‘So, your mum really doesn’t like me?’ Devon notes, more than asks with his head tilted to the ceiling, his neck resting on the back of the couch. I chuckle, a delirious, tired sort of chuckle. ‘I thought out of the two of us, I was her favourite growing up?’ he adds, making me laugh harder. I elbow him in his ribs.
‘Hey! You wish. You were the bad influence. You may have been able to sweet-talk her occasionally back then but I had being her only child in my favour, kind of, she had to like me a little.’ I say through my giggles. ‘And you lost more points when you left. I think she thought it would be great for her and I to bond, maybe have some girl time together but I was miserable and angry about everything for a long time. I could probably try a little harder; go to the salon, allow her to pamper me rather than cut my own hair, but the thing about walls is that once you’ve built them, they’re not very easy to knock down,’ I add, my giggles having subsided; my thoughts pouring out of me without fear. ‘Oh gosh, I’m turning into you. What are you doing to me?’ I say out loud, again without thinking, the giggles creeping up my throat once more.
Devon is looking at me, soft concentration on his face, eyes slightly narrowed, a smile tugging at those rosy lips.
‘What?’ I say, shoving him lazily.
‘I don’t think that wall is as sturdy as you think. And what’s wrong with turning into me? I am pretty fantastic you know,’ he replies, going from serious to playful by the end of his sentence, which I know full well is to stop me freaking out and dwelling on his “wall not being sturdy” statement. It works. I rest my head on his shoulder, tuck my feet up to the side of me and give in to my sleepy eyes, closing them tight while a smile dances on my lips.
‘I know,’ I whisper, referring to Devon and his being rather wonderful. Of course, I’d known that when I was a kid and saying it now despite all we’ve been though still feels right. I’ve only had a handful of men join me on my couch over the years and this is the first time I’m not picking at my nails nervously or rambling about the kind of fish flakes that Ed likes. Not that Devon is like those men because this evening hasn’t been a date, but the thought makes me smile so much that I succumb to the land of nod.
16
I wriggle my body, burying myself deeper into the warmth of my bed, arching my back into the curve of my duvet. My cheek tingles against my pillow, the scent of it inviting and delicious. I move my hand up underneath it wanting to wrap myself up in its cosiness when instead of smooth fabric connecting with my fingers, I feel a smooth palm and a sizzle beneath my skin when long fingers interlock with mine. I hear a low grumble from behind me.
My eyes dart open as my brain starts to compute the situation I am in. Am I using Devon’s forearm as a pillow? Are Devon and I holding hands? And holy moly, did I just wriggle my butt against Devon’s crotch region? My mind is screaming at me to jump off the couch and get a safe distance away from the superhero currently spooning me on my couch, but my body is deceiving every signal my brain is giving it and does not want to move.
I lie still as Devon begins to stir; one arm moves tighter around my waist and pulls me closer to him. His foot moves up my calf, his toes gently nudge my tights, my skin heats everywhere with his caressing movements. My heart starts beating to the rhythm of John Williams’ ‘Love Theme’ from Superman. Oh gosh, really? I can’t breathe. My hips involuntarily twist into him, making his hand drift along my stomach. I need to wake him. I carefully manoeuvre myself, prying my fingers out of Devon’s grip, so I am on my back, then turn my head to gaze up at him. He looks handsome when he sleeps; peaceful and content with a little morning five o’clock shadow defining his jawline.
Before I can open my mouth, his eyelashes flutter and I am greeted by his rich brown eyes that sparkle almost caramel under the sun’s morning glow through the window. I expect him to freak out and sit up in shock, but he doesn’t move. I follow his gaze as he looks over the length of my body, that is snug against his, his hand resting on the base of my torso and back up to my face. His eyes linger on my lips first and then meet mine once more. The arm under my head shifts slightly as I feel his fingers in my now-frizzy hair.
‘Morning,’ he says lazily, as a smile curves at his lips. The huskiness in his voice and the way he moves, keeping me close, deliberately now that he’s awake and staring right at me, catches me off guard. The way he looks at me stirs something deep in my belly. I don’t feel judged by his eyes – they always hold such warmth, but why isn’t he freaking out? And why am I still in his arms? I should have moved by now. He’s awake; getting up will not disturb him.
‘D?’ I whisper, but my thought process is cut off as his hand plays with my hair that meets my collarbone and my body tingles. He’s delicate in his movements causing my stupid body to shiver with pleasure.
‘Scar?’ Devon croaks. I make a noise, too distracted to speak. ‘Did you just groan?’ At what point did I close my eyes again? When I open them, Devon is wearing a teasing smirk and somewhere in the distance my alarm clock starts ringing. I roll off the couch, hit the wooden floor, bounce up onto my feet and throw a cushion at Devon’s head.
‘Put the kettle on please. I need to shower and get ready for work,’ I shout as I take the stairs two at a time.
*
We don’t talk about this morning’s wake-up call when I enter the kitchen. Devon simply hands me my coffee, made just the way I like it, then we both excuse ourselves – Devon remembering he has an early interview and me needing to get to the office.
I’m in my chair just as the clock strikes nine a.m. and it’s only then I realise Hope’s not sat behind her desk. She rushes in wafting papers in her hands five minutes later as I’m booting up my laptop and looking over the day’s mail.
‘Is it just me who gets the paper jammed every time I touch that machine?’ Hope asks as she settles behind her desk. I usually do the photocopying for her and I’m usually a little earlier than I was today. My cheeks flush and I feel bad for my tardiness – see this is why Hope needs me. She has more important things to do than dealing with photocopier malfunctions.
‘It is, yes, and I’m sorry. Did you need me to copy some things for you?’ I reply, tucking my hair behind my ear.
Hope stops shuffling her papers and actually stops working for a moment to look at me.
‘No, no I’ve got it. I’m a big girl; I can figure out the photocopier,’ she says taking her glasses off and chewing on the frame, elbows propped up on her desk. ‘How is the gingerbread house coming along and where were you last night? Jess said he saw Devon leaving your house this morning.’ She slides the last statement in in a more mumbling tone.
My face contorts into a huge grin at the mention of the gingerbread house; I feel it’s my best work yet and can’t wait to share it with her.
‘It’s looking amazing and so festive; I think everyone is going to love it,’ I answer, before clicking my mouse over my emails and pulling my eye contact away from Hope.
‘I’m sure it’s gorgeous. I can’t wait to see it. And the what did you and Devon get up to last night part of that question?’ she urges raising a brow.