Page 44 of Broken Heart Syndrome
‘No idea about what?’
He had leaned into me and touched his lips behind my ear on the other side to his hand. I could feel his stubble rough against my skin. My pulse was beating wildly and I shivered.
‘No idea about how beautiful you are,’ he muttered against the skin of my neck, then slid his nose along my jaw. I closed my eyes. What was happening?
‘I think you are a little weird, Thomas G. Longley,’ I whispered, so quietly that I wasn’t sure he would hear me. I realized he had, when I felt his lips smile against my skin and his body shake with silent laughter.
He lifted his head and stared down at me, his eyes dancing. ‘Why am I weird?’ he muttered through a smile.
‘What you’re saying defies the laws of the universe.’
‘No, Frankie,’ he said firmly, his smile dying. ‘What I’m saying makes perfect sense in the universe I live in, and the one I plan on dragging you into.’
I couldn’t think whilst he was that close and I could smell him, feel his stubble, and get lost in his eyes. I needed space to take in what he was saying. So I pushed against his shoulders, muttering, ‘Okay, enough sharing for now I think. Better finish the cake or there’ll be an extremely scary bridezilla screaming for my blood.’ He stared at me a second, then reluctantly moved back.
After I’d finally finished the cake and there was still no sign of Lou (who I had vowed to kill by strangulation with her own intestines), I had to accept Tom’s offer of a lift in his van.
‘I’m not a crazy stalker you know,’ I blurted out, worried I might have scared him with my van-cleaning fantasies.
‘What’s going on in that screwy universe of yours now?’ he asked.
‘I just don’t want you to be scared that I’m like your “number one fan” and you might be in danger of me lopping of your foot with a sledgehammer, or slicing off your thumb whilst forcing you to write a novel of my choosing.’
He was backing the van out of the space now, chuckling. ‘Okay, I don’t think you’re a stalker seeing as you have largely ignored me for the last three months, but now I’m thinking I might be a little scared.’
‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘I’m a bit of a Steven King freak.’
‘Ah,Misery,’ he said, scrunching his nose in distaste.
‘You didn’t like the book?’ I asked, because seriously it was a good book.
‘Or the film,’ he replied.
‘Why not?’
‘Not my thing,’ he said evasively.
‘Oh,’ I paused a moment but curiosity got the better of me. ‘Why not?’
‘Um,’ Tom was shifting on his seat uncomfortably and I was intrigued: he hardly ever looked unsure of himself. He squared his shoulders. ‘I don’t like scary films.’
I was stunned into silence for a moment. Then the image of big, alpha-male Tom hiding behind his hands and squealing during a scary bit of a film flashed into my brain, and I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’ Tom asked grumpily as we pulled into the grounds of the hotel where the wedding was taking place.
I was trying and failing to get myself under control. ‘What’s your favourite film?’ I managed to choke out through my hilarity.
‘Notting Hill,’ he replied as he parked the van in the huge car park and turned to me. I burst into a fresh bout of laughter, even harder than before.
‘That’s … that’s a romantic comedy,’ I informed him.
‘I’m aware of that,’ he said, his lips twitching as he turned to look at me whilst I was still shaking with laughter. ‘What’s your favourite film?’
‘The Silence of the Lambs.’
Tom looked at me a beat, and then it was his turn to burst out laughing.
‘This does not bode well for future cinema trips,’ he said through a smile, and I stopped laughing abruptly.
