Roomies

Chapter 2: Moved In

As the light filters through my curtains, the smell of food is coming from my kitchen. Correction - our kitchen. I groan, not willing to face my new roommate this morning.

It's been a week since Tom moved in. I can't say it has been horrible. At least, not completely, totally horrible. Still, it is awkward to say the least.

I have owned my little bungalow for about two years now. It feels like my personal haven, my fortress of solitude if you will. Now it's been invaded by an interloper who loves Disney movies and is way too chipper in the morning.

I grab a hoodie and slip it over my tank top and pajamas shorts as I head to the kitchen. I also spend the few seconds it takes to walk from my bedroom reminding myself not to punch Tom as soon as I see his adorable, smiling face. After all, there's something wrong with a person who loves mornings this much.

"Good morning!" Tom says with a huge smile as he adjusts his glasses that have slid down his nose. I look at him with the one eye I've managed to open, and I notice he's dressed in his usual morning sweat bottoms and v-neck white t-shirt. "Coffee first," I grumble.

"Right," Tom says, turning slightly to pick up the cup he's prepared, holding it out to me like it's an offering to a beast. It's black with lots of sugar, just the way I like it. I take a sip, close my eyes and moan in pleasure. Tom looks a bit embarrassed at my reaction, and he turns toward the counter to continue preparing breakfast. I lean against the opposite counter and study him from behind.

He hasn't changed much in the time I've known him. Scratch that. Actually, Tom's gotten hotter. His looks have matured. Gone are the boyish curls, replaced with a haircut that is close-cropped on the sides and just a few curls on top. His cheekbones have become more prominent, and I've noticed that there's a bit of a bump in the bridge of his nose I hadn't seen before, only adding to his aristocratic features. All this along with the recent developments of his lats and obliques, and his still strong thighs and ass make Tom a fine specimen indeed.

"So, Sarah, I'm making extra scrambled egg whites for you. You must start eating healthy in the mornings. I worry you're not getting proper nutrition," he says, turning back toward me while yet again pushing up his glasses.

"As you wish, Mum," I reply, taking my coffee to flop down at the table. Tom chuckles at my response but says nothing.

He plates my eggs, bringing them to me with a bit of pico de gallo to add some spice to breakfast. He turns to get his own plate and tea, then sits next to me. I take a bite of my eggs, and Tom looks at me expectantly. "They're good," I say before taking another bite.

Tom smiles at my response and starts his usual morning chipper chatter. "I knew you'd like them. I've been working on the spices. No salt, mind you. We all eat way too much salt as it is. No, I just add onion powder and just a hint of curry to enhance the flavor. I think those work best, though the curry may be a bit odd in pairing with onion. Well, I think they go together just fine, thank you very much. It's just... Oh bloody fucking hell, I've forgotten the toast!"

I smile at Tom's rear as he walks to the counter where he's left the toast. I look away quickly, not wanting to get caught ogling him.

"There we are. Would you like jam?" he asks, placing the toast on the table.

"No, thank you," I say.

Tom sits again and finally begins eating his breakfast, scrolling through email on his tablet while his knee bounces under the table. I grab a piece of toast after finishing my eggs and take a bite before speaking.

"So, don't you like to run or something?" I ask swallowing my toast, finally feeling awake after my coffee. The breakfast helped, too, though I'd never admit this to Tom. Next thing you know, he'd have me eating something really healthy like steel cut oatmeal or soy-based gelatinous-free yogurt, and we can't have that.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Where did you hear that?"

"I don't know. From Chris?" I say, though I think I heard it back when I used to fangirl over Tom.

"Right. That makes sense. Well, I thought it important that you and I establish a domestic routine first."

"Domestic routine?"

"Yes...spend a bit of time together in the morning, getting to know each other better and such. You know, in order to start things off on the right foot."

"Tom, we've known each other for years. Just how did you expect us to get to know each other better?" I ask, waggling my eyebrows at Tom.

"Obviously not in the sort of way you're implying," he responds, looking away and blushing slightly. I swear, sometimes I wonder if Tom is a virgin. Don't get me wrong - I know Tom knows about sex. After all, if there's a dirty joke, Tom can tell it. He may be terrible at telling regular jokes, but there's something amazing that happens when Tom tells a dirty joke. Maybe it's his accent or the fact that, to look at him, he seems all proper and gentlemanly, but by the time he says the punchline, you're blushing all shades of red and laughing like its the funniest thing you've ever heard.

No, I know Tom has it in him to be a bit naughty, if you will. I'm not sure why he reacts this way when I even mention intimacy between us. I mean, it's not like I'm coming on to him or anything - it's just comes up from time to time in conversation or in jest. And Tom pretty much reacts the same way he is now - looking away and blushing. Maybe he just doesn't see me that way. I mean, I know I'm not as hot as his leading ladies, but I don't think I'm chopped liver either.

At 5'5", I'm neither short nor tall. My hair is long and somewhat wavy, but I wouldn't call it luxurious. I think my blue eyes are a nice contrast to my brunette hair, though neither are remarkable. I have curves, but they're not perfect - a bit too much in the hips and ass, I think. Maybe that's it - I'm just so normal, so boring in appearance that Tom just doesn't notice me. I don't know why, but that bugs me just a little. I huff at my thoughts.

"Something wrong, Sarah?"

"No, nothing. Just thinking about my day," I say, standing to take my plate and cup to the sink. Tom stands quickly, taking them from my hands to carry them to the sink along with his own. As he's done the other mornings this week, he rinses the dishes and places them on a towel to dry.

"You know you don't have to do this, Tom."

"Do what?"

"Make my breakfast. Do my dishes." I say, waving my hands around the kitchen in a dismissive manner.

"But I enjoy doing these things for you, Sarah," he says with a bit of pain in his eyes. I forget how easily Tom's feelings can be hurt about things such as this, so I walk toward him and give him a hug. Tom hugs me back, stooping slightly as if I'm an elf and he's Santa.

"I'm sorry. That was rude of me. I really do appreciate all you've done...all you're doing...to make this transition easier for me," I say, pulling back slightly to look into Tom's eyes. "It's all very kind and sweet," I finish, but I'm thinking anything but kind and sweet thoughts as I glance at his lips. Suddenly, the hug feels as if it's gotten a bit awkward so I pull away.

"Uh...so anyway...thank you," I say, smiling a stupid smile and turning to walk to my bedroom. I hear Tom say behind me, "It's my pleasure, Sarah."