As for the not-liking-change stuff ... tell me this, whodoeslike change?
Still, I wish change didn’t make me feel quite so panicky.
I wish that the morning after having sex with Keegan for the first time, I could wake up, warm and content with his arm thrown over my waist, and just enjoy the sensation. I could wallow in the luxury of amazing orgasms and post-coital bliss, instead of waking up with a knot of dread in my belly and a brain full of racing thoughts.
I try to fall back asleep, because getting up before six on a Sunday seems borderline psychotic. I do some deep breathing exercises, but every time I inhale, my skin brushes against Keegan’s arm. Because I’m in bed with Keegan. Because I slept with my best friend. And that seems scary and life altering. In reality, I’m paralyzed by that fear, but in my gut all I want to do is hold on to Keegan and never let go.
Keegan has been so much to me, and now it feels like he’s my everything. How the hell am I supposed to live up to that for him? It’s a stupid fantasy, and I need to start thinking straight. So I shove aside those thoughts and try to do that thing where you imagine warm, relaxing water lapping at your feet. Except my blankets are already too hot. Probably because I’m not used to having another body in bed with me. And the fact that I do and that it’s Keegan ...
If I had my phone, I might even have been able to ease myself back to sleep by watching relaxing videos of Flemish Giant rabbits or something. But my phone is downstairs, still my clutch from last night. And I don’t think I can get it without waking up Keegan. Because he’s in bed with me. Because I slept with my best friend. And ... You can probably see where this is going.
The undeniable, unignorable truth is that last night Keegan and I slept together. And it was amazing. Definitely the best sex of my life. (Mostly because apparently I hadn’t known how good sex could be.) But now, in the cold hard light of day ... okay, not day ... in the cold hard semi-light of six thirteen, I don’t know how to do a morning after with Keegan.
What does this mean?
How is it going to affect our friendship?
What if I ruined everything?
How is it that he and I lived in the same apartment for three years and I don’t know how to act around him in the morning?
All I know is that I can’t just lay here, quietly panicking until he wakes up. Because the longer I lay here, the more likely I am to be a crazy, neurotic nutjob by the time he wakes up.
So I quietly slip out of bed and sneak off to the shower to devise a plan. Well, wash my hair and devise a plan.
Clearly, step one of said plan is that I need to carve out some emotional distance between Keegan and I, ASAP. And physical distance wouldn’t hurt either.
It’s not until I’m out of the shower and drying off that I even remember that I’m supposed to spend the day working on the new presentation for Butler Appliances. And I haven’t even thought about work in the past twelve hours.
And that moment, that right there, is the moment the knot of anxiety in my belly blossoms into full-blown panic.
Maybe sleeping with Keegan was a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’ve taken a risk and ruined our entire friendship. Or maybe everything will work out okay.
But no matter what happens with him, I’ve made a bigger mistake. I’ve let myself get distracted by my relationship with him. This presentation is happening on Monday. The fate of my career hangs in the balance. If I pull this off, Forester+Blake will have a new client, our biggest client, all because of my work.
Snagging a client like Butler Appliance is the kind of thing that can make your career. Blowing it could ruin mine.
The fact that I haven’t even thought about the Butler account in the past twelve hours is a sign I’m in way over my head. Risking my friendship with Keegan is bad enough. Risking my career is unthinkable.
But it’s okay. I can regroup from here. I just have to work all day and come up with a fabulous idea. That way, I’ll have something to present to Matt and Reid in the morning before the big meeting with Butler in the afternoon.
Once I’m out of the shower, I brush my teeth and throw my still damp hair up into a sloppy bun. Yes, my hair is different, but once I twist it into a bun, the lighter color is hardly noticeable.
I throw on one of my normal potato sack dresses. No one else will be in the office on a Sunday, so it doesn’t matter how I look. By the time I return to the bedroom, Keegan is awake and sitting up in bed, with his elbows wedged behind him, the sheet pooling at his waist to reveal those impressive muscles I drooled over last night. His gaze rakes over me and he flashes me a crooked smile, one full of fondness and 100% smirk free. He pushes back against the headboard and raises a hand to shove his hair out of his face.
“Good morning.” His voice is low and gravelly from sleep, and I’m instantly thrown back to those years we lived together, when I heard that just-woke-up voice of his all the time.
Back then, college Meg would have never imagined that someday grown Meg would ever hear that voice in a morning-after-context. Or that voice groaning her name.
Damn it! This is not helping.
For a moment, I’m struck mute. But I clear my throat and offer a vague, but somehow still awkward.
“Heyyy.”
I’m not turned on. I’m not turned on. I’m not turned on.
Keegan holds out a hand, gesturing me back to the bed. “Hey, Glasses.”
