Chapter TwoSlate
For a moment after my alarm goes off, I wonder if last night’s conversation with Keaton was just some bizarre dream. But her words are right there in my text message history. How about you stop making jokes and help me become a better lover?
And then my not-so-eloquent response . . . You want me to teach you how to f**k?
I wince a little at the exchange, but then decide it doesn’t matter. I’ve always been 100 percent myself around Keaton, which includes my lack of filter, and I’m certainly not about to change now. Not after a solid ten years of friendship. She obviously accepts me as I am, crass and all.
I shave, shower, and dress on autopilot, trying not to overthink it. There’s no point jumping the gun here. We need to sit down and hash this out before we do anything
