“Yeah, we’ve established that men are stupid. You’re going to want to sit down now.”
She doesn’t sit so much as she falls onto the couch.
“I
was ready, though,” she says. “I wouldn’t say I was really turned on, but I was ready to just get in there and get it over with so I could get back in the game.”
“Sometimes that’s what you need to move on,” I say absently. “So, are you good? Do you want me to put on a movie or something?”
“Dane?”
Deep breath. “Yeah?”
“Do you think I have a big butt?”
“No,” I answer mechanically. I really don’t know why women ask that question anymore. Everyone knows that there’s only one correct answer.
“Oh, come on, you didn’t even look at it,” she says, rolling onto her side.
For a woman trying to show me her ass, this isn’t the most attractive scene.
“Be honest,” she says. “I need to know.”
I chuckle.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “So, do you want a thriller? Comedy?”
I turn and walk toward the bookcase where she keeps her movies.
“A foreign film?” I ask as I try to decipher the various French, Italian, and Swedish titles. “Do you actually speak these languages?” I ask.
“Ja,” she says, “sì, oui.”
“That’s pretty impressive.”
“You never answered my question,” she said.
“What question’s that?” I ask, turning around.
Her knees are on the couch and her upper body is resting against the back. Her pants are pulled down around her knees. She’s wearing underwear, but the way she’s trying to fix it to get the best result isn’t doing much to hide her skin.
“Yeah, I think we should get you to bed,” I tell her, shocked. “This isn’t you right now, Leila.”
“Just tell me if I have a nice butt or a dispropriarportionalately…” she sighs. “Is it too big for my body?” she asks, giving up on the word.
I breathe in and out.
“Fine,” I tell her. “You have a very attractive posterior.”
“Yeah, like I believe it when you say it like that,” she says, laughing through her nose. “That’s not how you talk.”
Drunk or not, she’s hilarious right now, and I can’t help but laugh with her.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “What do you want me to say? You’re my roommate and—”
“I’m not your roommate right now,” she says. “Just answer the question and I’ll let you go back to whatever it is that you do.”
“Honestly,” I tell her, trying to find that line between looking enough to form an opinion and staring, “it’s pretty perfect. Not too big, not too small. Good curvature.”