Seventeen Steps (16b/?)
Title: Seventeen Steps (16b/?)
Author: millionstar and this chapter, stockholmbabyx
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: Will vary, this chapter PG
Warnings: None
Beta: My Random Chants Selection, ophelia1971, Beta extraordinaire and a wonderful friend. & hearts
Overall Summary: Matthew is intrigued by his newest neighbor.
Chapter Summary: Paige and Tom go out on the town.
Feedback: Would be lovely, if you are so inclined.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse; the following is pure fiction.
Author's Note: This chapter is something of a collaboration between myself and the utterly lovely Tay (stockholmbabyx). I wanted to make this chapter extra special, and I knew that enlisting her help would make it so. She's amazing, make no mistake, so please be sure to thank her for a job well done. :) Much love to you, Tay. *hugs* And as always, thanks to dolce_piccante for support and general awesomeness! ;)
Again, this chapter is told from Paige's POV.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten-a, Ten-b, Ten-c, Xmas Eve, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen-a
This night is not exactly unfolding as I thought it would.
Don’t misunderstand me, I’m with Tom, so I’m happy, but, well, it’s been a bit of a disaster so far, a comedy of errors, if you like.
As we walked out of my building, my skirt got caught in the revolving door, and as Tom tried to help me loosen it, it ripped. The look on his face was priceless, and I couldn’t help but giggle at him.
“Holy shit! I mean, oops, I mean… I’m sorry?” He sighed, frowning, biting his lower lip. I’m alarmed to see that he can’t seem to look at me right now. Gingerly, I put one hand on his cheek, turning his face to mine. I’m not gonna lie, my heart skipped a beat when he, ever so slightly, leaned into my touch. In that moment, it hit me that I would have gladly spent the rest of the night standing in the doorway with him like this.
No, Paige. Bad girl.
“Hey,” I replied softly, “it’s no big deal, please don’t worry, yeah?” Reluctantly, I removed my hand with a smile, leading him out onto the street. He’s so adorably bashful and awkward that I just want to hug him. More importantly, I want him to feel at ease tonight.
We make our way along the pavement in the softly falling snow, heading toward the Italian restaurant at the end of the street.
“How do you feel tonight?”
“I’m well, considering the fact that I had a treatment yesterday,” I reply brightly, hoping that I can manage to keep the rash on my arms concealed from him. I don’t want him to see that.
“I‘m so glad to hear that,” he says, seriously. “You know, I thought about saying hello when we delivered your flowers to the hospital the other day. I probably should have, but-”
His words make me stop in my tracks. “Wait, those flowers were from Matthew, weren’t they?”
“They were, but I tagged along with him to deliver them when I realized they were for you.” Another slight flush of his cheeks accompanies his announcement and, my heart flips a bit at the implications therein. “I waited downstairs in the end, though. I didn’t want to pry.”
We start walking again. “You should have said hello, you and Matthew both! Although, I wasn’t exactly at my best that day,” I admit, grimacing at the memory. We have reached the restaurant now, and as he opens the door for me, I hear him speak softly.
“You’re always at your best.”
Do men in this day and age really talk that way? Is… is he real?
A few minutes later, we’re seated at a small table, studying an overpriced menu, while a stuffy waiter eyes us impatiently.
It irritates me for some reason. Glancing at Tom, it’s evident he feels the same way. He glances at the waiter in question, addressing him politely.
“Maybe you can give us a few minutes?”
We get no reply, as the waiter stomps off in a huff. I watch him walk away, incensed at his rudeness, only to find Tom smiling at me.
“What is it?” I ask shyly, my hand shaking as I reach for my glass of red wine.
He shakes his head. “Like I said earlier, you‘re gorgeous when you’re angry,” he giggles.
Despite my earlier warning, I blush a little at his compliment.
Tom yelps then, as I proceed to spill my glass of wine in his lap like the total spazz I am. My hands fly to my mouth in horror at what I’ve just done, but something else happens next, that mortifies me even more…
…I started to giggle like a little girl. Thankfully, so does Tom. We laugh harder as all the uptight patrons of the restaurant begin staring at us disapprovingly. Tom looks at me, wiping his eyes, and speaks.
“What are we even doing here?”
“I have no idea,” I cackle, still holding my sides.
He stands and takes my hand then, his eyes shining with a sudden energy I have never seen him exhibit in my presence before. I realize that I’m in the presence of the real Thomas Kirk now, instead of the shy, stammering man who had picked me up just a few minutes ago.
“Let’s get the hell out of here, yeah?”
Before I know it, Tom has my hand and we’re running from the restaurant in record time. To some patrons, it looks like we’re doing a runner, but my date makes sure to leave a few notes on the table.
“Despite the tempting idea of leaving that horrid waiter without a tip,” he says to me, grinning from ear to ear, as he helps me with my jacket once we breathlessly reach a corner just a block away, “I like their carpaccio far too much to have to go without. Though, for you, the loss would’ve been worth it.”
My face flushes at the insinuation behind his words; together, we both look away as we begin our journey further away from the restaurant. I can’t help but start to feel more like myself in Tom’s presence, even if only slightly. Despite all that’s happened and the utter mess of the evening so far, I’m having more fun already, than I’ve had in a long time. Even the nagging ghost of Dom’s voice in the back of my head, telling me to watch that crack in the pavement, or to grab onto a railing when ascending a flight of stairs, has started to fade into a distant mumble.
I turn to look at Tom once my thoughts shift away from my darling brother, and give a smile. He meets mine, with one a thousand watts brighter. I flush deeply and watch as he awkwardly shoves his hands into his pockets to keep warm; I’m surprised when he flexes his elbow out for me to take, but I take it gladly. The warmth from him quickly penetrates me and I can’t help the shiver as it passes through me. I bite my lip to stop from smiling like a complete and total idiot.
“Where shall we go then?” he asks me after a few moments, dark eyes peering down at me. I lick my lips and give a shrug, absentmindedly (okay, maybe not absentmindedly, but I let him think so), tightening my grip on his arm, while keeping myself close to him.
“Ah, one of those ‘I don’t care as long as I’m with you’ moments, is it?” he quips, and.I stare up at him, shocked by his sudden pretentious nature. But as soon as he laughs, I feel myself dissolving into giggles after him. He pulls me closer and smiles. “For me it is, anyway.”
My heart soars at Tom’s words. They sound so sincere and so genuine that I hardly have to take time to digest them, or grow paranoid over the meaning. In the short amount of time I’ve spent with him already, I feel at ease in his presence; I feel like myself more than anything and I’m beginning to like it. I like it almost too much.
“It is for me, too, Tom,” I finally manage to get out, looking up at him again. His eyes are softer this time as he returns the glance; a smaller, but still bright, smile appearing on his lips.
“Yeah?” he asks.
I nod.“Yeah.”
Again, my date’s face lights up and he gives my arm a tighter, more protective squeeze.
“Then how about you and I do something completely unconventional and still have one of those moments?” Tom enquires; a mischievous smirk and sparkle in his eyes, letting me know he has something up his sleeve. I merely raise a brow.
“Yeah?” I reply. “And just what do you have in mind, Mr. Kirk?”
He says nothing more and takes my hand this time, dragging me forward
When we reach the bowling alley, I nearly have a heart attack. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a few strikes and spares under my belt in the past, but it’s been years since I last donned the cheesy clown shoes and stuck my fingers into an eight pounder. Tom, however, is far too excited, the moment we step into the glowing neon of the midnight bowling session, and after that, I am too. How can I resist a grown man grinning like a schoolboy after snagging a date to the school dance? After all, I was that girl.
“I promise to take it easy on you,” he tells me, as he laces up his shoes. I roll my eyes and he gives me a cheeky wink in response, moving to stand once he’s ready. I merely throw my legs up onto the chair with a light laugh and motion for him to take his stance at the lane.
Behind us, eighties music blasts through the loudspeakers and strobe lights flicker in every colour imaginable across the gleaming surface of the lanes, the white of the pins, and the metal of every table and gutter alike. I watch with curiosity as Tom grabs his ball from the dispenser, my lips curved into a smirk as I fold my arms patiently across my chest. He moves to stand in the middle of the lane, directing himself to the arrow he thinks best for his throw (he’s probably going to try and attempt a strike, if his egotistical outlook on bowling is anything to go by) and stands there for a moment in thought.
I snicker at the sight of him, concentrating so hard, like he’s about to bowl a frame for his life; he turns back with a slight scowl directed solely at me, which only causes me to laugh more. I motion with my hands for him to hurry along, one moving to rest upon my lips to keep myself from laughing any louder than before.
The temptation to distract him as he wheels his arm back is great; great enough that I’m tempted by the thought of yelling something obscene to catch him off guard and make him miss the lane entirely. But I know I’m not strong enough to run out of the place if we offend anyone bowling beside us, so I remain silent. I can only watch as he begins his swing . . .
. . . and misses the lane entirely as he drops the ball. I can’t help the loud laugh that escapes my lips, as the ball wobbles down the gutter and falls off behind the pins, leaving all ten of them untouched. Tom’s shoulders sink in defeat and he turns around to face me, a petulant pout upon his lips. I give one of my own in mocking as I push myself to a stand, his hand reaching out to help me up.
“It was a good try,” I comfort him, giving a squeeze to his hand and a nod of my head. He gives me a sarcastic smile, causing me to laugh even more, as I make my way towards the dispenser to grab my own ball. I only just point to the score on the screen above my head and he lifts his chin, pretending to ignore me from where he’s seated; I smirk in victory.
As I pick up the heavy object, I can almost hear Dom’s voice in my head, yelling the obscenities I had been so tempted to use earlier to goad me on; we always used to rile each other up as kids in such a way, and the fact that I’m starting to feel like I was sixteen again is only due to the memory. I nearly turn around and flip the bird in Tom’s direction, simply because the voice is so loud, as if it was right behind me, but I know my darling brother is nowhere near us. In fact, I can just see him with Matthew, lying in bed, tangled together and panting with -
Ugh. Okay, Paige. Get some bleach - stat - and bloody well wash your eyes of that disgusting image you’ve just implanted.
I shake my head and step onto the lane, careful not to slip on the shining surface as I make my way towards the same arrows my date had been standing at moments before. I take everything I remembered from bowling as a child and use it to the best of my ability; I stand at the middle arrow and curl my hand underneath the rather heavy ball, the other plunged deep (and I mean, painfully deep) into the three holes provided. I even put my game face on as I stare ahead at the bright pins, and they only stare right back at me.
Much like Tom had, I throw my arm back and wheel it forward, aiming for that centre pin with such ferocity, that I’m sure I’ll knock the bloody thing down.
The only difference between Tom’s bowling and mine, is that the ball and I both end up flying down the lane.
“Paige!” I hear the shout from my date, once I’ve landed halfway down the lane. By the time his shoes squeak, announcing his arrival, I’m laughing to the point of not being able to breathe. The pain of the fall and the burn of my knees skidding along the lane, all mean nothing; I can only laugh hysterically at the fact that I’ve pretty much just embarrassed myself in front of the entire midnight bowling population. What else am I meant to do? Cry? No, I’ve done enough of that to last me a lifetime, thank you.
Once Tom sees that I’m laughing, his face lights up in a grin and he laughs with me. His hand reaches out to brush some of the hair from my face before moving to pluck my fingers (okay, so they were a bit too deep inside of the thing, I’ll admit) from the ball.
“Take it you’re alright then?” he asks. I nod and sit up; he extends his hand and helps me to stand. I realise then, that one of my favourite things about Tom is that he doesn’t treat me like a fragile patient. No, he treats me like a normal woman, and for that, I adore him. It’s been so long since someone has pushed past the first barrier of my illness and taken me for everything else I’m worth.
“Fancy finishing out the rest of the frame, or should we just start up our own slip n’ slide?” I quip. He smirks and tugs me back towards the start of the lane.
For the rest of the frame, Tom stands behind me and ‘guides’ me in how to throw the ball. I manage a few strikes and dozens more spares, but never does my ball teeter down the lane to the gutter. When it’s time for my date to bowl, however, I stand behind him and do the same, but my motive isn’t to aid him; it’s to get myself thrown into first place.
When the moment strikes me, I grab his arse, just as he’s about to swing, shocking him into dropping the ball. Another time, I move to whisper in his ear a simple question, breath hot against his neck and voice dropped a few notches to a sultry tone; it gets to the point where, as he tries to turn around and respond, he turns to mush and trips over his feet, only to fall flat on the floor. I just laugh and help him up amidst his sporadic curses, hissed from between his teeth.
I blame Tom for my change in attitude. It’s been so long since I’ve had any proper fun and then he comes along, rescuing me from a life I thought couldn’t get any better. I’m not saying I didn’t have anything before he showed up. God no, I’ve always had my Dominic and that’s been more than enough, ever since we were kids. He’s always been my constant; my Northern star on a dark, lonely night, and I know that no matter how difficult I get when I’m ill, or how many times I let my bitter hatred towards being sick get to me, he’ll always be there for me, holding my hand and telling me it’ll be alright.
That said, it’s not always been fair to him; part of the reason I’ve gone on this date with Tom, despite the fact that I’m obviously attracted to him, is to relieve Dom of some of the stress he’s gone through in trying to help take care of me. He’s done so much for me, and so leaving him with Matthew for a night, free of charge and without a care in the world other than that of his boyfriend, is my gift to him. It might not be much, but he’s the one that always says it’s the thought that counts, so mine bloody well better be worth millions.
By the time the ten frames are up, Tom’s trailing behind me miserably and yet, he still manages to sustain a smile. On the last frame, however, he manages to get a strike.
“And where the hell did that come from?” I ask him, as he moves over towards the seating area, kicking off his shoes in the process. He sits himself down beside me and gives me a smile, as he plucks them from the carpet.
“Guess I found my lucky charm, that’s all,” he replies. My face flushes at the insinuation behind his words, but I smile back before moving to rid myself of the nasty shoes I managed to wear.
When we’re done and he’s paid for the game, he takes my arm and leads me out of the building, into the light snowfall of the city. I smile and look towards the sky as we both stop to adjust to the change of temperature, my eyes closing as snowflakes fall and melt instantaneously. I feel Tom reach over and brush a few from my eyes, my gaze then falling to meet his.
“Should go home now, yeah?” he half-asks. I give a nod and a sad smile. I don’t want the night to end, but know that, eventually, it will have to, and now’s the perfect place for that to happen. Tom squeezes my arm in reply and begins to lead the way back to the flat, with a look almost as bittersweet as my own.
It’s funny; the walk back to my place should only take a few minutes, but since we’re both dragging our feet, it’s taking a delightfully long time. I’m not complaining, mind you, not with such a gorgeous, funny, genuine guy holding my hand. I feel positively dizzy.
Huh…
Actually, the light-headedness I’m feeling right now is terrifyingly familiar, and it’s not at all related to the way Tom is caressing my wrist as we make our way down the street. No; as delightful at that feels, this is something else. In the instant my mouth goes dry, I realize what’s happening.
Nonononono. Please, not now.
Not tonight.
It’s too late, though; the dizziness is overwhelming. As I sink to the ground, I hear Tom calling my name in the same moment that his arms pull me up, leading me to the nearest bench.
“Paige. Babe, what do you need me to do?” His arm is wrapped around me tightly now, while I rest my head on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I proclaim, the breath flooding my lungs suddenly. “It’s only a dizzy spell. I just need a minute.” The worried look on his face prompts me to add:
“I do believe you took my breath away there for a moment, Mr. Kirk!”
He smiles softly, brushing a stray clump of hair from my face.
A broken sob escapes my lips as, much to my horror, the long, blonde strands fall from my head, landing on the shoulder of his coat.
Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.
I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Hanging my head, I mutter, “So much for a perfect night. Tom, I‘m so sorry.”
“Sorry? For what, exactly, Miss Howard?” he whispers.
A single tear makes its way down my face, until I feel him brushing it away gently with his fingertips. For the second time tonight I lean into his touch, squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to quell the tears that are threatening to spill out.
“It’s just…my medication sometimes causes this. I had hoped it wouldn’t happen tonight,” I reply quietly, still unable to meet his eyes. “The tears are worse, though. I don’t want to cry in front of you. Or anyone, especially Dom.”
He sits back on the bench, and I allow him to pull me into his arms. He’s holding me tightly again, when he speaks.
“Paige.”
Slowly I look at his face, now mere inches from my own. He smiles and nods, saying in a firm voice:
“I’m not Dom. So, from now on, if you need to cry, you can cry on me, yeah?”
I shake my head. “It’s not fair to you, to have to see me this way.”
“Paige, I-”
“Seriously, I don’t want-” I begin, until he lightly presses his lips to mine, finally silencing me.
It’s short and sweet, and over much too quickly.
(Ohhh, I want him to do it again).
Just like that, the fleeting touch of his lips on mine erases my urge to cry. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, drifting away in the way he smells and the way he‘s rubbing my back. We sit there like that for a few minutes, simply resting against each other. I haven’t felt this calm in ages, or this happy. His next words hit me hard.
“You’re stuck with me, Paige, if you‘ll have me. Me and my crap bowling ability,” he grins.
I nod, smiling at him. “Of course I’ll have you,” I whisper.
I like the sound of that.
Author: millionstar and this chapter, stockholmbabyx
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: Will vary, this chapter PG
Warnings: None
Beta: My Random Chants Selection, ophelia1971, Beta extraordinaire and a wonderful friend. & hearts
Overall Summary: Matthew is intrigued by his newest neighbor.
Chapter Summary: Paige and Tom go out on the town.
Feedback: Would be lovely, if you are so inclined.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse; the following is pure fiction.
Author's Note: This chapter is something of a collaboration between myself and the utterly lovely Tay (stockholmbabyx). I wanted to make this chapter extra special, and I knew that enlisting her help would make it so. She's amazing, make no mistake, so please be sure to thank her for a job well done. :) Much love to you, Tay. *hugs* And as always, thanks to dolce_piccante for support and general awesomeness! ;)
Again, this chapter is told from Paige's POV.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten-a, Ten-b, Ten-c, Xmas Eve, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen-a
This night is not exactly unfolding as I thought it would.
Don’t misunderstand me, I’m with Tom, so I’m happy, but, well, it’s been a bit of a disaster so far, a comedy of errors, if you like.
As we walked out of my building, my skirt got caught in the revolving door, and as Tom tried to help me loosen it, it ripped. The look on his face was priceless, and I couldn’t help but giggle at him.
“Holy shit! I mean, oops, I mean… I’m sorry?” He sighed, frowning, biting his lower lip. I’m alarmed to see that he can’t seem to look at me right now. Gingerly, I put one hand on his cheek, turning his face to mine. I’m not gonna lie, my heart skipped a beat when he, ever so slightly, leaned into my touch. In that moment, it hit me that I would have gladly spent the rest of the night standing in the doorway with him like this.
No, Paige. Bad girl.
“Hey,” I replied softly, “it’s no big deal, please don’t worry, yeah?” Reluctantly, I removed my hand with a smile, leading him out onto the street. He’s so adorably bashful and awkward that I just want to hug him. More importantly, I want him to feel at ease tonight.
We make our way along the pavement in the softly falling snow, heading toward the Italian restaurant at the end of the street.
“How do you feel tonight?”
“I’m well, considering the fact that I had a treatment yesterday,” I reply brightly, hoping that I can manage to keep the rash on my arms concealed from him. I don’t want him to see that.
“I‘m so glad to hear that,” he says, seriously. “You know, I thought about saying hello when we delivered your flowers to the hospital the other day. I probably should have, but-”
His words make me stop in my tracks. “Wait, those flowers were from Matthew, weren’t they?”
“They were, but I tagged along with him to deliver them when I realized they were for you.” Another slight flush of his cheeks accompanies his announcement and, my heart flips a bit at the implications therein. “I waited downstairs in the end, though. I didn’t want to pry.”
We start walking again. “You should have said hello, you and Matthew both! Although, I wasn’t exactly at my best that day,” I admit, grimacing at the memory. We have reached the restaurant now, and as he opens the door for me, I hear him speak softly.
“You’re always at your best.”
Do men in this day and age really talk that way? Is… is he real?
A few minutes later, we’re seated at a small table, studying an overpriced menu, while a stuffy waiter eyes us impatiently.
It irritates me for some reason. Glancing at Tom, it’s evident he feels the same way. He glances at the waiter in question, addressing him politely.
“Maybe you can give us a few minutes?”
We get no reply, as the waiter stomps off in a huff. I watch him walk away, incensed at his rudeness, only to find Tom smiling at me.
“What is it?” I ask shyly, my hand shaking as I reach for my glass of red wine.
He shakes his head. “Like I said earlier, you‘re gorgeous when you’re angry,” he giggles.
Despite my earlier warning, I blush a little at his compliment.
Tom yelps then, as I proceed to spill my glass of wine in his lap like the total spazz I am. My hands fly to my mouth in horror at what I’ve just done, but something else happens next, that mortifies me even more…
…I started to giggle like a little girl. Thankfully, so does Tom. We laugh harder as all the uptight patrons of the restaurant begin staring at us disapprovingly. Tom looks at me, wiping his eyes, and speaks.
“What are we even doing here?”
“I have no idea,” I cackle, still holding my sides.
He stands and takes my hand then, his eyes shining with a sudden energy I have never seen him exhibit in my presence before. I realize that I’m in the presence of the real Thomas Kirk now, instead of the shy, stammering man who had picked me up just a few minutes ago.
“Let’s get the hell out of here, yeah?”
Before I know it, Tom has my hand and we’re running from the restaurant in record time. To some patrons, it looks like we’re doing a runner, but my date makes sure to leave a few notes on the table.
“Despite the tempting idea of leaving that horrid waiter without a tip,” he says to me, grinning from ear to ear, as he helps me with my jacket once we breathlessly reach a corner just a block away, “I like their carpaccio far too much to have to go without. Though, for you, the loss would’ve been worth it.”
My face flushes at the insinuation behind his words; together, we both look away as we begin our journey further away from the restaurant. I can’t help but start to feel more like myself in Tom’s presence, even if only slightly. Despite all that’s happened and the utter mess of the evening so far, I’m having more fun already, than I’ve had in a long time. Even the nagging ghost of Dom’s voice in the back of my head, telling me to watch that crack in the pavement, or to grab onto a railing when ascending a flight of stairs, has started to fade into a distant mumble.
I turn to look at Tom once my thoughts shift away from my darling brother, and give a smile. He meets mine, with one a thousand watts brighter. I flush deeply and watch as he awkwardly shoves his hands into his pockets to keep warm; I’m surprised when he flexes his elbow out for me to take, but I take it gladly. The warmth from him quickly penetrates me and I can’t help the shiver as it passes through me. I bite my lip to stop from smiling like a complete and total idiot.
“Where shall we go then?” he asks me after a few moments, dark eyes peering down at me. I lick my lips and give a shrug, absentmindedly (okay, maybe not absentmindedly, but I let him think so), tightening my grip on his arm, while keeping myself close to him.
“Ah, one of those ‘I don’t care as long as I’m with you’ moments, is it?” he quips, and.I stare up at him, shocked by his sudden pretentious nature. But as soon as he laughs, I feel myself dissolving into giggles after him. He pulls me closer and smiles. “For me it is, anyway.”
My heart soars at Tom’s words. They sound so sincere and so genuine that I hardly have to take time to digest them, or grow paranoid over the meaning. In the short amount of time I’ve spent with him already, I feel at ease in his presence; I feel like myself more than anything and I’m beginning to like it. I like it almost too much.
“It is for me, too, Tom,” I finally manage to get out, looking up at him again. His eyes are softer this time as he returns the glance; a smaller, but still bright, smile appearing on his lips.
“Yeah?” he asks.
I nod.“Yeah.”
Again, my date’s face lights up and he gives my arm a tighter, more protective squeeze.
“Then how about you and I do something completely unconventional and still have one of those moments?” Tom enquires; a mischievous smirk and sparkle in his eyes, letting me know he has something up his sleeve. I merely raise a brow.
“Yeah?” I reply. “And just what do you have in mind, Mr. Kirk?”
He says nothing more and takes my hand this time, dragging me forward
When we reach the bowling alley, I nearly have a heart attack. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a few strikes and spares under my belt in the past, but it’s been years since I last donned the cheesy clown shoes and stuck my fingers into an eight pounder. Tom, however, is far too excited, the moment we step into the glowing neon of the midnight bowling session, and after that, I am too. How can I resist a grown man grinning like a schoolboy after snagging a date to the school dance? After all, I was that girl.
“I promise to take it easy on you,” he tells me, as he laces up his shoes. I roll my eyes and he gives me a cheeky wink in response, moving to stand once he’s ready. I merely throw my legs up onto the chair with a light laugh and motion for him to take his stance at the lane.
Behind us, eighties music blasts through the loudspeakers and strobe lights flicker in every colour imaginable across the gleaming surface of the lanes, the white of the pins, and the metal of every table and gutter alike. I watch with curiosity as Tom grabs his ball from the dispenser, my lips curved into a smirk as I fold my arms patiently across my chest. He moves to stand in the middle of the lane, directing himself to the arrow he thinks best for his throw (he’s probably going to try and attempt a strike, if his egotistical outlook on bowling is anything to go by) and stands there for a moment in thought.
I snicker at the sight of him, concentrating so hard, like he’s about to bowl a frame for his life; he turns back with a slight scowl directed solely at me, which only causes me to laugh more. I motion with my hands for him to hurry along, one moving to rest upon my lips to keep myself from laughing any louder than before.
The temptation to distract him as he wheels his arm back is great; great enough that I’m tempted by the thought of yelling something obscene to catch him off guard and make him miss the lane entirely. But I know I’m not strong enough to run out of the place if we offend anyone bowling beside us, so I remain silent. I can only watch as he begins his swing . . .
. . . and misses the lane entirely as he drops the ball. I can’t help the loud laugh that escapes my lips, as the ball wobbles down the gutter and falls off behind the pins, leaving all ten of them untouched. Tom’s shoulders sink in defeat and he turns around to face me, a petulant pout upon his lips. I give one of my own in mocking as I push myself to a stand, his hand reaching out to help me up.
“It was a good try,” I comfort him, giving a squeeze to his hand and a nod of my head. He gives me a sarcastic smile, causing me to laugh even more, as I make my way towards the dispenser to grab my own ball. I only just point to the score on the screen above my head and he lifts his chin, pretending to ignore me from where he’s seated; I smirk in victory.
As I pick up the heavy object, I can almost hear Dom’s voice in my head, yelling the obscenities I had been so tempted to use earlier to goad me on; we always used to rile each other up as kids in such a way, and the fact that I’m starting to feel like I was sixteen again is only due to the memory. I nearly turn around and flip the bird in Tom’s direction, simply because the voice is so loud, as if it was right behind me, but I know my darling brother is nowhere near us. In fact, I can just see him with Matthew, lying in bed, tangled together and panting with -
Ugh. Okay, Paige. Get some bleach - stat - and bloody well wash your eyes of that disgusting image you’ve just implanted.
I shake my head and step onto the lane, careful not to slip on the shining surface as I make my way towards the same arrows my date had been standing at moments before. I take everything I remembered from bowling as a child and use it to the best of my ability; I stand at the middle arrow and curl my hand underneath the rather heavy ball, the other plunged deep (and I mean, painfully deep) into the three holes provided. I even put my game face on as I stare ahead at the bright pins, and they only stare right back at me.
Much like Tom had, I throw my arm back and wheel it forward, aiming for that centre pin with such ferocity, that I’m sure I’ll knock the bloody thing down.
The only difference between Tom’s bowling and mine, is that the ball and I both end up flying down the lane.
“Paige!” I hear the shout from my date, once I’ve landed halfway down the lane. By the time his shoes squeak, announcing his arrival, I’m laughing to the point of not being able to breathe. The pain of the fall and the burn of my knees skidding along the lane, all mean nothing; I can only laugh hysterically at the fact that I’ve pretty much just embarrassed myself in front of the entire midnight bowling population. What else am I meant to do? Cry? No, I’ve done enough of that to last me a lifetime, thank you.
Once Tom sees that I’m laughing, his face lights up in a grin and he laughs with me. His hand reaches out to brush some of the hair from my face before moving to pluck my fingers (okay, so they were a bit too deep inside of the thing, I’ll admit) from the ball.
“Take it you’re alright then?” he asks. I nod and sit up; he extends his hand and helps me to stand. I realise then, that one of my favourite things about Tom is that he doesn’t treat me like a fragile patient. No, he treats me like a normal woman, and for that, I adore him. It’s been so long since someone has pushed past the first barrier of my illness and taken me for everything else I’m worth.
“Fancy finishing out the rest of the frame, or should we just start up our own slip n’ slide?” I quip. He smirks and tugs me back towards the start of the lane.
For the rest of the frame, Tom stands behind me and ‘guides’ me in how to throw the ball. I manage a few strikes and dozens more spares, but never does my ball teeter down the lane to the gutter. When it’s time for my date to bowl, however, I stand behind him and do the same, but my motive isn’t to aid him; it’s to get myself thrown into first place.
When the moment strikes me, I grab his arse, just as he’s about to swing, shocking him into dropping the ball. Another time, I move to whisper in his ear a simple question, breath hot against his neck and voice dropped a few notches to a sultry tone; it gets to the point where, as he tries to turn around and respond, he turns to mush and trips over his feet, only to fall flat on the floor. I just laugh and help him up amidst his sporadic curses, hissed from between his teeth.
I blame Tom for my change in attitude. It’s been so long since I’ve had any proper fun and then he comes along, rescuing me from a life I thought couldn’t get any better. I’m not saying I didn’t have anything before he showed up. God no, I’ve always had my Dominic and that’s been more than enough, ever since we were kids. He’s always been my constant; my Northern star on a dark, lonely night, and I know that no matter how difficult I get when I’m ill, or how many times I let my bitter hatred towards being sick get to me, he’ll always be there for me, holding my hand and telling me it’ll be alright.
That said, it’s not always been fair to him; part of the reason I’ve gone on this date with Tom, despite the fact that I’m obviously attracted to him, is to relieve Dom of some of the stress he’s gone through in trying to help take care of me. He’s done so much for me, and so leaving him with Matthew for a night, free of charge and without a care in the world other than that of his boyfriend, is my gift to him. It might not be much, but he’s the one that always says it’s the thought that counts, so mine bloody well better be worth millions.
By the time the ten frames are up, Tom’s trailing behind me miserably and yet, he still manages to sustain a smile. On the last frame, however, he manages to get a strike.
“And where the hell did that come from?” I ask him, as he moves over towards the seating area, kicking off his shoes in the process. He sits himself down beside me and gives me a smile, as he plucks them from the carpet.
“Guess I found my lucky charm, that’s all,” he replies. My face flushes at the insinuation behind his words, but I smile back before moving to rid myself of the nasty shoes I managed to wear.
When we’re done and he’s paid for the game, he takes my arm and leads me out of the building, into the light snowfall of the city. I smile and look towards the sky as we both stop to adjust to the change of temperature, my eyes closing as snowflakes fall and melt instantaneously. I feel Tom reach over and brush a few from my eyes, my gaze then falling to meet his.
“Should go home now, yeah?” he half-asks. I give a nod and a sad smile. I don’t want the night to end, but know that, eventually, it will have to, and now’s the perfect place for that to happen. Tom squeezes my arm in reply and begins to lead the way back to the flat, with a look almost as bittersweet as my own.
It’s funny; the walk back to my place should only take a few minutes, but since we’re both dragging our feet, it’s taking a delightfully long time. I’m not complaining, mind you, not with such a gorgeous, funny, genuine guy holding my hand. I feel positively dizzy.
Huh…
Actually, the light-headedness I’m feeling right now is terrifyingly familiar, and it’s not at all related to the way Tom is caressing my wrist as we make our way down the street. No; as delightful at that feels, this is something else. In the instant my mouth goes dry, I realize what’s happening.
Nonononono. Please, not now.
Not tonight.
It’s too late, though; the dizziness is overwhelming. As I sink to the ground, I hear Tom calling my name in the same moment that his arms pull me up, leading me to the nearest bench.
“Paige. Babe, what do you need me to do?” His arm is wrapped around me tightly now, while I rest my head on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I proclaim, the breath flooding my lungs suddenly. “It’s only a dizzy spell. I just need a minute.” The worried look on his face prompts me to add:
“I do believe you took my breath away there for a moment, Mr. Kirk!”
He smiles softly, brushing a stray clump of hair from my face.
A broken sob escapes my lips as, much to my horror, the long, blonde strands fall from my head, landing on the shoulder of his coat.
Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.
I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Hanging my head, I mutter, “So much for a perfect night. Tom, I‘m so sorry.”
“Sorry? For what, exactly, Miss Howard?” he whispers.
A single tear makes its way down my face, until I feel him brushing it away gently with his fingertips. For the second time tonight I lean into his touch, squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to quell the tears that are threatening to spill out.
“It’s just…my medication sometimes causes this. I had hoped it wouldn’t happen tonight,” I reply quietly, still unable to meet his eyes. “The tears are worse, though. I don’t want to cry in front of you. Or anyone, especially Dom.”
He sits back on the bench, and I allow him to pull me into his arms. He’s holding me tightly again, when he speaks.
“Paige.”
Slowly I look at his face, now mere inches from my own. He smiles and nods, saying in a firm voice:
“I’m not Dom. So, from now on, if you need to cry, you can cry on me, yeah?”
I shake my head. “It’s not fair to you, to have to see me this way.”
“Paige, I-”
“Seriously, I don’t want-” I begin, until he lightly presses his lips to mine, finally silencing me.
It’s short and sweet, and over much too quickly.
(Ohhh, I want him to do it again).
Just like that, the fleeting touch of his lips on mine erases my urge to cry. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, drifting away in the way he smells and the way he‘s rubbing my back. We sit there like that for a few minutes, simply resting against each other. I haven’t felt this calm in ages, or this happy. His next words hit me hard.
“You’re stuck with me, Paige, if you‘ll have me. Me and my crap bowling ability,” he grins.
I nod, smiling at him. “Of course I’ll have you,” I whisper.
I like the sound of that.