Page 56 of Delayed Intention
“So do you. Is that your hair?” His right eyebrow rising with the question.
“Don’t get used to it. It took an hour and a half to straighten, and each section has about three pounds of product in it to keep it that way. If you see anyone smoking near me, throw a bucket of water at them.”
“Can I run my fingers through it?” He walks around me to marvel at my head.
“You can, but I would advise against it. It is rather sticky.”
He laughs and then leans forward, whispering against my ear, “You look so fucking sexy right now.”
“Thanks, Bosley.” My blush rises with heat from my collarbone to the tips of my ears.
Josh has been to the Lincoln Purim festival before and explained the flow of the evening to me when we decided to go together. The DJ’d street party is meant to be a singles mixer but tends to be more of a date night. Open containers of alcohol are illegal here, but the bars are set up to allow partygoers to go in for a drink before rejoining the party.
Josh spins me around to face Dana and Abbie, who are now hand in hand. “Abbie,” he reaches his hand out to her, “it is great to finally meet you in person.”
She shakes his hand and introduces Dana.
Josh looks at me. “Should we go grab a drink?”
“Abbie and I may need to keep ours non-alcoholic for a bit. We’ve already consumed half the traditional amount of alcohol required for a Purim festival.”
Dana laughs, “We will make your drinks virgins then.”
Dana chooses the next bar stating it has the best cocktails downtown, and she orders four margaritas, two of which are without alcohol. As we are laughing about why Abbie loves celebrating Purim with her Jewish friends, ‘booze and candy, what’s not to love?’ the music starts. We finish our drinks and head over to the dance floor.
The last time I danced with Josh, I was so drunk at karaoke night that I have vague memories of it. The time before that was my Aunt’s wedding in 2005. I have to say, he has picked up a few moves since then. We are both less stilted and more natural. The DJ playsMahapecha Shel Simchato get us started, which is a song I love to dance to. I’ve only danced to this song alone in my apartment before today, which is pathetic. In contrast, I’m here with my friends, and we’re all dancing and laughing, and I am feeling a pleasant buzz. Abbie’s wig ends up moving around on her head, blocking her vision, and I start laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my cheeks.
Josh spins me toward him and wipes the tears from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb when his look turns more serious. I try to think of a way to make him laugh, to lighten the intensity of his gaze. But then he pulls me close, with one hand gripping the back of my neck and the other drifting down to my lower back. He looks like he wants to say something, and my heart starts racing under the influence of alcohol and his stare, so I cut him off by kissing him. He kisses me hard, and it doesn’t feel like a kiss between friends. My arms encircle his neck as our kiss deepens, and after what seems like an eternity, I come up for air.
As my gaze searches his face, I find concern and what looks like pity—poor Lily, he must think. So I do what I learned to do growing up and deflect.
“I need another drink. I’m going to get water. Do you want one?”
“Lily, we need to talk.”
I laugh an empty laugh and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Was that a yes to the water? Never mind, I will get you one. I’ll be back.” I head over to the nearest bar and order a shot of tequila and two bottles of water. Josh comes up behind me.
“You’re right. Another drink. Good idea.” Can he be as nervous as I am?What the hell have we done?While my concerns jumble around in my head, I have to admit that something about being in a costume fortifies me. I can’t help but notice that it loosens my usual self-restraint. And the pull of my attraction for Josh feels more powerful now than ever.
Oh my God.
The drink can’t come fast enough.
Josh orders a shot for himself. We clink our shots together before we toss them back and grab our waters. I take a couple of gulps of mine.
“That’s better,” I say.
He finishes his water and tosses the bottle in the recycling bin at the end of the bar. He walks back to me, looping his fingers through my belt loops on either side of my waist.
“We kind of messed this friendship up, didn’t we?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling me flush against him.
“Feels pretty good to me,” I counter, our mouths are so close but not quite touching yet.
“You’re right again,” he replies and proceeds to kiss me in a way that shows his intention to explore the benefits aspect of our situationship, or whatever the hell this is.
I didn’t realize until much later that he never did say what ever it was he wanted to talk about.
A Different Kind Of Letter
