In the Interlude

Chapter 41 - The After Party

A pregnant silence weighted on the ride home. Neither one of them spoke or acknowledged the other.

Aïcha was the first one to get out of the car as it pulled up in front of Tom's house, her hands squeezing hard the purse she was holding. She couldn't understand his reaction. Interrupting her discussion like he had, practically dragging her out of there, with no regard to the person she was speaking to? Granted, Eric had flirted with her, but it was harmless, and she certainly did nothing to encourage it. And what about Tom? Vanessa had been rude and dismissive and monopolised Tom's attention, something he seemed to immensely relish. And she couldn't do anything about it. Hadn't done anything about it.

God, she wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably in the face.

It wasn't until they entered his house that she felt herself relax a little. She slid off her shoes from the heels, put her purse on the nearest armchair and went straight to the kitchen to drink some water, taking her time before coming back to the living room.

He took off his cufflinks and placed them on the coffee table. Aïcha seemed mesmerized by the intricate details on them as she sat on the sofa.

Taking a step forward, Tom carefully rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to this elbows, his gaze not leaving her face.

No. Not the sleeves, she thought. Did he know how much she loved the sight of his strong arms framed by his rolled-up sleeves? How she relished the tickle in the pit of her stomach at the idea of having his hands all over her body?

She shook her head. This is not the time for shameless daydreaming.

Tom took one of the armchairs opposite her and leaned over to her. His hand rested on her thigh. "Aïcha..."

His hand slid off as she stood up. "What the hell were you thinking?" she asked, taking a step back from him. She had the greatest difficulty restraining herself, but she managed not to scream.

"I don't know." He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling a long breath as he rose. "I just ... I lost it. I couldn't just stand there watching you flirting with that wanker and - "

"Oh wow." She furrowed her brows in disbelief. "So, I was the one who was flirting. What about you?"

"What about me?" he said staring down at her, his voice louder than usual.

Her face twisted with contempt as she stared back at him. "What's her name was all over you," she said, her accent strong. "She was touching your arms, your chest, pressing her boobs into you and laughing at some stupid joke you told I am sure was not even that funny. She was practically begging for you to fuck her under the chandelier."

"You don't get it, do you? We work together," he answered, emphasising each word. "I can't just tell her off. We still have weeks of filming together. And we're supposed to co-star in a romantic comedy. How would it look if I ignored her in public?"

Aïcha rolled her eyes. "Argh, please. There's a world between ignoring her and only having eyes for her."

He crossed his arms and said with a cold edge to his voice, "You're being unreasonable." 

"No. What's unreasonable..." She paused and took one step closer to where Tom was standing. She looked up at him, buzzing with anger and disappointment. "What's unreasonable, is you, expecting me to sit there, watching the two of you get cosy with each other, knowing damn well she wants you to jump her bones. Actually, you did jump her bones. Don't think I forgot that."

Tom sat down on the sofa, passing a hand through his curly hair. He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You think it's easy for me to stand there and pretend like we're not together and watch you flirting – no sorry," he rephrased as Aïcha leaned over, eyes wide in disbelief. "I watched that idiot flirting with you, touching your arms, your back, and you were all giggly and smiling. What was he whispering in your ears anyway?"