Just kill me now.
Keegan gives me another long look, his smile deepening.
As if he knows exactly how flustered I feel right now. Which sucks.
Because, yeah, I'm flustered. My unfortunately hot best friend kissed me and now I ... I have feelings about that. Exactly what those feelings mean, I don't know. But I definitely have feelings. Which is possibly the most annoying thing ever, because I did not work for years to bury the crush I had on him, only to have it rear its ugly head now.
Even worse (or at least just as bad), my flustered-ness seems to amuse him.
That's me, the comic relief.
That's obviously all I'm fit for. Comic relief and fake kisses to throw avaricious runway models off his track.
“You know,” he says as he rounds the island and flicks on his fancy coffee maker. “You could use your key to let yourself in. I wouldn't have given you a key if I didn't expect you to use it.”
He is right, of course. He tells me that all the time. However, I would never just let myself in.
Keegan and I have been friends since college, when we both lived in the shittiest co-op in Austin, possibly the world. It was near the UT campus and cheap, but it was basically built of roaches and hepatitis held together with mold and cobwebs.
After a semester there, Keegan suggested we move out and share an apartment. I didn't learn until after we'd moved in together that he had a trust fund, and the only reason he'd lived in the shitty co-op was because it pissed off his father.
I couldn't imagine living in that pit for any reason other than financial desperation.
To this day, I'm convinced there are only three reasons we're friends: A) I am one of the few people who became his friend without knowing his net worth, B) our shared love of sci-fi TV (basically anything from Star Trek TNG to Firefly), and C) pity.
I mean, I mentioned that I was poor and living in a pit when we met, right? Basically, our freshman year in the co-op he adopted me like some sort of stray dog and he's simply too kind hearted to kick me to the curb.
Not that he would admit to being kind-hearted, or that I'm his pity friend. Everyone else in his family views kindness and empathy as signs of weakness. Even though he devoted his adult life to being a thorn in their side and their reputation, there are some lessons you can't shake off.
Which means there might be a fourth reason we're friends: D) I don't harbor any expectations that he will “outgrow his blatant disrespect for the family name and reputation and join the family business,” and also, E) his family doesn't like me, so his hanging out with me irritates them.
The point is, I learned a lot about Keegan during the years we shared an apartment. Including knowing that letting myself into his place on a random afternoon might not end well.
I'm certainly not going to judge Keegan or any woman he picks up for doing whatever they want to do in the privacy of his bedroom. I just don't want to know about it.
I don't want to know about it. I don't want to care about it. I certainly don't want to have feelings about it.
So I ignore his comment about using the key and ask, “How was brunch with the family?”
“Promises of wealth and power. The guarantee that I can create my position at the company. Mostly the same stuff as always.”
“Mostly?” I ask.
Ever since I've known him, Keegan has been summoned to family brunch on at least a quarterly basis. I don't know how often the rest of his family meets for Sunday brunch, only that he avoids it until it is unavoidable. For years, his father has been pressuring him to grow up and come work for McQuade Development.
Keegan has his back to me, fiddling with his coffee maker—which I swear is more complicated than my car, and probably more expensive, too—as he coaxes it into producing a perfect latte. Because his back is to me, I don't see his expression as he says, “You know what it's like. Grandfather won't be around forever, so Dad and Aunt Joan are duking it out for dominance. Dad is convinced that if he can bring me back into the fold, Grandfather will leave him in charge.”
The coffee maker gives a frothy sounding trill and a moment later, Keegan turns around, sliding a latte across the island to me along with a shaker of sugar.
I'm not sure exactly how to respond. Keegan isn't exactly private about his family, but he also isn't as proud of them as some trust-fund babies are. They just were what they were, and Keegan largely tried to stay out of it. I don't want to pry too much, but it seems like a golden opportunity to ask about Keegan's vision for his family's future.
“Is he right?” I ask, pouring sugar into the coffee he's made me.
“Maybe.” Keegan shrugs. “Brunch was full of a lot of talk about how much I've matured over the past few years and how my bar is actually a sound business investment that adds local flavor to the family portfolio.”
I snort. “Didn't he once threaten to buy your loan from the bank and demolish it with his bare hands?”
Keegan laughs. “You remember that, huh?”
