What's Past is Prologue (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction)

Chapter Eleven

AN: Sorry for the delay! Life and all that... Hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think!

The bar was packed, as usual, but we were lucky enough to find a small table in the dark back corner of the building. This was perfect for Tom, who, upon entering 10 Cases, was immediately recognized by three middle-aged moms who were determined to get as many photos with him as he would allow. Thankfully, they eventually released him from their grasps and he joined me and Ryan at the table, opting to sit in the empty chair next to me. I was stuck in the middle of my past and my present, and it felt awkward. Thankfully, whatever tension I had dissipated with each glass of merlot and each embarrassing story Ryan brought up.

"Oh, that is just not true. Don't believe a word he says, Tom!" I gently punched Ryan's arm, nearly spilling his third glass of Guinness onto his jeans.

"I swear I'm telling the truth! She actually believed that drinking alcohol faster would result in less of a hangover the next day."

After downing the last of his vodka tonic, Tom laughed. "In that case, better drink up, darling!"

This time I punched him, though I must admit the buzz I was beginning to feel had me using a little too much force, and I accidentally careened myself out of my chair and into his lap.

"Whoa! Gotcha." Tom re-positioned me so I was sitting in his lap rather than being awkwardly draped across it.

I couldn't help but giggle at the situation. "It's just like the night we met."

"It is," he said as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Only this time, I don't feel as depraved for wanting to hold you here longer."

Somewhere in the background I heard Ryan say something about having to use the restroom, but all my attention was focused on Tom. He looked so handsome. No, scratch that. He looked downright sexy, looking at me with those gorgeous blues. I couldn't stop myself from reaching out and running a hand through his hair and fingering the curls beginning to form on the back of his neck.

"You need a haircut," I said. "It's grown out since I saw you last."

He seemed distracted by a private thought, his gaze unfocused in the direction of my chest. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he was checking out my boobs peeking out of the v-neck of my dress. Wishful thinking. I'd seen the woman he usually went for, and they were not a measly 32B; not that I wasn't happy with them. I don't know how some women can get anything done if they've got to deal with two giant appendages weighing them down. I thought back on a time when I expressed this opinion to Tom, who then laughed and told me I had an interesting way of thinking about it before saying he was glad I was happy with my body as it was the representation of every man's dream. He never did specify if he was into the same type of women as 'every man.'

His silence was beginning to worry me now, however. "Alright?" I asked.

"Yes." Reassuringly, he rubbed my back, careful to avoid the cut-out of my dress exposing the area right above my Venus dimples as he come out of his trance. "Yes, sorry. I must look like a fool, lost in my own thoughts while such a beautiful woman rests in my arms." My heartbeat sped up as his hand traveled lower down my back, stopping to trace the outline of the dress opening, setting my skin on fire.

"Thinking about one of your upcoming projects again?" Tom was almost always working on a character, even if it wasn't in the forefront of his brain, much like a computer running updates in the background of its regular processes.

"No, not that."

"Then what?"

He thought for a moment before carefully choosing his words. "Do you remember in Stratford-upon-Avon... the afternoon we spent going to bookstores and shops full of Shakespearean souvenirs?"