I want to tell you, Monday at the office was exactly as chaotic as I'd predicted it would be. Derek predictively had not kept quiet over the weekend, and by the time I got to my desk, I was fielding a steady stream of knowing looks and not so subtle questions from co-workers who'd clearly heard some version of the pool table story. most of it accurate, though a few embellished details had crept in along the way. One co-orker apparently under the impression that Hannah and I had been secretly dating for months already, which neither of us bothered correcting, mostly because it was easier than explaining the actual, more mundane truth. Hannah and I had agreed beforehand to keep things professional at work, regardless of what happened outside of it. And for the most part, we managed that pretty well.
Though there were definitely moments over those first few weeks where maintaining that professional boundary took real deliberate effort, especially once we'd actually started dating in earnest, and the temptation to just casually acknowledge it during the workday kept creeping in. Our first real date happened that Saturday, dinner at a place downtown. And it carried this interesting blend of total familiarity since we'd known each other professionally for 2 years already and genuine newness since we were exploring an entirely different dimension of that familiarity for the first time. We talked more openly than we ever had at work about our actual lives outside the office. her family back in Ohio, my own complicated relationship with my dad, both of us discovering all these layers underneath the version of each other we'd only ever seen in conference rooms and office happy hours. I remember one detail from that first date pretty vividly, actually, because it ended up becoming a running joke between us for months afterward.
About halfway through dinner, Hannah set down her fork and said, "I need to confess something about that pool game." More confessions. I feel like the bar has already been raised pretty high after I've been noticing you for six months. This one's more embarrassing, actually. That bank shot, the one I bet on, I've made that exact shot maybe one out of every five times I've ever attempted it.
It is not a reliable shot for me at all. I basically bet a kiss on something closer to a coin flip. I nearly choked on my food, laughing. You're telling me the entire wager was a gamble? You had what?
A 20% chance of actually winning? Generously 20%, yes. I got extremely lucky and I've been quietly grateful about it ever since. Because if I'd missed, I would have had to sit there and actually follow through on owing you a kiss instead of the other way around. And I don't think I would have had the nerve to go through with it if the shoe had been on the other foot.
So, the whole thing was basically a coin flip you got lucky on? Basically, yes. Though, I'd like to think the universe was rooting for us given the odds. That confession became something of a running bit between us over the following months. This whole exaggerated mythology building up around the shot.