Page 77 of Like a Love Story
He goes into her bathroom but doesn’t close the door.I can hear him pee. When he’s done, he comes back into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he says. “You doing okay?”
“You didn’t wash your hands,” I say.
“So?” he asks. “It’s not like I pissed on my hands.”
“It really is an epidemic,” I say.
“What is?” he asks.
I think back to Art telling me that straight guys never wash their hands after they pee. But I just say, “Nothing.”
Then he puts his unwashed hand on my arm, and says. “So, you like Persian dudes?”
“What?” I ask.
“You liked the little prince,” he says. “And he’s like a scrawnier, less attractive version of me.”
“Oh,” I say. “Are you...”
Is he hitting on you, Judy? Is this how straight guys hit on girls?
“I always thought you were hot,” he says. “I don’t get why girls are so skinny these days. Dudes want something to hold on to.”
“Um, thanks?”
“You’re welcome.”
“I guess I’m a little confused,” I say. “Since you like to make cracks about my weight.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says. “I can be a dick.”
“A major one,” I say.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I don’t even know what I’m thinking. Too many things. That despite my better judgment, I’m a littleturned on. That hooking up with Saadi would be the ultimate revenge on Reza, and that maybe that’s the best reason to go through with it. That any other girl at this party would definitely take this opportunity. “Nothing,” I say.
“Everyone’s always thinking something,” he says.
“What areyouthinking?” I ask.
“Honestly,” he says, “I’m thinking that my stepbrother is an idiot for letting you go.”
And that is exactly what I needed to hear. I grab Saadi by the collar of his blue Lacoste polo and I pull him close to me, and I make out with him. It’s furious. Our tongues explore each other. Then his hands are all over me, up the shiny fabric of the purple dress I designed for the party, on my thighs. His breath is heavy, and his hips are thrusting urgently. I feel what I never felt when Reza and I kissed, an erection. Saadi is so hard. He sits up and takes his polo off. His body is thick and his chest has black hair on it. I put my hands on his chest. My fingernails are painted purple too, and they look kind of great against his skin. He puts his hands on my face with a tenderness that surprises me, and that’s when I say, “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“It’s just... will you... could you, um, go wash your hands? You just peed.”
He laughs. “Seriously?” he asks.
“Seriously,” I say.
He jumps up and goes into the bathroom. I can hear the water running. When he comes back, he sits backdown next to me. He puts his hand next to my nose, and I sniff them. “Now I smell like lavender,” he says.
“Better than smelling like piss,” I say.
He laughs again. “You’re pretty funny,” he says.
