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The walls throughout the house are painted the same midgray tone. Except this room. The living room is a darker gray. Cavernous with floor-to-ceiling black curtains blocking out any light from outside. Oak beams have been added to the ceiling and down the length of one wall. An oak-and-black-steel-framed bookshelf consumes the wall behind the L-shaped couch. The shelving unit decorated with small, green plants in black pots, stacked books, an eclectic wire-framed lamp with an Edison bulb, and several other statuesque knickknacks.
The L-shaped gray couch has pillowy cushions, an array of monochrome throw pillows, and a gray-and-black blanket draped over the back near the chaise. Two wooden block tables sit in the center of the room, wheels on the base, candles in the center, a drawer on one side, bolts and antique hinges and leather straps at the joints. A light tweed rug blankets the floor. Across from the couch is a black-painted brick fireplace, unburned logs on the grate, the mantel matching the oak beams. Above the fireplace, mounted to the wall, is the largest television I have seen in a home.
Devlyn doesn’t strike me as someone to sit in front of the television for hours on end. But who the hell knows. We still have so much to learn about each other. Maybe Devlyn is a closet binge-watcher. Up all hours of the night, glued to endless episodes on Netflix.
Devlyn digs through the table drawer, turns on the television, then hands me the remote. “How about you find us something to watch and I’ll go get us fresh drinks.” I take the remote, his fingers grazing mine in the process. Heat sizzles my fingers, my forearm, my blood. No doubt my cheeks are crimson. He swallows and slowly retracts his hand. “Any requests? Water, hot tea, beer, cola.”
“A beer would be great. Thanks.”
The moment Devlyn exits the room, I drag in a deep breath.
Jesus, Reed. Get a hold of yourself.
Alcohol isn’t something I partake in often, but maybe a beer will help settle my anxiety. While Devlyn fetches drinks, I surf Netflix. Would help if I knew what Devlyn likes and dislikes watching. I have no die-hard preferences and will give any show or movie a shot. With how creative Devlyn is, I assume the same of him.
After scrolling past far too many romantic movies, I scan the Netflix original series list and stumble uponDark. Reznor, from the tattoo shop, raved about the show during one of our Sunday night gatherings.
Watching a mystery with Devlyn sounds a hell of a lot safer than anything else.Darkit is.
“You find something?” Devlyn asks as he walks back in and hands me a brown bottle.
Glancing down at the label, I laugh. “Interesting.” His brows lift. “You just happen to have Japanese beer in the fridge. Like you planned this.”
Devlyn sips his own beer as his eyes dart up in an unspoken answer. I laugh internally as I lift the bottle to my lips. The smooth, rich malt rolls over my tongue and cools my throat on the way down.
He probably planned this on his way home and stopped at the store. Don’t overthink it.
“So… what are we watching?”
Oh. Right. “Since I wasn’t sure of your taste, I picked something a friend recommended.Dark.Have you watched it?”
He shakes his head and twists to see the show synopsis on the screen. Sipping his beer, he nods. “Sounds interesting.”
Next up on the list of awkward events… where do we sit on the couch?
The plush corner couch easily seats six with wiggle room. If this were my couch, I’d sit centered with the television. Which is probably where Devlyn sits when in here. I don’t want to take his seat.
Should I sit in the corner spot? It’s probably the most comfortable. But would I come off as distant if I sat there and Devlyn sat two seats away? Maybe I sit one off from the center. Then I appear close, but not to the point of crowding him.
Why the hell is it so damn hard to figure where to sit? Why am I overthinking couch space and seating arrangements?
Because you’re in Devlyn’s home. In a dark room with minimal lighting. About to have the most intimate moment between the two of you.
Ugh!
It may only be dinner and a show, but this is themostintimate span of time we have shared. Out in public, the looks and conversations we exchange don’t feel as cozy or profound. In public, disruption is inevitable. It’s easier to take a step back, to shy away from his stares when I can pretend something has caught my attention.
Here, in his home, all that disappears. The security blanket of distractions vanishes.
Devlyn takes a seat exactly where I knew he would, sets his beer on a coaster on the table, then pats the seat next to him.
Seriously, who is this guy?
“I won’t bite.” A smirk tips up the corner of his mouth as he fails to hide a light chuckle. “Promise.”
What if I want him to bite?
Shut. Up. Shelly.
