Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating - Christina Lauren Page 0,44
emaciated. “I left my delicious dinner to help protect your virtue.”
It begins to drizzle outside, and Josh surprises me by turning down the music. I know him well enough to anticipate that this next part is a peace offering. For some crazy reason Josh will bend over backward to make me happy. “We could stay out for a bit.”
I smile in the dark car. “You’re reading my mind, Jiminnie.”
He glances at me, and then flicks his turn indicator. “You up for some drinks with your food?”
“When am I not?”
··········
I’ve only seen Josh tipsy on one occasion, at Emily’s house over a couple bottles of soju. He got pink and giggly and just a little bit loud (well, loud for Josh) before falling asleep against my shoulder and waking up like nothing ever happened. Outside of that he isn’t much of a drinker, and when he does drink, he’s adorably slow. He nurses a single gin and tonic while I manage to quaff down three, an entire hamburger, and a basket of chips and salsa.
He holds his glass, long fingers brushing away the drops of condensation. “Why are we so bad at this?”
“Speak for yourself.” I hold up my empty glass. “I’m awesome.”
“I mean the dating thing.” He runs his hand through the front of his hair. “People either have zero interest or want to bang in the restaurant.”
The bartender takes the empty basket and replaces it with a new one full of fresh chips. I tell myself I really don’t need any more, but who am I kidding. I reach for a handful, saying, “That sounds pretty normal to me. It’s nothing, or sex.”
He shakes his head, sipping from the drink that must be mostly melted ice by now. “I swear your dating experience is the oddest.”
I look over at him. He’s so ridiculously hot, it amazes me that all women don’t react to him the way Elsa did. But he’s also so innocent in some ways. “No, Josh, listen. Haven’t you ever just wanted to rip someone’s clothes off?”
“Of course.”
“So you agree, don’t you, that you’ve had an instant attraction to every person you ended up sleeping with?”
“Well, sure,” he concedes, “but most of the time I’m not trying to finger her under the table the first time we go to dinner.”
Heat flashes across my face and I clear my throat. The image that just burned a trail of fire through my brain—Josh reaching over, pressing his open mouth to my neck and sliding his hand down my pants—was . . . unexpected. “Maybe you’re just hard to resist.”
He gives a skeptical look down at his glass. I watch him carefully use his straw to take another sip. When he doesn’t reply I ask, “How many women have you been with?”
He pauses, staring at the ceiling as he counts. I watch as the bartender pours seven drinks in the time it takes Josh to finish tallying. I may have to readjust my mental image of his sex life. Go Josh.
After another moment of silence he turns to me and says, “Five.”
I drop my chip. “It took you four minutes to count to five? They must not have been very memorable.”
“I was just messing with you.” He picks up my chip and grins at me, showing me all of his perfect white teeth. “They were all pretty long term, though. You may have noticed I’m not great at the casual thing.” He takes another gulp, a bigger one this time, draining it with a long swallow. “Your turn.”
“Me?” I honestly have no idea how many guys I’ve been with, so I pull a lowball number out of the air. “Maybe twenty.”
His eyes go wide and he coughs as he swallows. “Twenty?”
“Actually probably more? Let’s say thirty.”
Josh shakes his head and laughs. “Wow, okay.”
This response is not an improvement.
“Don’t do that.” I point a finger at him. “Don’t act like I’ve crossed some magical threshold of appropriate numbers for a woman. If I was a dude and said that, you’d reply, ‘In high school, right?’ and then high-five me and call me brah.”
I drain my drink, too, and he watches, looking both amused and chastened.
“Fair enough.” He stares at me, eyes moving over my features as if gauging them somehow. “Sorry.” Lifting his hand, he offers a conciliatory high five. “Right on, brah.”
I laugh, smacking his hand, and he reaches for his glass, swirling the liquid inside. “What’s your longest relationship?”