The War on Love

Chapter 10

My eyes widened. My mind was on double speed, trying to find the right words. I said the most intelligible thing I could muster, "H-huh?"

"Come live with me in London, Emmalyn," Thomas says, his arms tight around my waist, swaying us left and right ever so slightly.

I take a deep breath. "We've been dating for," I pause, counting on my fingers, "three months, Thomas, and you want me to move in with you?! Are you insane?"

"Probably."

I roll my eyes. "I don't think so, Thomas. It's a little soon to move in together."

"Oh, c'mon, love. I've stayed the night here before."

"Yeah, but you slept in the guest room! Not with me in my bed!" I argue, making wild hand gestures to prove my point.

Thomas grabs my wrist before I hit him in the face on accident. He sets my hand on the counter gently. "Is that what you're worried about? Sleeping with me? Okay, fine, I admit, I'm a bit of a restless sleeper. I'm not that bad though. I don't snore. At least, I think I don't, but if I do, you can smack me with a pillow, if you wish!" He says, trying to do whatever he must to get me on board the crazy train.

"It's not just that, Thomas. We haven't told the media about us yet. What are they going to think when they find out were dating AND living together?!"

"Love, I don't care what they think and you shouldn't either. All that matters is that I love you, okay?"

I sigh and nod. "The feeling is mutual, by the way."

"So, is that a yes on the London thing?" Thomas asks, hope inching into his voice.

"Oh, that is most definitely still a no. I'm not ready for that and I really don't think you are either. You're acting on impulse and not thinking about this thoroughly."

"Acting on impulse has gotten me rather far in life," he says, planting a lazy kiss on my neck. I squirm away. "Are you ticklish on your neck?" He asks, laughter taking over his voice.

"You don't need to know that..." I say, trying desperately to get out of his grasp.

He raises a hand to my neck but I duck away and run to the other side of the island. "I take that as a yes then," he says with a smirk before chasing me around the house.

----------------------------------------------------

I'm hiding under my bed. Yeah, probably one of the worst spots to hide, I know. DON'T JUDGE ME!

"Emmalyn!" I hear Thomas shout. Paris barks. I see her feet come through the door and she sits next to the bed. Really? He's plotting my own dog against me?!

I see his shoes. "Where is she, Paris?" A British accent asks. She barks and sniffs at the bed skirt. "Really, Emmalyn? Under the bed? Isn't that just a tad cliche?"

"Do you know any other hiding places in this house?!" I shout.

"No. It's not my house," he retorts, crawling under the bed to lay beside me on his back.

"Oh, please. You're here about as often as I am!" I scoff.

He rolls his big brown eyes. "We're playing the question game."

"Why? And thanks for asking on my opinion."

"You're welcome. And if we are going to make this a public affair, we need to know everything about each other."

"Okay. You first."

"Age?" He asks.

"Wait a minute. You wanted me to move in with you and you don't know how old I am?!"

"I still want you to move in with me and I have a pretty good guess on how old you are. Just answer the bloody question!"

"26."

He stares at me in shock. "Well, this is not fair at all," he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What?" I ask, obviously confused.

"You're older than me! I should be older than you! The boyfriend should ALWAYS be older than the girlfriend!" He frets.

"Oh, because that's not the least bit sexist. How old are you?"

"24!"

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious."

"You make me feel old."

He laughs."Why?"

"Because I was born in '88! Do you realize how long ago that was?!"

"26 years?" He guesses.

"Yes!"

He chuckled lightly. "Okay. Your turn."

"Um..... Middle name?"

"Technically, Brodie. It just got hyphenated with my last name for some reason."

"Then why do you introduce yourself as 'Thomas Brodie-Sangster'?"

"Why not?" He shrugs. "What about you?"

"Grace."

"Ooh. That's pretty. Emmalyn Grace Taylor. I like it," he smiles with thirty-two dazzling white teeth at me.

"Thanks. My parents did too."

"Favorite sport?"

"Play or watch?"

He thinks a moment. "Both," he finally says.

"Golf to play, NASCAR to watch."

"NASCAR is not a sport!" Thomas argues.

"Try telling that to Joey Lagano or Dale Earnhardt Jr."

He simply rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I like to play and watch football or as you Americans say 'soccer'."

"Why do we call it soccer?"

"Same reason you call chips fries and crisps chips! Do you know how often I would order a side of chips and I would get a bag of crisps!?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his distress. He looked at me kinda weird. I could tell he was trying to keep from laughing too. In the end, he failed. On epic proportions. Our faces were red and our eyes were starting to water. My laughter turned silent as I ran out of air.

"We are so weird," I said through bursts of giggles.

"I take great pride in it, love."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: This definitely took a turn in a different direction.... But seriously. Why DO we call soccer soccer and not football? It makes more sense... Anyone watch Talledaga this weekend? Just curious to see if there are any NASCAR fans... As always: Comment/vote! Thanks for reading! -med_01