I wasn’t a sucker, not by a long shot. As a retired boxer and current physics professor I’d learned to build up a thick skin, both literally and figuratively. But, damn if she didn’t make my knees weak when I saw her.

My girlfriend of 2 years leaned over the wooden vanity, applying mascara to her already long lashes, her equally long hair falling over her exposed back of her tight red dress that hugged her curves so perfectly that it almost made me want to say fuck it to the very expensive reservation I’d made at the restaurant we were to attend tonight. I distracted myself by adjusting my cuffs to my black suit, forcing myself to stick to the plan. For months, I’d been preparing this proposal, from how the tone of my voice would sound and even how I’d put my hands. Not that it’d matter much—little details like that meant everything to me but she was completely oblivious to anything like that, often being spontaneous and notorious for not being able to focus on one thing for more than a second; that all was fine though, the less she noticed my nervousness, the better.

My gaze lifted back to her form, now spraying perfume on herself—Jesus, she’s really as beautiful as they come…I could stare at her for hours and never get tired.

Actually, nah, I’m totally a sucker.

“You ready yet, gorgeous?”

I murmured, coming behind her and wrapping my arms around to the front her waist, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the base of her neck, her sweet vanilla perfume filling my nose.