By the time I get inside, my hands are trembling. I'm not entirely sure if it's nerves from my encounter with Reid or if it's a hit of adrenaline from this sudden burst of clarity I have.
Either way, I dial Thea's number. When she picks up, I blurt, “Sasha.”
“Excuse me, Meg? What was that?”
“I figured out who I want my new persona to be. I want to be Sasha.”
“The cat who lives at the bar?”
“Yes. I want to be Sasha the cat.” Because who better to emulate than this beautiful creature who has zero fucks to give about anyone else? “Think about it. I'm tired of being weak and mousey. Everybody loves Sasha, but she doesn't give a damn about anyone. She's cool, confident, and in control of every situation.”
Thea chuckles. “I believe you're right. Sasha just might be the perfect persona for you.”
I desperately want to believe it will really be this simple.
If I can imagine I am Sasha, with all her confidence and style, for just a few hours, for just one day, then I can overcome this fear of giving presentations. I won't be a burden to my team. I won't have to worry about losing my job. I won't blend into the background everywhere I go, like a timid mouse. Everyone at work will realize that my good ideas and hard work are ... well, mine.
And then maybe, if I end up in the elevator with my dream guy, I'll actually be able to speak to him.
chapterten
I spendall of Wednesday working with Tad to digitize and spruce up the pitch. We both keep our eyes on our phones, waiting for messages from Teresa. The last we heard from her was late Monday, when she let us know they were keeping her son overnight. He'd most likely have surgery in the morning.
We don’t hear from Teresa after that, which puts Tad and me on edge. It’s a sign of how distracted Teresa must be. Two years ago, she had walking pneumonia and still texted us so often from home that Matt threatened to take her off the company phone plan.
Despite our distraction, Tad and I get the presentation ready enough to show it to Matt by late afternoon. He gushes, which I expected, because he can be over the top with his praise. Still, I know the work is good work.
Right before Tad and I leave for the day, we get a message from Teresa letting us know Noah made it through surgery and is doing fine, but that she’ll be out all of next week. Tad and I exchange a serious look as we both text back that we’ve got the presentation covered.
I try to take comfort in the fact that Tad seems confident that I can do this. Of course, I seem confident, too. It’s just that I know I’m faking it.
By the time I make it home, I have three voice messages from Thea arranging our plans for my makeover tomorrow. I have over a dozen texts from Keegan’s mom, as well as a rant from Reb that starts with the address of the salon and ends with a tirade about what kind of lingerie would be appropriate for a female assassin.
I also have texts from Keegan. I answer those first, keeping my tone light and breezy. He’s texted me multiple times this week to confirm our plans for the weekend, and though I've answered them all, I can tell I’m being weird even if he hasn’t called me on it.
This gala is looming over me. I know our date isn’t aromanticdate, but all the prep work leading up to it makes it feel momentous. I could text in a hurricane, and it still wouldn’t feel breezy enough to balance out this ... I don’t even know what to call these flurries in my belly.
I spend the evening sketching while the original Star Wars trilogy plays in the background. Every time Vader is on screen, I close my eyes and imagine him having a stutter.
At bedtime, I try to get into a romance novel from my favorite author, Kat Baxter, who writes these fun, amazing insta-love romances.
Tonight, they aren’t working for me. I love the idea that some hot, growly alpha hero could take one look at a curvy, nerdy girl like me and fall head over heels. Normally, that fantasy is totally my jam, but tonight, it feels like entering a danger zone to entertain those kinds of fantasies.
While he’s not usually growly, he’s definitely hot. The first time we met, I asked him if he was related to Kurt Cobain. After that, I could barely stand to meet his gaze. The first six weeks of our relationship involved a lot—even for me—of stammering, flushed cheeks, and hiding behind whatever tall object was nearest when I ran into him.
We might never have become friends if there hadn’t been an incident involving a dying rat and me getting locked out of my room wearing only a towel. Keegan came to my rescue, loaning me a pair of sweatpants. And he let me stay in his room overnight while the rat finished dying in my room. Yes, that’s how bad the co-op was. Once a month, the super put out rat poison, and then it was like the set of a Shakespearian tragedy for rodents.
The next morning, Keegan picked the lock to my room and disposed of the rat’s corpse. And we’ve been friends ever since.
So is he hot? Yes. Does he have all kinds of mad, manly skills that make my girly parts swoon? Also, yes. Did I imagine myself in love with him for a while? Sadly, also yes.
Is he the source of all of my hard-earned wisdom regarding how hot-guys-don’t-fall-for-me?
The less said about that topic, the better.
Suffice it to say, I don’t have any illusions that this makeover Thea is planning will snag any man’s attention. I learned a long time ago how to compartmentalize my fantasy life from my real life.
I keep swiping, looking for something to read that’s a little less relatable, and a lot moreatypicallyspicy.
