Chapter 15
To say Tom was on edge would be an understatement of catastrophic proportions. Four books laid scattered around the leather sofa, illustrating his inability to stick to any one topic this evening. Even Bobby, who would typically be splayed out in utter peace, had picked up the habit of pacing since his owner hadn’t been able to sit still since his failed attempt at contacting you this evening.
“What was I supposed to do, Bobs?” he questioned the pup with nothing but a head tilt as a response. “Was it a tad melodramatic? Perhaps. Did it have whispers of Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge, begging for the beautiful woman to not sleep with the despicable man?” Tom paused his pacing to look towards his companion. “Perhaps that analogy was melodramatic as well. You’re right.”
Several hours ago, he had stripped of his working attire for the day and had replaced it all with a pair of worn joggers that had seen better days and a navy blue thermal, also having seen better days as little frayed edges and holes donned it. He hadn’t received any sort of reply from you to let him know you would call him this evening. That didn’t stop Tom from making a cup of coffee as midnight came and passed for him.
When his phone began to ring, the volume had been turned to the max setting and startled both pup and owner in the process. There was no way he was going to miss this call. No. He was going to put it all out on the table. Let the chips fall where they may. Plucking the phone from the coffee table, an abundance of curses escaped his lips at the exact moment he dropped the phone on the floor. This was off to a marvelous start.
“Hello?” he shouted out into the phone, bringing it to his ear.
A silence that felt like an eternity ended with a calm and cold, “hello.” That simple word changed the entire tone of the conversation. Were you still displeased with him? He couldn’t allow his excitement at hearing your voice be so very evident. You obviously weren’t pleased to hear from him. He had to play this out smartly. What Tom didn’t know—you were beyond nervous and trying as hard as you could to put on this act of repose. Neither of you realized that your calm demeanors sparked the icy tone in one another.
“How was your evening?” asked Tom, adjusting his glasses and very quickly tucking a free hand underneath his arms.
“Fine. Yours?” you replied in a terse form.
Brows furrowed at the tone you possessed, igniting a passive aggressive quality in Tom’s words as well. “Pleasant enough.”
His night was pleasant? Wait—so he wasn’t out of his mind with worry? He didn’t need to speak to you? Your voice hitched, betraying your sense of calm. “Oh, pleasant, hm?”
“Yes.” That was all he could say without letting on that it was anything but pleasant.
“I take it you had a good time at dinner?” An edge now formed at the height of the question, as if you assumed he had been off doing unspeakable things to anyone that passed him by. He had never met someone that could say so much without actually saying it at all.
The mature way to handle this was to explain exactly how sickening his night had been once the chaos of the day settled and all he was left with were thoughts of you. He should have been honest. Instead—he found himself irrevocably jealous at what you could have been doing this night. “It was pleasant. Your date? Was it pleasant?”
“Is that the only word you know now? Pleasant? Or was the conversation merely pleasant tonight? Nothing engaging?” Your jab was duly noted.
“I had perfectly stimulating conversations this evening.” And he knew exactly what he had said and to whom he had said it just now.
A pause. “Did you say stimulating?”
“I did.”
“Ah. Well then,” you replied evenly. “I would say we are even. I was properly stimulated tonight as well.”
Fuck. “Through conversation, I take it?”
“Sure.”
“I trust your ex is well?”
“Sounds like you wish the opposite.”
“I won’t be upset if he meets an untimely demise during a minacious meeting with a Jaguar.”
“The animal?”
“Sure.”
Tensions were rising with each conversational dagger, no longer under the guise of calm and collected dialogue. Rather, the two of you were using passive aggressive politeness as a means to express your jealousy. Well, that was quickly beginning to vanish…
“So what, you’re threatening now? An ocean apart and that’s how you’re going to handle things?” you shot back, stripped of all social niceties.
“As opposed to how you handle it all? Rather than telling me how you feel, you make plans to see your ex boyfriend. Ah, yes. You’re right. That’s handled remarkably better!” Tom countered, the pacing continuing once more.
“He’s a friend! At least I only threw myself at one person today!” the echo of your hand slamming down on your dining room table coming through the speaker. “Oh, darling! You’re glowing! It’s so good to see you. Kiss kiss! Kiss kiss!” your terrible impression of Tom doing very little to dissolve the anger boiling in each of you.
“Is that what this is about? I dare greet a friend whom I haven’t seen in person in months with any sort of affection—”
“It’s darling this and darling that. You’re positively radiant!” you kept on becoming more dramatic with each line as you two practically spoke on top of each other.
“Sophia’s pregnant! Of course I’m going to comment on how beautiful she looks,” he added, searching for the words to make you understand, but it appeared that bringing up the fact that he found another woman to be beautiful was not the right move at this particular time. Did you not realize that even without seeing you, he thought you were the most beautiful woman in existence? That would have been great to lead with…
“The interviewers? The crew members? You have to love the behind the scenes shots of some of these interviews. All of them were able to get that Hiddleston charm.”
Tom was indescribably thankful that you hadn’t mentioned the long legged, blonde. There must have been some mercy in this agonizing moment. There was no way he would survive your wrath if you had seen the way the blonde had looked at him. However—it was then that a thought first popped into his mind. The first realization of it all day long, although for anyone else looking in, they would have seen it instantly.
“Are you—jealous?” The word seemed foreign on his lips, having not thought it was an option before. Jealousy implied that you wished to have that attention on you. It implied that you wanted him for yourself… It implied—
“Ha! Jealous?” you laughed into the phone, but there was something there. Fear? Had you been caught? You couldn’t sit still, not when he so blatantly called you out on your feelings. You had to move.
In a rush fueled by adrenaline, you propped your phone up against a stack of books on your table. You hit the speaker phone function, giving you the flexibility to push in your chair and pace before the table.
“I’m not at all jealous,” throwing your hands into the air. “You have a life. You’re allowed to have a life.”
“Um…love?”
“If you want to spend your time throwing yourself at anything that walks by, it’s not my place to tell you otherwise.”
“You’ve hit—”
“You’re obviously an affectionate person. That’s who you are,” a tiny break in your anger, but unable to stop your movements. “Do I wish that I was the only one you called darling? Maybe. That has nothing to do with jealousy though! Darling is just a term of endearment. Terms of endearment are usually used with those you’re—you know, fond of…”
“Darling…”
“Not that I expect you to be fond of me—but, I would hope that you are, since I’m…I—,” your heart felt as though it would beat out of your chest at any given moment. You were rambling, even though you had the entire car ride home to think about how you were going to tell this man how you felt. Now here you were, pacing in your one bedroom apartment, acting like an absolute fool…
“I am absolutely jealous. I have no right to be, but I am. I am and that’s all there is to it. I want to be the only one you call darling. I want you to be smiling because of me—not some random interviewer that casually tries to make a pass at you. I want to make a pass at you. Oh this isn’t coming out right—this isn’t—Fuck, and you’ve gone silent now. So, you’re probably thinking to yourself that this woman is certifiably insane. All of the crazy is just spewing out. Yeah. This is me. I’ve developed feelings for a man I’ve never met before, who lives an ocean away—I don’t even have a passport. Isn’t that great? Feelings for a guy I can’t even meet. And you’re still silent. Maybe you’ve even hung up on me—”
In all of your ranting and raving, arms flying about, performing your ineloquent soliloquy, you finally stopped yourself to look at the phone—verifying if Tom had indeed hung up on you.
Instead of seeing the elapsed time of the phone call, you were greeted by the glasses clad, bearded face, absolutely mad hair, of a goofy grinning gentleman. Upon seeing your reaction, Tom broke out into a laugh which he hoped would cover-up the traces of tears that had been forming in the corners of his eyes.
“You hit the facetime button,” was all the explanation he had to give, the smile never faltering from his face.
You were absolutely frozen in place. All of you was in full view, luckily still wearing your outfit from the earlier date. Jeans that hugged the curve of your hips (and not to mention your ass that Tom likely saw as you paced like a mad woman). A blouse that hid the bits you wanted hidden, but showed off your breasts that were held up by the ample padding of an overpriced bra. You had thrown your hair up into a messy bun as soon as you had gotten into your car earlier. It seemed to match your make-up smeared face that would have looked better before your crying jag at your ex’s house.
And Tom could see it all. Everything you were afraid of—everything you were self conscious of…It was all right there.
“First things first,” Tom announced, taking a more serious note to his voice. “—you’ll be needing a passport.”