Thea and I give Reb identical, skeptical looks.
My personal style might be drab, but at least it's consistent. Reb, with her bright purple streaks in her pixie cut hair, and her never ending rotation of geeky shirts, is not exactly someone I'd peg to help with a makeover.
“Um ...” I say cautiously. “I don't mean to criticize, but ...”
Reb looks down at her worn I-solved-the-Rubik's-Cube T-shirt. She plucks at the blue raglan sleeve. “This is vintage.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Like, it's anoriginalRubik's Cube prize shirt. I paid five hundred dollars for this, and I was lucky to get it.”
“Dear, you clearly have more money than fashion sense.” Thea gives her a pat on the hand. “But never fear. I can help Meg with her clothes.”
“Why does Meg need help with her clothes?”
All three of us turn to see Keegan standing beside our table.
When did he sneak up on us?
Aloud, I say, “I didn't know you were working today.”
“Just got in.”
The table we're at only seats three, since it's nestled against a live oak, but Keegan snags an empty chair from a nearby table and slides it in beside mine. I try to scoot mine over to make room for him, but since I'm on the tree side as well, there's not really anywhere for me to go.
Thea and Reb—who see Keegan less often than I do—chat for a few minutes, complementing the food and catching up. There's a brief discussion about boob armor, during which Thea discusses the costume design for Barbarella and Keegan offers to introduce Reb to the professor from the Practical Medieval Weaponry Seminar he took during his stint as a history major. I eat my tacos in blissful silence, desperately trying to ignore the way Keegan's leg presses against mine.
The weather in Austin is mercurial AF this time of year. So even though I was freezing Saturday night in my house, it’s edging on too warm as I sit here in the sun next to Keegan. I refused to think about how I was perfectly fine before Keegan sat down, siphoning all blame firmly into the ‘mercurial weather’ category. That's the only explanation for how hot my skin feels. For how aware I am of Keegan’s proximity. Why else would I be so aware of the denim of his jeans through the silk of my dress?
It can't have anything to do with the way he kissed me yesterday. It can't because I refuse to let that get into my head.
Even if I do space out a little bit during the boob armor discussion. It's because I don't game and don't care about boob armor. Not because that kiss is playing over and over in my mind. Certainly not because I'm imagining a more private, more horizontal version of it.
“Hey, earth to Meg.” Keegan stretches his arm over the back of my chair and gives a tug to a lock of my hair.
“What?”
“You spaced out,” he chides, tugging on my hair again.
“Boob armor is boring,” I say before popping a half-broken chip into my mouth.
“Exactly!” Reb declares. “And the gaming community needs to evolve.”
Thea smiles. One of those sneaky smiles she gives that makes me think she knows exactly what's going on in my head. “Dear, we've moved past that part of the discussion. Keegan was asking about your makeover.”
“Oh.”
“Wait.” Keegan holds up a hand, looking from me to Thea and Reb and then back again. “I thought you were just talking about clothes. Now it's a makeover?”
I quickly fill Keegan in on the details he missed, explaining about Teresa being out and how I'll have to do the presentation. When I get to the part about Marion Davies and needing a persona and a makeover, Keegan's huge smile of congratulations falls away. His hand, which had been playing with my hair, drops to my shoulder and taps out an annoyed beat.
“Why do you need a makeover for that?”
“It will give her confidence,” Thea explains.
“That's bullshit.” He twists to look at me, but doesn't remove his hand. “You're gorgeous. You don't need different clothes or makeup. You're perfect.”
I gape for a second, and then laugh out loud.
