Keegan pauses, his mug partway to his mouth, and gives me a heated look over the rim. “I didn't think the kiss was that bad.”
Bad? Um ... no. Not at all, considering my panties may never be the same, and I'll probably be dreaming about that kiss for the rest of my life.
Since I can't admit that out loud, I roll my eyes. “Please. Stop fishing for compliments.”
He chuckles. “Who says I'm fishing for compliments?”
“You know exactly how good that kiss was.”
“Yeah.” His gaze darkens. “I know how good it was for me. I'm asking how it was for you.”
Mentally, I'm flailing. What is he saying? That he enjoyed kissing me?
What is happening here???
“My point is, the idea of me at a gala is ridiculous.” I scoff to hide my discomfort, completely sidestepping his question. “Besides, y-your dad hatesss me. I'm pretty sure he will not want to hang out with me at this gala.”
“Actually, I have tickets, too. So we wouldn't be in his party.”
“Oh.” The fact that Keegan has tickets to this event already only confirms what I was thinking just a minute ago. He was going to go to this event regardless of whether his dad asked him. It feels like I really am losing him.
“I think we both know I'm not really a gala gal.” My awkward alliteration only drives home the point.
“It would mean a lot to me,” he says simply. Before I can muster up any more protest, he adds on a simple, “Please.”
God. Please? He's really gonna pull out that?
Keegan never asks for anything. Literally. He's never asked me for anything. He doesn't ask for money, obviously. He doesn't ask for favors. He doesn't need me to drive him to the eye doctors, or to catch a ride after he’s dropped off his car for an oil change, or to water his plants when he goes out of town. Keegan is the kind of guy that the phrase generous-to-a-fault was invented to describe. He never asks for favors from anyone. So for him to say please is the equivalent of someone else getting down on their hands and knees and groveling.
Still, I struggle for a response. “I wouldn't know how to dress for a gala. I have nothing to wear.”
“I'll buy you something.” He shrugs dismissively, like the solution should be obvious.
“You know I'm not gonna let you do that.”
Keegan is always offering to buy me things. Obviously, I never let him. Charity is a line I refuse to cross. Partly because I'm too proud. I don't mind admitting that. And partly because, as I said earlier, he has that small generous-to-a-fault problem. No way am I going to take advantage of that.
“You might have plenty of money, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you spend it on me.”
“You should let me buy you a dress. It's only fair. I'm going to make you go to this thing with me.”
I cross my arms over my chest and grumble, but say nothing. I am probably secretly hoping that he comes to the conclusion I have. Namely, that I shouldn't go to this thing with him. My lack of gala-wear is the least of my concerns.
But he clearly knows how to hit me where it hurts, because he levels a look at me and says, “Don't make me brave these lions all on my own.”
I roll my eyes. “Gah. Drama, much?”
“Whatever it takes, Glasses.” He laughs, pulling out his phone and typing out a message. “I'll have my mom send me a list of places where you can find an appropriate dress.”
“See if she can recommend one of those places that rent clothes or that do vintage and second-hand clothes,” I suggest.
He shoots me a droll look. “If I'm paying, it doesn't have to be secondhand.”
“If you're paying, then itdefinitelyhas to be secondhand.” I glance around at the understated, no-nonsense opulence of his condo. With the view of Lady Bird Lake. Insert eye-roll here.
“Let me pay. You'll be doing me a favor.”
“If you already bought the tickets, then, technically, y-you are paying. I mean, unless you want me to pay for my ticket?”
