Alone Together

Tom exhaled deeply, perfecting his downward-facing dog on the carpet in Scarlett’s upstairs living room. He had just finished an hour-long yoga session and was now he feeling quite loose, like a knot that had come undone. He lazily extracted himself from his last pose, stretching until he heard the audible protest of his spine.

Tom raised his head as a shadow appeared before him. His lips fell ajar ever-so-slightly, his gaze falling on a bedraggled Elliott. Tom stared openly.

Her delicate, heart-shaped face was creased with marks from her pillow cover. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses were perched crookedly on the bridge of her nose. The loose collar of her red-checked flannel had fallen away from her shoulder, exposing a protruding clavicle.

Half of Elliott’s disheveled locks were pressed to her skull and the rest were sticking up haphazardly. Tom found the look strangely attractive. “Look who’s finally up,” he teased, hands on hips.

Elliott let out a disbelieving scoff. “It’s eight in the morning,” she pointed out, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Most people consider this to be pretty early.” She eyed the rubber-trimmed yoga mat lying at Tom’s feet. “I didn't know you did yoga.”

“It’s tremendously relaxing,” Tom enthused. “You should try it with me sometime.” Tom shrugged nonchalantly, hoping the eagerness he was feeling was not apparent.

Elliott grimaced. “Not my thing,” she confessed, “I’m more of a runner.”

Tom’s eyes lit up upon hearing those words. He could see Elliott as a runner. She had long, lithe legs that had to have come from years and years of track and field in high school.

“I’m a runner as well!” he exclaimed excitedly. “You should come with me tomorrow; I’d love to have some company during my morning jog.” Tom smiled his most charismatic smile, hoping it would coerce Elliott into joining him.

“If you promise not to smile like that ever again, I’ll come.” One of the corners of Elliott’s mouth had turned up, forming a soft curve in her lips. Another almost-grin.

“I solemnly swear,” Tom promised. He held three slender fingers up in scout’s honor.

Elliott just shook her head, smirking. “So how long have you been up?”

“I’ve been up since five.” Tom absently stroked his clean-shaven chin. “I went for a five-mile jog, made breakfast for Scarlett before she went out, took a quick shower, and then I decided to do some yoga.”

Tom failed to mention how he had woken up with a killer hangover. Scarlett had left a couple of Advil and a glass of water on his nightstand after finding a near-empty bottle of pinot noir lying on her living room carpet the night before. Tom had painstakingly cooked her a delicious breakfast (consisting of chocolate-chip buttermilk pancakes and strawberry-soaked crepes) in apology.

Elliott coyly arched an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.” Her vintage horn-rims were teetering precariously on the tip of her nose. Tom felt an overwhelming urge to adjust them. He stuffed his hands into his pockets to stifle the compulsion.

“Nice glasses,” Tom commented casually.

Elliott’s fingers flew to the hinges of her spectacles. “Yeah, I ran out of contacts, so I’m stuck with these,” she sighed. She removed the glasses from her face and eyed them with disdain.

“They make you look smart,” Tom offered, combing his fingers through his slightly-damp curls.

Elliott cocked her head to the side. “Do I normally look dumb?” She looked far more amused than offended.

“Sorry,” Tom laughed heartily, “I suppose it’s more an English saying. I meant to say that you look nice.” Elliott blinked at Tom for a moment before ducking her head, her dark hair falling over her face. Tom didn’t miss the faint pink that bloomed in her cheeks. He grinned triumphantly.

“I’m gonna go have breakfast,” Scarlett mumbled quietly, getting the hell out of dodge. Tom chuckled softly, retrieving his yoga mat from the carpet and rolling it into a neon-colored tube. He inhaled, the strong aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting into living room. Tom heard Elliott utter something just as the toaster popped up.

Tom paused his sea-creature CD so he was able to hear. “Pardon?” he called out.

“Did you get lucky last night? With the Swedish ginger?”

Tom froze, the easy smile on his face crumpling. He had been hoping Elliott would neglect to ask him about that. Just when he had managed to get the night before out of his head, it had been brought back again. His recollection of the evening prior was fuzzy around the edges from the excessive amount of alcohol he had consumed. He could, however, remember being aggressively hit on by a certain redhead.

At one point, Tom was certain Maja had tried to force herself on him. Before the situation had become too inappropriate, Tom had sent Maja home in a cab. When he had called her earlier that morning, he had been sent straight to voice-mail.

Tom’s grip on his yoga mat tightened, his knuckles turning white. He let go, and the thing fell to the ground with a dull thud as he briskly marched into the kitchen.

“Why do you think I would’ve slept with Maja?” Tom blurted out, sounding far more impatient than he would’ve liked. “I sent her home after you went to bed.”

Elliott turned away from her burnt piece of toast and glanced innocently at Tom. “She was all over you and you didn’t seem to mind,” she replied coolly, “I figured it was a fair assumption.”

Tom’s scrutinizing blue eyes searched her own. It took everything in Elliott not to be the first to avert her gaze.

Tom felt his face grow hot with anger and embarrassment. Already, he had given off the impression that he was some womanizing Lothario, and for some reason, Tom was really concerned with what Elliott thought of him.

“I am nothing if not professional,” Tom stated in a sharp tone. He mustered up the conviction he was lacking and admitted, “ I got absolutely pissed yesterday and had a moment of weakness, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to behave myself. I’d never sleep with someone I work with, let alone someone I just met.”

Elliott didn’t respond, silently returning to her charred toast. This proved to irritate Tom even further, forcing him to add, “Even if I had slept with Maja, which I never would have, it would be no business of your own. That kind of thing is private.”

Elliott whirled around, finding that Tom had edged a bit closer to her. Despite having been on a jog not long before, he smelled clean, like Woolite or Ivory soap. It was dizzying.

Determined not to lose her composure, she raised an eyebrow challengingly and retorted, “I didn't realize it was such a sensitive topic.”

Tom sneered, arms crossed. “How would you like it if I pried about your personal life?”

“Go right ahead. Ask me anything you like,” Elliott replied. She visibly braced herself, anticipating the worst.

Tom made a thoughtful noise, softly musing. Elliott began to squirm, and he asked, “Why didn’t you come to the bar yesterday?”

Elliott faltered for a second. “I don’t drink,” she then declared, sounding sure of herself. Tom narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn’t reveal anything else. When Tom finally decided that he couldn’t tell if she was being truthful or not, he asked another question.

“How serious are you and Kyle?”

Tom watched the blood drain from Elliott’s already-pale features. “Scarlett told you about him? When?” she demanded agitatedly. Tom bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling; Elliott looked quite sexy when she was angry.

“At the bar. She’d had quite a few drinks in her system, though, so you can’t blame her. Now answer the question.”

Elliott sighed begrudgingly. “I don’t know what Kyle and I are,” she said, her words sounding tired. Tom’s expression softened, and Elliott volleyed a scowl back at him.

“Are you done?” she asked exasperatedly.

“No.” Tom couldn’t stop his final inquiry from slipping out from under his tongue. “Why do you care so much whether I slept with someone or not? I mean, why should my sexual activity be of any interest to you?”

Elliott didn’t have the chance to come up with a clever retort. Tom gasped, a shocking revelation suddenly overcoming him. “You’re jealous,” he said in hushed voice, not meaning to say it out aloud. He mentally punched himself. In the dick. Over and over again.

Elliott’s eyes widened to the size of golf balls and her jaw went slack, her lovely crimson mouth falling open. For a moment, she wavered, and her eyes flashed with something that disappeared much too quickly for Tom to determine what it might have been.

“You, Mister Hiddleston, must have quite the ego,” she began in a frighteningly calm voice, “to think I would ever be even remotely attracted to a conceited, narcissistic ass like you.” She then pursed her lips, grabbed her plate of half-eaten toast, and stepped around Tom to storm out of the kitchen.

Tom didn’t react until he heard a door slam in the distance. He slowly approached the refrigerator and grasped either side of it before thumping his forehead against it repeatedly. Thunk...thunk...thunk.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself.