We stay perfectly professional the whole entire dinner, which is hard for me because I’m slowly starting to boil. It goes from a slow simmer, tiny bubbles breaking the surface, to all out boiling turmoil in my head. It might be the whisky. Tom orders another double halfway through the meal, and a strange competitive streak rings through me, urging me to do the same. He’s ordering Glenfiddich, and I’m sure it’s expensive but he doesn’t seem to care, and so neither do I. I’ll spend my entire salary on blasted Scotch, drinking him under the table and he can go stuff himself.
“Thirsty?” He murmurs into my ear, while the rest of our company is distracted, engaged in a conversation about the architecture of the building. I’m a bit too fuzzy headed to really be interested in that at the moment.
“Parched. Absolutely parched.” I raise an eyebrow at him. He slips his arm behind me, resting it on the back of the booth. I’m far too aware of it, the way his sleeve brushes against my shoulders every once in awhile if I move too far back.
“How are you, Gracie?” He asks, his eyes lowered. I raise my chin slightly, and brace myself, wanting to push back. It’s been over six months since we’ve last spoken. I’ve spent a lot of time trying not to think of him. A lot of time convincing myself I wasn’t in love with him, but simply in lust with him. We hardly knew each other, right? We knew what we liked, but we didn’t know each other.
I had let the words “I’m tired of you” roll over and over through my mind. I let it seep into the little cracks of my brain, and deep in my heart. It wasn’t love I’d felt for him. I had convinced myself of that. Infatuation, friendship, and of course a rather healthy, bone rattling dose of lust. If I’d ever been in love with Tom, I wasn’t anymore.
“I’m good. Were you drinking Glenfiddich the last time I saw you, too?” I shoot at him. Tom coughs softly, swallowing his drink the wrong way. I turn my head just slightly to look at him, and then turn my focus back on the group.
“No, that was tequila.” I hear him mumble beside me. “Tequila and I are not good friends.” I don’t answer, but turn back to Bernard, who is describing something about plumbing in old buildings. I pretend it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard, smiling and nodding my head, trying to ignore Tom.
The night creeps along, and before I know it, it’s nearly midnight. I’ve been tense for most of the dinner, and the effects of traveling all day have caught up with me. That and the whiskey.
“Boys, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to the hotel.” I say, just after the men have ordered yet another round of drinks. They are all getting along splendidly, as if they aren’t near strangers, but old friends.
“Good night, dear. We’ll meet tomorrow morning around half ten to go to the site. Does that sound good?” Bernard rises, giving me a quick hug. I nod, waving a quick goodbye to Johnathan and Marcel.
“Yes, sounds good,” I agree. “Take it easy, boys.” I say with a quick smile, and then turn to where Tom is standing. He slips out of the booth, so I can leave.
“I’ll walk you.” He puts a hand at the small of my back.
“I’m fine.” I say softly, not wanting to cause a scene. I turn and catch his eye. Tom gives me a stern look, and I can tell I’m not going to talk him out of it.
“Tom, make sure she gets back safe, will you, chap? Join us for another drink after?” Bernard asks. Tom smiles warmly, and I can still feel his hand on my back. I step away, slipping my arms into my sweater, knowing it will be cool outside.
“I think I’m going to retire for the night, gentlemen.” He says with charm and apology.
“Tomorrow, then.” Marcel raises his glass to Tom, biding us goodnight.
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Hello Again (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)
FanfictionTwo people meet under the conditions of a one night stand. The only thing they didn't realize, was that their lives would be intertwined, their relationship changed by family, friendship, and a constant, unyielding pull toward one another. This is t...
