Sometimes, when we hang out, I feel the after-image of the force of his personality for hours. Laying beside him on the floor on Saturday was like that. I felt it for days. That's got to be why I had that fantasy about him on Monday, right?
It wasn't a real fantasy. It was just the aftermath of getting hit by his smolder.
“My point is,” I interrupt, putting Reb out of her misery. “Keegan, people do notice how you dress. Could you do your job all dressed up in a fancy suit? Probably. But it would disrupt things. People would notice and comment.”
By which I mean anyone who is even remotely attracted to men would fall all over themselves to get his attention. Even more than they normally do.
There's a reason why he had to use me as a Selah-shield.
“As fascinating as this discussion is, darlings, I think you're all missing the point.” Thea pauses dramatically, sipping her cocktail until she has our attention. “This isn't about how Meg dresses for work. This is about her creating a persona, so that she can imagine herself as a different person. Someone who can give her presentation without stuttering.”
Since Keegan is still giving her the side eye, she goes into more detail. By the time she's done explaining about Marion Davies, he seems somewhat mollified.
Eventually, he even says, “If I can't convince you this is a shit idea, you should ask my mom for help.”
“W-w-what?”
Before I can even get the question out, he's whipped out his phone and is texting her. “This makeover thing. My mom lives for this shit.”
“Y-y-you're mother?”
Reb stabs a chip into the guacamole. “Isn't she a former Miss Texas?”
He's nodding as he taps away. “Yep. Miss Texas, nineteen eighty-nine.” I see his phone vibrate in his hand while he's still typing, and he looks up. “She's in.”
“But your parents don't like me.”
“My parents haven’t had a chance to get to know you. My mom has wanted to spend time with you for years.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I grumble before taking another sip of my drink. Crunching ice doesn’t help as much this time.
He quirks an eyebrow, turning his phone to show the table. “She is, and I quote, 'Beyond thrilled.'”
“But–”
“Beyond thrilled.” Reb grins. “That doesn't sound to me like someone who doesn't like you.”
I'm tempted to stick out my tongue at Reb. “She was probably being sarcastic.”
“She wasn't. Trust me,” Keegan says. “My mom would love to help. She does stuff like this all the time for women on the pageant circuit.”
“Is she going to make me learn how to twirl a baton?”
“I doubt it. But she does know some of the best personal stylists in the city, and she can help you pick out a dress for Saturday night.”
His phone dings again, and he glances down at it. “And she's already made you an appointment for Thursday evening with someone named Felicia at Downtown UpThreads.”
Reb snaps her fingers. “I know that place!” When we gape at her, she gives a diffident shrug. “What? They have great vintage Tees.”
Thea looks like it's taking all her acting skills to repress an eye roll. “Yes, they're the most exclusive consignment stores in the city. They're very good– andnotjust for vintage T-shirts.”
Reb looks defeated, so I say gently, “Please tell me you'll come with me.”
“Can I help with hair?” she asks. “I have an appointment with my hair stylist on Thursday afternoon. I could give you the appointment, and he can do something fabulous for you.”
“You have a stylist?”
Reb holds out a lock of purple hair as evidence. “Do I look like someone who has the patience to bleach, dye, and tone my own hair? No, I do not. He's the best colorist in town and an all-around genius.”
