Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [80]
“Hey, sleepyhead,” said Brian, not looking at me.
“Urgh.” My cheek was sticky with drool.
“You look like hell. Want some coffee?”
The coffeepot was half full, but was so dirty it looked like it was overflowing. I shook my head, attempting to get the room to stop revolving, grabbed my bag, and stumbled to the bathroom.
I think I blacked out at the sink. Apparently, I brushed my teeth and washed my face while sound asleep. I came to in the dank public shower stall, struggling to remove my clothes.
The water was ice cold, but I didn’t turn it to warm. I stood there in the torrent with my mouth open until the buzzing in my head grew faint. Finally, as I distractedly soaped, I let myself remember what had happened the night before.
Sage. Me. Naked. Well, I was naked. Sage had never removed her shorts. Things had started slowly. Touching. Kissing. More touching (Sage, I discovered, was amazingly ticklish in certain areas). Then—I turned the water even colder, remembering—the sweat, the touch of her mouth, the prick of her nails, the noise of the bed as it scooted across the floor.
Lying there afterward, absolutely spent. Sage burying her face in my chest and crying for ten minutes, then laughing. Snuggling with her, face to face, half awake, running my hand over her soft back. Then, just as the sun started slanting through the window, throwing on my clothes, kissing Sage, and staggering off to Brian’s room.
There were no excuses this time. There was no deception. No being caught up in the moment. Even the alcohol had pretty much worn off. Everything we did, I wanted. Just remembering it in the shower allowed me to carry my towel without using my hands. We had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. Sage and I had done something that could never be undone.
We were two great friends who had suddenly become a whole lot more. Two young people with their entire lives ahead of them. And just one little complication. One teeny, little, microscopic, enormous, universe-sized complication.
Last night, when the world consisted of the two of us, nothing else mattered. But in the harsh light of Sunday morning, I could think of a million reasons to worry.
Sage’s father, with his huge knuckles and garage filled with lawn mower blades. He’d crucify me if he found out what we’d done. And what if someone else discovered Sage’s past? Locker rooms, bureaucratic screwups, confiding in the wrong person … a lot could go wrong in four years of college. If Sage’s world came crashing down, would I be willing to stand beside her?
Of course, all of this was just sidestepping the big issue. The night before had been wonderful. But there were certain things Sage couldn’t do, parts she did not have. She’d said it might be years after college before she could afford the surgery. How long could I date a girl who didn’t have a vagina?
Well, I dated Brenda for three years, hee hee.
Sage had kept her shorts on. But if she ever got careless one day and I actually saw it … that would be an image I could never forget. It would turn me off so much that I’d never be close to her again.
Someone in the bathroom let out an enormous fart, and I tried to get a grip. Turning the water to hot, I continued to lather.
In spite of everything, my worries in the morning didn’t compare to the beauty of the previous night. And not just after we got back to the dorm. The party. The drive. Hanging out with my sister. And even before that: Seeing Sage in her bikini. Going to the movies. Exchanging Christmas presents. In fact, since the night we didn’t see the comedian, I’d enjoyed every moment I spent with Sage. Every moment. That was too rare, too special to toss away.
I shampooed with gusto. We didn’t have to plot out our entire lives right then. That was the mistake I’d made with Brenda. Sage and I had months, years even, to figure