Page 72 of Isn't It Obvious?
“I’m going to start this and go pee,” she says. “Make yourself comfortable.” She adds the detergent and shoves her skirt in the washer. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she steps out of her underpants and shoves those in, too, not missing the “Christ” he mutters under his breath as she hits start.
Quickly, she tucks herself in her bedroom, not yet comfortable being so bare in front of Ravi. It’s tidy enough;The Catcher in the Ryeis on her reading chair, left sticky-tabbed for the nextSophomore English Agendaepisode and drowning under her favorite blanket, and there are three books under a random assortment of other clutter on her nightstand but no dirty socks on the ground or unmentionables hanging out of her drawers. She hears a flush from the hallway bathroom and,right, he doesn’t have to ask her where it is, because he’s been here before.
It’s okay, she reminds herself.Charlie told me it was okay.
He also told me to be careful.The thought is paralyzing for a moment. But what, exactly, does she need to be careful of? She’s had her heart broken once this year already, and it wasn’t by him.
After she uses the bathroom, she pulls on her softest pair of sweatpants. She catches her reflection in the full-lengthmirror and makes the executive decision not to bother with a shirt.
In the living room, she finds Ravi on the couch waiting for her, his jeans off but his undershirt back on. He’s stretched out, arm slung over the back of the couch inhercorner. It’s hard to believe how fluttery the look in his eyes makes her feel, even after everything they’ve already done.
“You’re in my spot,” Yael says, approaching him.
“I didn’t realize,” Ravi replies. He sits up a little straighter but makes no indication that he plans to move.
Yael steps between Ravi and the coffee table, looking down at him just as she had on the bus ride here, when she was trying desperately to convince herself that she was still in control of the situation. He wraps his hand around the back of her thigh, and suddenly, she wishes she’d forgone pants, too, or at least reached for pajama shorts. “Not sure if you’re aware,” she says, “but you’restillin my spot.”
“You told me to make myself comfortable.”
Ravi can’t hide his smile, and she knows exactly what he’s goading her into. For once, she’s happy to play into his hands. She places one knee on the couch just outside his thigh, then the other. But she takes her time sinking down, taking great pleasure at the way his jaw clenches and his hand skims up her leg while he waits. He sighs when she finally sits flush against him, and she smirks victoriously.
Her victory is undercut by her sharp gasp when he shifts beneath her. Ravi chuckles, his eyes bright.
“Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not,” he says, and Yael pouts. “I’m not! It’s… appreciative.”
“Appreciative?”
“Yes. I’m laughing appreciatively,” he says, sliding his hands up her sides.
Yael tips her head down to kiss him before he sees her do anything else to laugh appreciatively about.
It really is anexperience, kissing Ravi. She absorbs into it, into him. So many parts of her—even parts that shouldn’t be—become sensitive, flushing and goose-bumping and burning under his touch. She’s being loud for just kissing; dimly, she knows that, but it’s impossible not to react.
Then again, he’s not exactly quiet, either, when she rocks against him or digs her fingers into his biceps.
Her stomach gives a traitorous, deeply unsexy grumble, and Ravi pulls back. “Yuh cyah make love on a hungry belly,” he says, amused.
“Hmm?”
“Ah, it’s a bad joke. That would only make sense if you also had Trinidadian grandparents.”
She drops her hands to his shoulders. “Explain it to me,” she says softly.
His eyebrows lift, like he’s not sure if she’s serious, and she nods. “It’s an old saying, means that money is as important as love in a marriage. But youliterallyhave a hungry belly interrupting us.”
Yael smiles. “I would’ve laughed if I’d understood.”
“You’ve always found me funny,” he says. “Even when you wanted to pretend you didn’t.”
“I’m not very good at pretending about anything,” she says.
Heat flares in his eyes, his smile small. “That’s good to know,” he says slowly, and Yael’s blood feels fizzy.
“When did you move here?” she asks.
“To Portland? Or the States?”
