Chapter TwentyKeaton
By some miracle, Slate and I make it to the group brunch without tearing each other’s clothes off again. Even more improbable is the fact that we arrive before Karina and Gabby.
As we enter the diner, I rake my fingers through my s*x hair in an attempt to tame it. After the third impossible knot, I give up. I can’t hide the evidence of how I spent my morning. I wish I was twenty again, when putting my hair up in a messy bun was still public appropriate.
Fuck it. Up it goes.
“I thought for sure we were going to be late.” I pile my hair on my head without the help of a mirror to guide me, hoping I look presentable. But that’s the best part about my new relationship with Slate. He knows me. He’s seen me at my worst. And still, he loves me.
Our usual booth by the far
