Just Like That

Part 15

To say Tom was on edge would be an understatement of catastrophic proportions. Four books laid scattered around the leather sofa, illustrating his inability to stick to any one topic this evening. Even Bobby, who would typically be splayed out in utter peace, had picked up the habit of pacing since his owner hadn't been able to sit still since his failed attempt at contacting you this evening.

"What was I supposed to do, Bobs?" he questioned the pup with nothing but a head tilt as a response. "Was it a tad melodramatic? Perhaps. Did it have whispers of Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge, begging for the beautiful woman to not sleep with the despicable man?" Tom paused his pacing to look towards his companion. "Perhaps that analogy was melodramatic as well. You're right."

Several hours ago, he had stripped of his working attire for the day and had replaced it all with a pair of worn joggers that had seen better days and a navy blue thermal, also having seen better days as little frayed edges and holes donned it. He hadn't received any sort of reply from you to let him know you would call him this evening. That didn't stop Tom from making a cup of coffee as midnight came and passed for him.

When his phone began to ring, the volume had been turned to the max setting and startled both pup and owner in the process. There was no way he was going to miss this call. No. He was going to put it all out on the table. Let the chips fall where they may. Plucking the phone from the coffee table, an abundance of curses escaped his lips at the exact moment he dropped the phone on the floor. This was off to a marvelous start.

"Hello?" he shouted out into the phone, bringing it to his ear.

A silence that felt like an eternity ended with a calm and cold, "hello." That simple word changed the entire tone of the conversation. Were you still displeased with him? He couldn't allow his excitement at hearing your voice be so very evident. You obviously weren't pleased to hear from him. He had to play this out smartly. What Tom didn't know—you were beyond nervous and trying as hard as you could to put on this act of repose. Neither of you realized that your calm demeanors sparked the icy tone in one another.

"How was your evening?" asked Tom, adjusting his glasses and very quickly tucking a free hand underneath his arms.

"Fine. Yours?" you replied in a terse form.

Brows furrowed at the tone you possessed, igniting a passive aggressive quality in Tom's words as well. "Pleasant enough."

His night was pleasant? Wait—so he wasn't out of his mind with worry? He didn't need to speak to you? Your voice hitched, betraying your sense of calm. "Oh, pleasant, hm?"

"Yes." That was all he could say without letting on that it was anything but pleasant.

"I take it you had a good time at dinner?" An edge now formed at the height of the question, as if you assumed he had been off doing unspeakable things to anyone that passed him by. He had never met someone that could say so much without actually saying it at all.

The mature way to handle this was to explain exactly how sickening his night had been once the chaos of the day settled and all he was left with were thoughts of you. He should have been honest. Instead—he found himself irrevocably jealous at what you could have been doing this night. "It was pleasant. Your date? Was it pleasant?"

"Is that the only word you know now? Pleasant? Or was the conversation merely pleasant tonight? Nothing engaging?" Your jab was duly noted.

"I had perfectly stimulating conversations this evening." And he knew exactly what he had said and to whom he had said it just now.

A pause. "Did you say stimulating?"

"I did."

"Ah. Well then," you replied evenly. "I would say we are even. I was properly stimulated tonight as well."