"Nearly ready, promise!" Tom's voice called from the loo.

I 'hmm'ed in response as I turned another page in my book.

I sat comfortably on his bed with my back pressed against the wooden headboard and my legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles.

"I'm serious, I just—"

"You take longer to get ready than I do," I murmured just loud enough for him to hear me through the open doorway.

We had stayed out late the night before, eventually parting around three and agreeing to meet the next morning for a quick breakfast before he accompanied me to a reading. Tom had insisted on walking me back to the room I was renting, and, in exchange, I offered to pick him up from his hotel in the morning. He had happily agreed, and I had shown up at 7:30 am to find Tom attempting to blink the sleep from his eyes while wearing tantalizingly short boxers and nothing else.

It had been a challenge to tear my eyes away from his broad chest and the soft V of muscles running down his abdomen, but as he quickly washed up and found some clothes, I somehow managed to do just that. I plopped down on the still-warm bed and cracked open the book I had brought along, staring at the pages as if I could make out the words while my mind still roamed over the memory of his nearly naked body.

"I highly doubt that," he scoffed. "Besides, I had to shower!"

"Whatever you say, dear!" I sang in retort.

I waited, but Tom said nothing. Satisfied, I imagined him grinning to himself in the mirror.

We hadn't agreed to an 'official status,' as Trisha would call it, but after Tom and my conversation last night, I felt confident it was forthcoming if not already implied. Either way, it was enough for me.

I hadn't been looking for anything serious when I'd met Tom, and despite how wonderful he was in every way, I still wasn't looking to jump into a serious commitment. It's not that I didn't want a relationship with him—quite the opposite, really.

Meeting Tom that day in Flannigan's had been a complete surprise and the ease with which he fit into my life equally so. Even still... I wanted to know him more before I let myself form any serious attachments. I feared I was running short on time, though, as each day I could feel more and more of my heart give way to him.

Yesterday, when I first saw Tom standing in the middle of the road, I thought my heart was going to physically break out of my ribcage. Still, another part of me had been scared—not of his unexpected presence, but rather, of his unexpected jealousy. It had been quiet—so quiet at first I hadn't noticed it—then as it stewed it grew more and more pronounced, seemingly overtaking his entire being from his words to his mannerisms.

It reminded me of a past life I would have preferred to forget.

I turned another page and, as I did, my phone chirped with a text message. Without taking my eyes off my book, I picked up my phone from the bedside table and brought it into my line of vision.

Have you told her yet?! Just bloody get it over w/ you coward!

I reread the message, utterly confused, and then glanced up at the name of the sender. I instinctively threw the phone to the other side of the bed, cursing.

"Em, you okay?"

Tom's head appeared in the doorway. I scrambled off the bed, away from the treacherous device. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"

His face fell into a concerned frown as the rest of his body appeared. "What's wrong?"

"Cynthia texted you and I, well we have the same ringtone and I..."

"Oh," his features relaxed slightly only to contort again as his eyes bulged. In a second, Tom had crossed the room and snatched up his phone. "Oh."

I began to twist and tug on my fingers as I watched him read the text message, his face growing paler with each passing moment.

Eventually, I cleared my throat. "Tom... is there something you want to tell me?"

"Not particularly," he muttered not lifting his eyes from the small screen.

"Okay..." I anxiously looked around the room and spied my purse still hanging from the post at the foot of the bed. I took a deep breath and walked over toward it. "Shall we go then?" I asked as I slung the strap over my shoulder.

Tom slid his phone into his back pocket and sighed. "Emma, wait—"

"Oh thank god!" I exclaimed as I unceremoniously dropped my purse on the floor and myself onto the edge of the bed.

Tom smiled at that but then grimaced slightly as he raked his fingers through his hair. "Well..."

I balled my hands into fists, suddenly uneasy. I had never seen Tom truly nervous. Sure he had been shy around me and still tended to be coy when talking about his work, but I had never seen him truly afraid to tell me something.

"Tom? Is something the matter?" I swallowed, "You're not sick or something... are you?"

He shut his eyes and shook his head. "No, of course not."

"And I'm assuming you sister isn't insisting you confess your deep dark secret..."

At that, his eyes flew open wide.

I flashed him what I hoped was a reassuring smirk. "That you really are imaginary?"

He loosed a breath. "No—"

"Then what's so awful you have to confess it to me?"

"How I feel about you!"

I merely lifted my eyebrows.

His eyes bulged further in panic if that were even possible. "Which isn't awful! Christ, but my delivery is."

I watched him carefully as he pressed his knuckles into his forehead. "Cynthia wants you to tell me how you feel about me?"

He froze momentarily and then nodded.

I attempted to smooth out my skirt in order to hide my interest. "And how do you feel?"

Tom said nothing, so eventually, I glanced up at him. He blinked, my attention pulling him back from somewhere. "Lost for words."

"Try... for me," I added with a smile.

He took me in with his eyes before answering.

"Happy," he said slowly, "whenever I'm around you a-and excited when I know I'm going to see you soon..." He swallowed, causing his Adam's apple to bob slightly. "Nauseous whenever you smile because whoever started the whole 'butterflies' thing was way underselling it. It's like all of my major organs have taken up trapeze.

"Sad," he continued. "Whenever you're sad, though that doesn't seem too often. Thoroughly entertained whenever you're telling a story because you can never help acting it out." He spoke quicker now, his words tumbling from his lips like water off a cliff. "Equal parts fascinated and turned on whenever you go off about something you've read. Turned on when you do anything, really."

A blush crept across Tom's face. He kicked his toes against the soft carpet before pivoting and seating himself beside me on the bed.

"Scared," he said quietly, "because I haven't felt this way in a long... ever, and I don't want to muck it up."

I said nothing as he spoke. I hardly even breathed. My lungs stilled, as did every nerve in my body, as his words washed over me. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing, and in all honesty, I had no idea what to say. So I listened.

Eventually, the tumble of words stopped, and Tom's ragged breathing was the only sound between us.

"So, Ms. Henderson," he finally asked down at his hands folded in his lap, "what's your review?"

I still couldn't find the right words, so I did the only thing I could think of—the only thing that felt right.

Slowly, I lifted my hand to his cheek and pressed it softly with my palm, steering his lips toward mine. They were as inviting as I remembered, soft to the touch and slightly wet as they parted.

His tongue flicked along the inside of my lips before delving deeper. I bit down on it gently and giggled at the faint hiss it evoked from him. At my laughter, his hands moved down my sides and under the hem of my blouse. I was on top of him in an instant. My hands immediately flew to his hair, combing through his thick locks before working themselves farther down. I undid the buttons along the front of his shirt, leaving a trail of kisses as I did.

Tom groaned and leaned back slightly to help me reach the last two. Then, he slid out of the sleeves and chucked the garment into a heap of fabric across the room. When he went to grab me by the waist, I pressed my strength against his chest urging him onto his back. He acquiesced, and I slowly lowered myself on top of him.