Nana cackled gleefully as she left the room.
I stood up in the closet and shrugged out of the robe. I pulled the sweater over my head and almost fell down while trying to put a leg through the pant leg.
I had almost succeeded in dressing myself like a normal, functioning human being when Nana came back into the room with a glass of ice water. It looked like the greatest thing I’d ever seen, and I was about to thank her and chug it down when she poured the entire thing on the naked man in my bed.
The effect was instantaneous. He screamed as he shot up from the bed, completely oblivious to the fact that he was naked. And my fuzzy memories of the night before cleared a bit, because regardless of what we’d done together, Helena had chosen wisely, because dude was hot. A little young for my taste, probably just this side of legal drinking age. But his muscles had muscles and he had a hairy chest and a really nice nose, and I must have still been drunk if I focused on the nose with everything else on display.
“Well done,” Nana said to me. “He’s got a huge—”
“—ego if you finish that sentence, oh my god.” Paul reached over and pulled his grandmother away from the naked man and out of my room, shutting the door behind them. “Deal with this, Sandy!” he shouted through the door.
“What the hell?” The guy looked bewildered.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you. You fucked my ass last night.”
The guy grinned. He looked like a puppy and I almost said aww. Thankfully, I was able to hold that in because I was not a twelve-year-old girl. “Yeah, I did,” he said, and he was such a frat boy. “Man, the things you can do with your mouth are just insane.”
“Yes,” I said. “Well, I had a good teacher.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.” I was being rude. It wasn’t nice. I needed to return the compliment. “You sure have a nice penis.” Oh dear god.
He looked down at it, and I couldn’t help but follow his gaze. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m pretty proud of it.”
“Yeah,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
So we just stood there, staring at his penis for a good minute or so.
Then, “Oh man,” he groaned. “Do I smell bacon?”
“Uh,” I said, breaking from my debate on whether or not I wanted to give him a hand job. “Yeah, it’s brunch. I have it every Sunday with my family.”
“Great!” he said. “Let me put on my clothes.”
I nodded, feeling relieved that I didn’t have to be rude. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to meet your family over brunch naked.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Wouldn’t want to—oh my god, say what.”
“I’m starving.” He pulled up his pants. I wondered where his underwear went. Had he even been wearing underwear? I was vexed that I couldn’t remember. Terribly vexed. He pulled on a T-shirt that proclaimed him as a member of the FBI, a Female Body Inspector, and I instantly regretted all my life’s choices.
I was looking on the floor for his underwear, pondering just what kind of underwear a frat boy would wear (probably something with Batman or My Little Ponies on them or whatever it is frat boys were into these days), trying to figure out the polite way to tell him to go home, when he opened the door and walked out of my bedroom, muttering, “bacon, bacon, bacon.”
“Fuck my life,” I groaned, chasing after him.
Apparently frat boys in need of bacon move faster than the speed of light because he was already in the kitchen by the time I caught up with him.
With Paul.
And Vince.
And Corey.
And Nana.
And Matty Auster.