“You just think you’re so charming, don’t you?” This was the voice of Alim, my best friend since we were children. He traipsed behind me, his kebab dripping in his hand, the sauce dribbling across his pants.

“You look like a mess, Alim,” I told him, swiping my napkin across his suit. “You can’t expect me to be out in public with you, looking like that.”

Behind us, the girls I’d just made eye contact with snickered at us, their eyes glittering. They were tall and slender, with long hair that gleamed in the sunlight. One of them held a kebab with thin fingers, nibbling at it daintily.

She was the antithesis of Alim, like a graceful gazelle, poised. Alim hankered for her, or for someone like her. I could feel him, trying to mimic the swagger I had. But he was lost, still with that dripping kebab. An attractive man, sure. But he had nothing compared to me. And we both knew it.

“You have to stop it,” Alim sighed, swiping his hand across his lower lip, trying to mop up the grease. “Just because we aren’t all tall, dark, and handsome doesn’t mean…”

“What? I’m sorry. You think I don’t deserve the women I get?” I chuckled, tossing my head back. My dark hair caught in the breeze, and my dark eyes twinkled against the sun. With rippling muscles, firm biceps and a six-pack abdomen, I felt volatile and alive as we walked along, a veritable Adonis beside the shorter, stockier Alim. I could feel other people’s eyes upon me as we walked down the road.

Another woman made eye contact with me as we walked, causing me to stop. As I paused, the girl blushed, lowering her eyes. Her long eyelashes fluttered.

“How are you doing?” I asked her.

“Oh, fine,” she murmured, her voice shy. “I see you out here often, you know that?”

“So you’re telling me I’ve missed so many opportunities to speak with you?” I asked her, a small frown across my forehead. “That’s a tragedy, isn't it?”

“Quite,” she said, flipping her hair behind her ears. Her eyes gleamed with excitement. I could almost sense the story she’d tell her friends after meeting me there. “Sheikh Rami Waheed,” she’d murmur, excitement causing her voice to waver. “He was walking down the road, and he spotted me. He stopped me, dead in the street. He couldn’t resist.”

“We’d better be going to that meeting, hey?” Alim said, yanking at my elbow and giving me a stern expression. “No time to dilly-dally.”

“Come on, now. There’s time,” I said to him, giving him a soft, eager smile. “There’s always time for… I’m sorry, what was your name?”

The girl opened her lips, prepared to tell me. But Alim tugged at my arm a final time, pulling me to the other side of the road. Exasperated, he tapped his hand on my back, watching as the girl pouted, clearly disappointed.

“She was just going to flirt with you for the next 15 minutes, ignoring me the entire time. As usual,” Alim sighed. “I just can’t hack it anymore, man. It’s too much.”

“We can get you someone to love, my boy,” I told him, clapping him on the shoulder as we continued walking. More and more women gave me coy smiles as we walked, but I let them pass by, humoring my friend.

Above us, the afternoon sun had begun to beat down with ferocity. A bead of sweat swept down Alim’s forehead, along his temple. I swiped at it, teasing him. “You’ll never get someone sweating like a pig, though.”

“Lay off,” Alim sighed, his nostrils flared. “What the hell are we doing today, anyway? I thought you had that meeting with your father…”

“About the women he’s prepared to match me up with?” I laughed, tossing my hand through the air. “As if he believes I can’t find a suitable mate for myself.”

Alim’s eyebrows were raised now. “You really think any woman would go for you?” he asked.

“Alim, Alim,” I cackled. “You’ve known me nearly your entire life. Have you ever known a woman to resist me, if I gave her eyes?”

“Sure. Last weekend at the bar. That Indian girl, with the cinched waist and the tight little—”

“Come now, Alim. Don’t talk about women this way,” I said, winking at another attractive one who walked past us, her heels clacking on the ground.

Alim rolled his eyes, protesting. “You talk about them this way all the time—”

“Alim, Alim. If you ever want to find a woman to settle down with, you have to learn to woo them,” I told him.

“Woo? What is woo?” Alim asked, his eyebrows stitching together above his nose. “Don’t just make up English words for the fun of it, Rami.”

“I would never,” I told him, grinning slyly. “Due to my ability to ‘woo,’ as I said, I know that I can have any woman I want in the world.”

Alim tilted his head, halting quickly. With his eyes sparkling, he protested, saying, “Sure, you can get anyone in Al-Jarra. But it’s because you’re the Sheikh’s son, Rami. No other reason. You’re a local celebrity, and that’s that. If you can’t see that—”

“Ah, but there’s so much more to it than that!” I told him, smacking my palms together. With a sudden lurch of curiosity, I said, “What if we make this interesting, hey? Make it into a challenge?”

Alim turned his head away from me. Beyond us, we watched as an older man, his hair an impossibly bright white, meandered past, leading a donkey. His back was hunched, showing years of hard labor. But after giving me a stern look, he saluted me. I felt a wave of affection for all of Al-Jarra. I felt more self-assured than ever before.

“See? Even he wants to date you because you’re the Sheikh’s son,” Alim said.

“I don’t think I hear a hint of jealousy, do I?” I asked, teasing him.

“Stop it.”

We walked along for a few minutes, both of us stirring with a strange mix of resentment and pure, unvarnished friendship. We’d been together for too long for us to not be holding both sides of this friendship coin. To feel more like brothers than anything else.

“All right,” Alim said, his voice growing more certain. “I have the perfect bet for you, if you’re up for the challenge.”

“When have I not been up for a challenge?” I told him, waggling my eyebrows.

“What about you get a woman who doesn’t know you’re a sheikh to agree to marry you?” Alim continued, darting across the street and toward our favorite local cafe. He perched at the edge of it, poised to enter. From inside, an aromatic wave of roasted beans washed over us.

“There’s just one problem to this challenge, Alim,” I said, holding the door open. My deep red and yellow robes swirled around me. “I’m always wearing my royal attire. And—”

“Well, what if you didn’t?” he asked, tilting his head.

We stepped toward the counter, ordering our usual with cocky smiles. I watched as the barista ducked her head beneath the espresso machine, eyeing the inner workings of the grinder. Her buttocks were tight beneath her dress, leading up to a little cinched waist. When she turned back to see it was me, a blush ran from her forehead, all the way down to her chest.

“What if I didn’t what?” I asked.

“Wear your robes. Look like a sheikh at all? You could play it off like you were a normal guy, to set the record straight. If someone could fall in love with you when you looked like everyone else—”

“As if that wouldn’t be possible, Alim,” I said, pointing to my stellar grin. “With these looks and this charm…?”

“Come off it. There’s tons of men in Al-Jarra who are twice as good looking as you, and they don’t have the luck you do with women. This will be the ultimate test.” Alim lifted his hands to the counter, accepting our coffees from the barista. He knocked his head to the right, gesturing toward me. “What do you think?” he asked, addressing the barista. “Do you think, if you didn’t know his name, you’d still find him attractive?”

“He has a name?” the barista said, teasing me. She bowed her head low. “No disrespect, of course. I’m just kidding.”

“See?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I don’t even know if this would work. No matter what I was wearing, people would know who I was. I’m one of the most revered men in all of Al-Jarra.”

“I don’t know about that,” the barista said, giving me a sneaky smile.

“All right, all right,” Alim said. “I’ll think of a better plan.”

We meandered through the city center, reverting to our typical bantering routine. Still, the bet lay heavy on my mind.

As we wandered toward the western side of the city, I peered up at the sun as it swept toward the horizon line. At four in the afternoon, the school before us was ducking out for the day. The children rattled out onto the pavement, jumping into their parents’ cars and gabbing endlessly all the while. The chorus of their words filled my ears, bringing a slow smile to my face.

I watched as the kids kicked footballs through the air, running around, wild and free. A few of them recognized me, waving tiny hands and calling my name. “It’s Rami! Hey, Rami!” They were unperturbed with whatever society asked of them, whatever courtesy they were meant to give. And instead, they greeted me as one of their own.

“Man, even the kids are obsessed with you,” Alim sighed. “This entire day has felt like the first day of middle school all over again. When you had three girlfriends by sixth period and I just had a food stain down my shirt.”

“We can’t all be winners,” I grinned.

Glancing toward the entrance, I saw a beautiful woman standing there, watching the children as they darted home. She looked to be in her mid-20s, and she was pale—almost stark white in comparison to the children that surrounded her. And she held her chin high up, proud and beautiful. Her hair whipped around her, raven black, the taut lines of her body discernible beneath her dark green dress.

“What about someone who wasn’t from here?” I heard myself ask.

Alim scoffed softly, nodding his head toward the woman at the doorway. “You know this is the English-speaking school, right? That means she’s either British, or worse. An American.”

“How is that worse?” I asked him, chuckling. I swam through my memories of the American women I’d dated. I remembered them being electric in bed, and good for a laugh. None of them had stuck around for long, but that suited me just fine.

“You know how headstrong they can be,” Alim said, smirking. “They’re not going to just fall head over heels for you immediately, the way some women in Al-Jarra might. They’ve got their own goals, their own reasons for doing things…”

“Now you’re speaking in generalizations,” I told him, rolling my eyes.

“All right, then,” Alim said, his eyebrows high. “Let’s do it. If that beautiful, headstrong-looking woman turns out to be an American, and you can indeed woo her as your own, then I’ll give you, oh…”

“I’m ready for this bet,” I said, feeling my blood pressure rise. “Let’s say five million dollars. No more. No less.”

I watched as the color drained from Alim’s face. But after a chortle, he shot his hand through the air between us, gripping my hand.

We shook on it, both of us falling into laughter. This was a sealing bond, but it did nothing to affect our friendship. This is how we lived, ricocheting from one bet to the next, forever upping the ante.

“All right, then. I’d better get to work,” I told him, winking. I watched as the raven-haired woman began to step back into the school, retreating from the chaos. She’d be leaving work soon and I wasn’t prepared to wait another day, not on this path to victory.

“Good luck, my friend,” Alim said, his eyes gleaming with the orange of the late afternoon. “But remember, you can’t start today,” he reminded me. He eyed my clothes, the swirling robes. “You look like you’ve just come from a royal soiree. Go home and put on some jeans and a T-shirt, for God’s sake. I’m swooning just looking at you.”

I guffawed, turning down the road as the realization hit me. I would have to wait, just one more day. “Touché, my friend. But remember, if you ever give me a chance, I’m here, waiting for you.”

“Give it a rest, man,” he sighed, edging his elbow into my side. “I can’t handle it.”