The Yes Factor

by Erin Spencer

  Oh my God, it’s like I’m seventeen again!

  “Thanks for your concern, Opal, but I’ll be just fine. I have on long sleeves and it’s a nice night.” I pull Devon by the hand in the direction of the truck.

  “Well, don’t stay out too late!” she screeches at my back. “Come see me when you get home. I want to know how it goes. I’ll just be up watching House Hunters!”

  “Bye, Opal.” I wave and hop up into the passenger seat while Devon holds the car door open for me.

  We drive north on the PCH, my hand still in Devon’s, and I can’t help but laugh out loud.

  “House Hunters? Please! She’ll be up spying through the curtains, that’s what she’ll be doing! Alphabet soup.”

  “Alphabet soup?” Devon says.

  “She’s LAPD, CIA, and FBI all in one!” I say, as I’ve said dozens of times before to my friends and to Maddie, who’d be rolling her eyes, but never before to Devon. It’s a thrill to talk to someone who hasn’t heard all of my stories yet; an attentive audience of one who will laugh at my tired jokes and anecdotes because he’s never heard them before. I shimmer with the hope that this newness brings, that makes me feel witty and fresh.

  It is like I’m seventeen again. I’m reminded of my first date with Steve Tyrrell, my high school boyfriend, when he came to pick me up in his burnt-orange Chevy. God, what a beater that thing was! It was a miracle we’d even backed out of my parents’ driveway. Once on the open road, we rolled down the windows and drove for miles, scream-singing Tom Petty songs and feeling like we were flying as the truck kicked up dust on the country roads. We parked behind the abandoned barn on the Schill’s property and made out to a symphony of cicadas. Steve got me home five minutes before my midnight curfew because he didn’t want to give my parents any excuse to keep me from seeing him again.

  The tragedy of youth is not knowing how good you have it. How simple it all is, before the rush of life and work, kids, and making ends meet. Yet, as I sit next to Devon, so many years after that first date in high school, and the hard road I’ve traveled since, I appreciate how good this actually is. How even though my life is complicated, this moment still feels simple and right. I look at Devon’s left hand on the wheel, and his right hand in mine, his gaze focused on the road, relaxed and serene. I think to myself, I want this feeling forever. I want him forever.

  I’m no psychic and the fact is, I’m not even Devon’s girlfriend yet. But I don’t care. Sometimes you just have a feeling you can’t deny. The thought doesn’t even scare me. It might scare him if I said it out loud, so I won’t. I’ll keep it secret in my heart, for now, and just enjoy the ride.

  Hours later, lounging on a large quilt on a Malibu bluff overlooking the sparkling ocean, Devon wraps his arms around me as we watch the sun sink below the blue horizon. A short hike and an incredible picnic dinner beats any high-end LA restaurant.

  Devon has definitely wowed me with this date. I flipped through so many scenarios in my mind of what it would be like and never thought of this one. It has all been an adventure—the picturesque walk through the tall reedy grass, the seamless conversation, the cold crisp bottle of wine—Devon did not disappoint. I couldn’t have imagined a better first date.

  “So, Bex, what’s your dream trip? Where do you want to go to the most in the entire world?” Devon whispers into my ear.

  I sink into him, my mind racing through all the places I’ve wanted to go. I’ve always dreamed of going to Bali and staying in one of those glass bottom huts over the water, watching the ocean life swim below. I’ve wanted to go to Greenland, I have no idea why or what’s there, but it seems like a strange place and I want to see it. I want to go to Austria and run through the mountains singing “The Hills are Alive!” The world is so big and there is just so much to see and do. I haven’t done any of those things. Mostly because I don’t have the money or the time, but also because I wouldn’t want to do it alone.

  “Machu Picchu. I want to do that four-day trek and on the final day at sunrise step into that magical space between heaven and earth,” I say, the wanderlust hanging heavy in my voice.

  Devon sits up. “Let’s do it!” I raise my eyebrow skeptically. “What? Let’s do it!” he continues. “There’s about a month of summer left, let’s take Maddie and Chloe and hike thru Peru!” I start laughing, equally astonished and excited by the idea. Devon’s laughing too. “I know I sound insane. I mean, we just met…” His laughter trails off and he’s suddenly quiet as he looks me directly in the eye. “We’ve just met, but I have this feeling…” He doesn’t finish his sentence but I nod slowly. I know the feeling.

  I want to call Liv right now and scream again, You did it! You did it! Thank God she knows me better than I know myself.

  “I know what you mean.” I lean forward ever so slightly, spellbound by his magnetism. His eyes haven’t strayed from mine and his hand moves gently to the back of my neck like the brush of a feather. I melt into the moment, the intensity of it sinking into my bones and muscles. There is stillness. There is my heartbeat. And there is Devon.

  Meeting him halfway, our lips only just touching…we breathe. Then magic. Just like he promised.

  “Do you want to come in?” I say to Devon, stealing a quick glance over to Opal’s house, making sure she isn’t about to pounce.

  Devon seems a little nervous. “Are you sure? I don’t want to overstay my welcome, but I don’t really want the night to end either.”

  He stuffs his hands into his back pockets, which makes his chest look even broader in his long-sleeved tee. I can practically see the air sizzle between us, charged full of nerves and anticipation. There’s no reason to rush a good thing, but then again, I’ve been living in a romance desert, so I’m ready for a downpour.

  Sitting on the couch with our hands wrapped around my no-stem wineglasses, our banter has carried us into the night. My beloved Ingraham mantle clock reads 10:36 p.m. and even after an action-packed week with Liv, there is not a bone in my body that is tired. Although, the bedroom doesn’t exactly sound like a bad idea.

  Devon is recounting the last Christmas he spent with his extended family in New Orleans. “Yeah, so then, it’s time for dessert. The much-awaited chocolate pie that my mom has made from scratch every year since the day I was born, and her mother made from scratch every year before that. It’s an incredible pie, and she makes three just so everybody can have two slices.”

  “Sounds delicious!”

  “So, Mom starts slicing the pie and passing the plates around, and one by one we each dig into our pie. And you see everyone kinda grimace and look at each other like—” Devon makes his eyes go wide with a WTF expression.

  “Oh God! What? What happened?” I’m already half laughing because I know this is going to end badly.

  “There was a layer of wax paper between the filling and the pie crust, and the crust was completely raw. We totally busted her for store-bought crusts! All these years ‘from scratch,’ busted! She was mortified but insisted we eat the filling like a chocolate pudding.” He is laughing and shaking his head in remembrance and I’m grinning at him, loving everything about this man and this moment. “My family will never let her live that one down!”

  Devon pauses, and then his eyes meet mine. The room stills in a moment of reverence as he puts down his wineglass. My own glass had been drained and set aside during his story so my empty hands fidget as I nervously rub the dry skin of my cuticles, trying to calm my reawakened nerves.

  We’re facing each other on the couch and the room seems to spin away. I know what’s coming and I feel like I might burst. I’m torn between wanting to rush things, to feel him now but also wanting everything to slow down, for this moment to be frozen in time so I can savor the delicious anticipation.

  Devon reaches out his strong hand to trail his fingers alongside my face, and my lips part with lust as I lean into his hand. He tilts his head forward to graze his lips across my neck, gently inhaling me. His lips are so ligh
t that I’m silently begging for him to devour me, but at the same time I want to see how our rhythm builds naturally. I moan as his lips continue their journey across my neck, up behind my ear. He inhales the scent of me and rustles my hair as he takes my hair out of the confines of a ponytail. God, this feels so good. I could do just this for hours but the pressure building inside me is too powerful. My breath shortens in anticipation as his lips come closer to mine again. We kissed on the cliff earlier tonight, but that felt tame and sweet, a tentative first touch, a testing of the fire. Now that we’re alone in the privacy of my home, I want to go further. I want our spark to build into flames. I’ve never wanted anyone this badly and my body is lighting up with need.

  I slowly stretch out my legs and lean back onto the couch, my mouth drawing him down with me. The energy of his body on mine. I wrap one leg around him, yearning to bring my hips closer to his, wanting to feel if he’s as turned on as I am. I’m pulsing with need and close my eyes as our kiss deepens, his tongue in an adagio with mine. I want this dance to go further and my couch, which is feeling smaller by the minute, is not the stage for our performance. As I adjust my legs and wrap my arms tighter around him, Devon ungracefully falls off the couch, just barely missing the coffee table. I laugh then shriek when I realize he’s grabbed on to my shirt and is pulling me down on top of him.

  “Well, looks like Pottery Barn lied. This couch isn’t big enough for two people!” I laugh out. “Come on.” I awkwardly get back on my feet. I reach out my hand, and leaning back, use all my strength to pull him up to a standing position. I lose my breath again, feeling small beside his towering magnificence. I step into his body, pressing my breasts to his chest and look up at his lips before meeting his glowing dark eyes. I’m exploding with a potent combination of nerves and lust as I grab on to the waistband of his jeans. “Let’s go upstairs,” I whisper.

  He agrees, not with words, but with his hands, his breath, his lips crushing mine.

  Okay, Bex. He is amazing; you are ready for this and it’s gonna be incredible. I left Devon panting on my bed, fully clothed, excusing myself to the bathroom for a quick pep talk, and pee. It’s not that I don’t want to do this, God, I really want to do this, but I need a moment to check in with myself, and to check that I still have some condoms stashed away in that small Estee Lauder makeup bag I got as a free gift from Macy’s years ago. Yes! They’re still there, and they’re not expired. Thank goodness this is happening now and not in two months!

  There was a time in my life when I thought sex on the first date was slutty. Overall, reckless and wild. But I’m my own woman, damn it, and I haven’t had sex in years. Years! I’m old enough to decide who I want to have sex with and when. I may have acted somewhat impulsively with Mr. Oscar Mayer Felon a few days ago, but even then, I knew what I was getting into and I knew my limits. But this is different. Devon feels like something real. This is not a dating experiment. This is not a “Just Say Yes” moment that I’m talking myself into. I’m checking in with my heart about this and my heart, and my lady bits, want Devon with a red-hot burning need.

  I take a small swish of Listerine, pull off my top and adjust my modest Victoria’s Secret bra for maximum cleavage before I turn off the bathroom light and open the door. There’s a glow from the full moon and the streetlights, so I don’t need to turn on my bedside lamp. Devon is sitting on the edge of my bed, a powerful silhouette focused on me.

  “Takeoffyourshirt,” I whisper to him seductively, streaming the words together in a sexy command.

  “What?” he sounds a bit affronted and doesn’t make a move.

  I say it louder this time while trying to keep the sexiness in my voice, “Takeoffyourshirt.” I’m loving this bossy side of me! I feel like a dominating sex kitten and slink over to him. I read a scene like this in a romance novel once and thought it was so hot. But it is kind of hard to sexy-whisper loud enough for someone to hear it across the room.

  “Bex, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would you say that?” Devon’s face is scrunched up in confusion. The guy in the romance novel definitely didn’t respond like that.

  I stop in my tracks, suddenly feeling nervous and embarrassed about the situation. I give him a puzzled look. “Why would I say what?”

  “Why would you say ‘dick, you’re assured’? I thought things were going well, but this is kind of strange.” He moves to stand up. “Maybe I should just go.”

  “No! Wait, don’t go! I was saying ‘take off your shirt.’” I enunciate every syllable, this time in a loud and clear voice, the opposite of my sexy-whisper. “You know, trying to have you do a sexy strip thing? Trying to be a seductive, sexy woman in charge? I don’t know.” I cross my arms over my cleavage, trying to shield myself from the embarrassment. “Like, trying to…act like…I know what I’m doing.”

  Devon breaks out into a full-on belly laugh. He can hardly keep himself upright, he’s laughing so hard. I sink even further into my shame. “I feel stupid. I’m sorry.”

  He pulls himself together and reaches for my hand, pulling me between his thighs. “Bex, it’s okay. Don’t apologize. I’m flattered by what you were trying to do, but I think the point is, you don’t have to try. You don’t need to act sexy because you are sexy.”

  I close my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how the hell he could think I’m sexy after all this. I feel like an awkward teenager who’s never even kissed someone. “Bex, it’s okay. Everything you are is enough. Let’s just relax and do what comes naturally and give each other some grace. It’s been a long time for the both of us.” With that, I feel his strong arms embrace me as he lies back on the bed and pulls me on top of him. We instantly bump heads, and this time I burst out laughing.

  “Weren’t you just saying something about ‘grace’?” I tease, and he laughs good-naturedly. I rub my forehead and roll to the side, reveling at the sight of his smile in the moonlight. There is a pause. And the proverbial “reset button” is pressed.

  Devon kisses me deeply, then slowly peels his shirt off. My white sheets makes his skin stand out in a beautiful contrast. His kiss feels warm and magnetic—I can’t get enough.

  After a passionate make-out session, our clothing eventually disappears and we lose ourselves in each other.

  “Bex, you are a treasure.”

  Devon had to get up early and head home, but not before he ravished me again, for the third time, I should add. It may have been over four years since I’ve had a roll in the hay, but I have a feeling that Devon and I will make up for that lost time pretty quickly.

  After he left, I didn’t shower right away, wanting his smell to linger on my skin for a little while longer. I get chills just thinking of his body next to mine, and the memory of his touch makes me weak with desire. And now, I’m having trouble focusing on the matter at hand, which is making my morning coffee. I’m floating around the kitchen in a groggy, gleeful post magic glow, relishing the memory of Devon all over me.

  As the coffee machine brews a steaming gurgle of coffee, I reach for my phone to text Liv. I know she’s probably landed in London by now, and I’m dying to share my news with her.

  Hope ur flight was good! My flight was prob better! Devon sent me into orbit. I haven’t landed yet! Call me! Must give BIG report! Hahaha!

  Love you

  Miss you already

  Thank you for being a friend. You always show up right when I need you.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  High Dive

  LIV

  The crash of the service trolley into the back of my seat jolts me awake. I blink into the bright light of morning, looking around at my fellow passengers who are placidly hunched over their tray tables, eating cold, chewy croissants, and sipping glowing orange juice. There’s no way I could have slept the whole flight. I have a new respect for the ’50s housewife drug of choice and wonder how hard it’ll be to get a valium prescription in London.

  I try to get the attention of a flight at
tendant so I can have a cup of coffee, but she’s already sweeping through the cabin, dumping half-eaten breakfasts into the trash and hurriedly preparing for landing.

  I peer out the window as we start the descent in to Heathrow, leaning forward to see beyond my window seat neighbor who’s reading the inflight magazine, every passenger’s last ditch effort to stay occupied before giving up and catatonically staring at the seat in front.

  She puts the magazine down in her lap and pushes the window screen up all the way.

  “There, now you can see what a beautiful English morning we’re coming home to,” she says with gentle sarcasm in a Queen Mother accent. “Are you looking forward to seeing Adam?” She gives me a little wink.

  “Adam?”

  “You were saying his name in your sleep. Sounds like somebody’s going to have quite the reunion today.”

  “Oh, uh…Yes.” I’m at a total loss for words. I’ve been valium-high-altitude-sleep-talking about Adam! Maybe she didn’t hear me right.

  As we taxi to the gate, the captain’s reassuring voice booms, “Welcome to London, folks. As you can see, we’ve got light rain. Temperature of about sixty degrees Fahrenheit, fifteen degrees Celsius. You may now use your mobile devices.”

  Against a symphony of seat belts unsnapping, and chiming devices, I check my phone. A string of messages from Bex pops up, starting with:

  Hope ur flight was good! My flight was prob better! Devon sent me into orbit.

  Good on you, Bex. I smile and give a silent high five across the ocean. Then I stand up to get my carry-on bag from the overhead bin and join the shuffling line of passengers waiting to leave the plane, each one on their own journey—to rush for a connecting flight, to look for a chauffeur holding a sign with their name on it, or to be met by a partner, maybe even with flowers. And my journey…? I’m bouncing up and down on the high dive, getting ready to jump.