We allowed ourselves a few minutes to spoon before getting up and scrambling around each other, trying to get ready for work. He’d managed to squeeze in a shower while I blew out my hair, and afterward, had no choice but to dress in his clothes from the previous evening. I kept wondering how he was going to show up at the office in his casual attire without raising suspicions. He’d all but be announcing the fact that he never made it home the night before. The rumor mill would have had a field day, putting two and two together, realizing that I was the last person to be seen with him.
When I finally asked him about his clothes, he assured me that his driver would have a clean shirt waiting for him in the car, and could he interest me in a ride to work? I originally considered taking him up on his offer, thinking that he could drop me off a block away from our building so that we wouldn’t be seen showing up together, but then dismissed the idea. There was no way I was willing to chance getting busted by one of our coworkers, causing gossip to spread like wildfire.
He understood, but wasn’t pleased with my rebuff. “Well, then, can I see you tonight?”
I looked at him, with his sexy, unshaved chin and his shower-damp, finger-combed hair, and resisted the urge to throw him back into my bed. “Devin, I’m not really sure that this is a good idea.”
“What’s that?”
“You and I... dating.” It was the least vulgar way I could describe what had happened between us the night before.
But Devin hadn’t read into my word choice and instead took me literally. “I happen to think that you and I dating is a fantastic idea.” He put his arms around me and pulled me against his chest before continuing, “And one that has been long overdue, in my humble opinion.”
I was shocked, but flattered that Devin was looking forward to more than just a roll in the hay with me. But it was certainly going to make for some high risk at the office.
We spent the better part of the next year in a casual relationship, indulging in the occasional date, but mostly just kicking our flirtations up a notch. We had to be fairly stealth about it, which was draining and nerve-wracking, but in truth, I have to admit, was mostly just exciting. I loved the thrill of him sneaking up behind me in the breakroom, feeling him quickly running a hand down my arm or sidling up against my back, risking a stolen moment away from the prying eyes of our coworkers. I loved the way he would come over to my desk in the middle of the day, turning his back toward Sleestak and engaging me in work-related conversation; his tone professional, but the expression on his face leering and sensual. Deliberately trying to throw me off guard like we were playing some sort of game.
A whole year of that! A whole year of trying to keep things casual, only going out on the intermittent date, the occasional capitulating romp between the sheets. One night after such a cave-in, Devin lay in my bed, out of breath and defeated. He looked over at me and just said, “This is ridiculous, Layla. Can’t you see how good we are together?”
I’d thought a lot about how if I’d met Devin under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have been so wary of being in a relationship with him. Fact was, he was right. We really were good together. He was a great guy, we had a lot of fun, and the sex was pretty damned amazing. We’d started seeing each other more regularly after that night, but even still, I never considered us a legitimate couple.
I guess, that is, until he popped the question a year later.
We were just sitting on the couch at his apartment on a not-quite-random Wednesday night. It had been two years to the day since the first night we’d slept together, the date we unofficially considered our anniversary.
We were enjoying a bottle of wine in acknowledgement of our special day, when all of a sudden, a tiny, square box appeared on the coffee table. I sat there staring at the thing, not registering what it was doing there, when Devin laughed, “Well, are you going to open it or what?”
I snapped out of my trance enough to reach out and take the polished wooden box in my hands. When I creaked the lid, I saw the sparkling, round diamond in its yellow-gold setting.
If I’m going to be honest, I’d like to explain that I was in a bit of a daze looking at the thing. So, my first reaction—I’m ashamed to admit—was to think, yellow gold?
I never realized until that moment that I must have pictured myself wearing something a little less obvious, a little more vintage, most definitely a lot more silver in color... and certainly not until many, many years from then.
But there was Devin, just sitting there beaming, his handsome face split nearly in half with a huge grin and asking me to marry him. I was stunned, and my head was swirling with questions—How would we tell our coworkers? What was my father going to think?—but of course I said yes. I’d spent two whole years just kind of floating through the relationship, but I guess Devin had been taking things more seriously than I’d given him credit for.
In my defense, it was kind of hard to think of us as a real couple when the main basis for our relationship was hiding out from the whole rest of the world. My own father had only met Devin a handful of times over the years, and I still, two days later, hadn’t been able to find a way to tell him about the engagement.