“That’s not a good idea.”
That’s the understatement of the century.
“Then let me buy you a drink.”
“From where?” I look around the empty rooftop with a chuckle, expecting that to be the end of it.
But he doesn’t let it go. He nods in the direction of the stairwell. “There’s a bar on the ground level. And two or three more in the hotel next door.”
For the briefest moment, I'm tempted. My inner Meg-from-a-week-ago is practically screaming at me for what I'm about to do ... that Meg is practically a different person. Because the Meg after Saturday? The Meg who's looking forward to her not-a-date like it's senior prom with the prom king? She's the one who has to answer. And I hope like hell I'm not going to regret this.
At least, if I let him down gently now, there might be a possibility of snagging that drink later, for when I finally get over this horrible, stupid crush on Keegan. And hey ... it can't hurt to be friends with your boss, right?
How the hell do I even begin to answer that question? I could blow him off. Or I could be honest. And maybe if I am, I’ll actually get to know Reid a little. Maybe if I’m honest, this won’t be as weird later.
“No,” I say simply, closing the door to a future ... anything.
I hate what it means for me, for my heart, that I can’t imagine going on a date with Reid. Not now and not in the future, even if nothing happens between me and Keegan.
Still, when I think about everything going on between me and Keegan. About how he kissed me the other day outside his condo. About how perfect and right it felt to be in his arms, even though he’s supposed to be my best friend and I’m not supposed to think about being in his arms at all.
We aren’t an item. I know that. I’m not a total imbecile. But, damn it all to hell, I have feelings for my best friend. Non-platonic feelings. And even though he doesn’t feel the same way, I couldn’t possibly start something with anyone else while feeling so confused about Keegan.
Especially not with myboss,who doesn’t even know who I really am.
“I should go,” I say again, and this time I sound like I mean it.
I turn and leave, practically running for the stairs.
But what am I running from? The awkwardness of my boss flirting with me? Or the fact that I wish it was Keegan?
chapterfifteen
The next afternoon,Reb and Thea show up at my house to help me get ready for the gala. I’m still flustered and confused about the conversation with Reid last night on the rooftop, despite my stalwart attempts to put the entire thing out of my head and get work done all morning. Stalwart, but fruitless attempts.
Despite the lack of progress on the new presentation I have to get ready for Monday, I’m determined to have fun at the gala. A fun, relaxing, and (most importantly) platonic evening with my best friend is exactly what I need. After all, I have all day Sunday to work.
Once the girls arrive, Thea takes over organizing my new work clothes in my walk-in closet. Even though I assure her I hung them up when I got home on Thursday, she wants to verify that my organization is up to her standards. I have a sneaking suspicion she is going to hide some of my “morally gray” outfits, or possibly even chuck them altogether.
Reb connects to the Bluetooth speaker in my bathroom and pulls up a playlist on Spotify. It’s one that Keegan made for me when we first started hanging out and realized we both love post-punk eighties music. A few minutes later, Siouxsie and the Banshees are playing and Thea is telling us about the time she met Morrissey.
Once I’m dressed and freshly caffeinated, Thea helps with my hair. But Reb and Thea are exactly zero help when it comes to helping with my makeup. Thea’s a permanent makeup aficionado—complete with tattooed eyeliner, lash extensions, and bi-annual lip blushing. While Reb either wears no makeup and looks like she’s twelve or wears a ton of makeup and looks like she’s twelve, but going through an emo stage. With Reb, there is no in between. Still, they stay with me, offering helpful tips, and by the time I’ve done my makeup, I feel good about it.
No matter how often I tell myself that tonight is just one friend doing a favor for another friend, it still feels like a date.
Probably because I haven’t gone on an actual date in what feels like years. And, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve never been on a date like this.
When Keegan shows up at my door, I wish I had spent a little more time preparing myself. As if the past few hours, somehow, weren’t enough to live up to how utterly stunning Keegan looks right now.
Intellectually, I know he’s rich; therefore, I can assume he knows how to dress for a gala. But the thing about being his best friend for all these years? Our relationship is casual. I’ve seen him in swim trunks, ripped jeans and ratty, old T-shirts. I’ve seen him sweat-stained and covered in mud. But I’ve never seen him in a suit.
I was not prepared for the sight of him in a suit.
One summer, after all his offers to bring me to Hawaii, I consented to a trip to South Padre. That week, the sight of Keegan in board shorts nearly killed me. I feigned a crippling fear of sun cancer and bought him a swim shirt with SPF 50 just to protect me from the sight of his abs.
If I thought those board shorts were bad, this is so much worse. The dove gray suit looks like it was made just for him. Of course, it probably was. When you roll in McQuade level circles, bespoke suits are expected.
The suit is linen, the shirt underneath a pale shade of teal.
