of the waiting room, afraid of the moment that Josh turns around and realizes I’m here.

Then he does.

The scheduler points at me, and Josh turns.

I hold my breath.

I don’t know what I expected, but nothing out of the ordinary happens. Josh is just his usual self.

He looks me up and down, winks, and gives me his devil-may-care smile. Then he pushes away from the counter and strides toward me.

“Hey.”

I shake out of my embarrassment. “Hey yourself. Did it work?”

He smiles down at me. “Consider it done.”

I sigh in relief.

“Come on,” he says. He nods toward the exit and slings his arm over my shoulders. When we walk out into the cold early evening air, I shiver and lean closer to him. Rush hour is here and the car headlights and office windows light up the darkening sky. I shift and start to pull away from him.

“Well, thank you. I mean…I can’t tell you how much this means, I’ll keep you in the loop, I—”

“Hey. Isn’t it a rule, that when someone puts out they at least get dinner?” He looks down at me with raised eyebrows.

“What?” I squeak.

He shrugs. “I just put out. The least you can do is buy me dinner. It’s a long, hungry train ride back to my dad’s.”

I shake my head. He’s so irreverent. So…Josh.

Although, it is a long haul back north. And I don’t think he has much money. And this part of the city really does have some excellent restaurants.

I think of the Korean place Ian took me to last week, then I frown. If Ian and I start to date exclusively, then I shouldn’t be going out with Josh.

“Or not. I can take a rain check,” Josh says, studying my expression.

“No. It’s not that. It’s just, we’re friends right? We can be friends?”

Josh studies me, and he’s so still and quiet that I don’t have any clue what he’s thinking. The sounds of rush hour traffic, the cold of the air, and the smell of New York City in the winter—exhaust, snow and food stalls—fills the air. I wait for his answer.

“Friends with benefits?” he finally asks.

I smile and let go of the tension that had quietly and suddenly filled me. Of course he’d answer that way. “Just friends. No benefits.”

He chuckles and elbows my side. “What’s good to eat around here? I’m starving.”





11





When you’re in a city full of culinary delights, cuisines from around the world, and international markets, what would you choose to eat? If you’re Josh, you choose pizza.

We’re in a tiny, standing room only pizzeria that is basically a no-frills to-go storefront on the corner of a busy intersection. If it has a name, I don’t know it, the sign out front just says PIZZA in big glowing block letters. There’s a cooler for drinks, a long glass-covered pizza counter, and a cash register.

Josh looks down at the pizza counter, it’s filled with trays of freshly baked pizza that you can buy by the slice. The crust is crispy, the cheese is bubbling and the smell of yeast, herby sauce and spicy meat fills the air. The pizzeria is nice and toasty from the wood-fueled heat coming off the brick oven. I rub my gloved hands together and press them against my cheeks.

“I’ll have two slices of the grandma pizza,” he says.

I grin. “That’s what I’m getting.”

Grandma pizza is delicious square pizza, covered in tomato and cheese. It tastes just like it came out of some nonna’s kitchen in a little village in Italy.

“Anything to drink?” asks Josh.

I point to the cooler and the row of flavored sparkling water. “Want one?”

He nods and I grab two bottles of lime-flavored sparkling water from the cooler.

The worker hands over two paper plates, loaded up with our grandma pizza. The cheese is still melty and droops over the edges.

“Fifteen dollars,” he says.

I dig in my purse and pull out the money.

“I got it,” Josh says.

I shake my head. “No, you put out—”

But he’s already paid.

The worker snorts and shakes his head at me and Josh. I scowl at him. I grab my paper plate and bottle of water and hurry after Josh. He’s headed toward the door.

He holds it open for me and I step back into the bustle of the city. After the warmth cranking out of the pizza oven, the winter air feels even colder. I shiver and let the warmth of the pizza seep into my hands.

Josh takes a bite and groans in pleasure. “Now this is good pizza. I’ll get off for you anytime if you promise to take me out for pizza more often.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. But the smell of fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, and crispy golden crust is enticing.