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Did you just wake up?" Tommy takes in my sweatpants and generally disheveled appearance.
I feel very self conscious. I excuse myself to the bathroom where I take a good look at my reflection. Yikes. I look like I have a cold. I turn on the sink, heat the water up and set about correcting my exterior. I brush my teeth again, wash my face, and run some product through my hair. Five minutes later I am still in sweatpants but no longer look like the walking dead.
Tommy is seated on the queen-sized bed with a dark grey duffle bag at his side. He regards me coolly as I emerge from the bathroom. He looks composed. I was having what could be described as an emotional breakdown not ten minutes ago and he is sitting there, looking as though nothing is wrong.
"You wanted to talk?" I ask. I am still standing near the bathroom, my arms crossed over my chest.
Tommy shrugs. "Did Brendan call you?" he asks.
"Tess."
"So you know?"
I nod. "Is that what you wanted to talk about?"
"No, not really." Tommy stretches his arms over his head. "I was hoping you'd have a joke for me."
I am confused for a moment. Then I remember our conversation from a week back. I joke when things become uncomfortable. Desperate to provide some sort of distraction, I scour my mind. I cannot even come up with a riddle.
"I'm sorry." I tell him, "I can't produce them on demand."
Tommy looks nonplussed. "You'll have to find some different way to distract me." He smirks at me. I cannot understand his behavior.
"Tommy," I begin. I cross the room toward him. "You've got to be feeling something. Don't you want to talk about it?"
His smile drops. "Of course I'm feeling something." He tells me. "I'm going back. It's a nightmare. I feel scared, sick, and angry. Sad," he admits. "But I don't want to talk about it."
I open my mouth to protest. "Tommy—"
"Don't." his command is firm but not cruel. "Brandon is going to want to talk. And Pop. Probably even Tess. They're going to cry. They're going to worry." All at once, the emotion of the day is settling onto his face.
"I have a month," he continues. "And then it's a half tour over there." He gestures with his hands. "And I don't want to spend any more time than I have to thinking about it."
"All right," I push the fact that I need to talk about it to the back burner. After all, my worst nightmare has not just come true. "What do you want to do?" As always, I am determined to help.
Tommy considers my question for a moment. "I want to take you out." He says at last.
"What?" I make no effort to disguise my surprise.
"I want to take you out somewhere." He repeats. "If we met like normal people, I would have hit on you." He tells me. "Maybe bought you a drink. Maybe asked you to come home with me." His smirk returns as I begin to blush.
"I might have said yes." I am on an emotional rollercoaster. My despair has been replaced by elation.
"Say yes now." He prompts.
"All right." I nod. "Let me change first."
I dive for my suitcase and rush for the bathroom. It takes me only a moment to select the nicest outfit that I brought with me: a white sundress with orange flowers. I quickly throw it on before I can think too deeply about it, swipe on some mascara and lip gloss and hurry out of the bathroom.
It seems I change faster than Tommy. He is shirtless and in the process of jerking his jeans up around his waist. I take a moment to admire the masculine curves of his back. The hard lines of his physique contort as he shimmies into the denim. I feel my face begin to heat up along with other, more intimate body parts. I cough, suddenly nervous.
"Hey," again, he shows no emotion. "I didn't want to go in my uniform." He gestures to a pile of neatly folded clothing on the bed. He reaches down for an unassuming t-shirt, a navy blue number that isn't as tight as his shirt from the other night, but still is hugging his body like a Koala bear pencil topper.
"Ready?" he shoves a plain, black, baseball cap over his head and reaches out for me.
I grasp his hand and follow him out of the door.
It is still early enough in the day where people are either at work, or still asleep. We encounter no one in the lobby and hailing a cab is easy. With my hair curly and pulled back, and Tommy's hidden, no one recognizes us. Tommy holds my hand in his lap the entire car ride over. Even though he is too large for it to be comfortable, he is stationed in the middle seat, right next to me. He holds the door open for me on our way into the Cheesecake Factory. It is not the typical selection for a brunch, but I do not question it.
We are the only ones in the restaurant besides an elderly couple. The waitress sits us on the opposite side from them. The woman gives us a smile and a wave as we pass them. Tommy politely waves back. We are seated in a booth.
"Damn." Tommy mutters after the waitress walks away. When I glance at him questioningly, he smiles. "I was counting on pulling out your chair for you."
I laugh. He seems pleased. Instead of sliding in the opposite bench, he sits next to me. I do not object. I pretend to study my menu for a while, but I am completely focused on the man next to me. The side of his body is pressed flush to mine. I listen to the rhythm of him breathing. His eyes scan over his own menu, pausing every now and again. He looks completely focused as he flips page after page. After a moment he notices me watching him.
"I don't want food." He tells me.
"Neither do I." I admit.
"Let's get cheesecake. God, I haven't had cake in years." He looks longingly at the dessert section.
That settles it. We discuss which cake sounds the best before settling on ordering five different flavors (the best as recommended by our waitress). They arrive all at the same time. With a flourish, Tommy shakes out his cloth napkin, tucks it into the neck of his shirt and turns to me.
"Let's do this."
We laugh and eat cake, pretending that we have forgotten what has brought us together in the first place. It is nice to just talk with no interviews hanging over our head. I am not giving him instructions or arguing about what to say. Tommy is actually smiling, acting silly. He seems young, happy. I am glad I am here to witness it. He asks me the normal first date questions, where I am from, where I went to school, where I live now. Somehow they are more significant though. After nearly a month of prying into his back story, it is nice to share some of mine.
"So, are you dating anyone else?" he asks, licking chocolate off of his lips.
"It's a little late to be asking that," I laugh. I am giddy off of lack of sleep, sugar and his company. "But no; just you."
"Good." He leans forward, closing the scant inches between us. He tastes like chocolate and strawberries, with a hint of the pumpkin pie cheesecake he just swallowed. His kiss has more urgency than the last one. His tongue traces my lips and my mouth parts at his command. We are making out in public like a bunch of horny teenagers and I could not care less.
Somehow we manage to part long enough to pay the bill, gather up our boxed cheesecake and catch a cab back to the hotel. It takes all of my self control to not jump him in the cab, the lobby or even the elevator. I manage to keep my hand steady enough to slide the keycard into the door. The minute the door clicks shut, Tommy is on me. The leftovers bag gets deposited on the dresser before we begin the awkward dance of disrobing one another. Tommy has an easier job than I do. His hands shove the straps of my dress from my shoulders. Her jerks the material down and it bunches at my waist but he maneuvers it off. It pools at my feet. Tommy lifts me up out of it with his good arm and carries me to the bed. My back hits the mattress and he comes tumbling down over me.
"Your uniform," I manage to tell him. I can feel the previously pristine clothing under my back.
"Fuck it," he tells me. With a tug, it is out from under me and thrown unceremoniously to the floor.
I fumble with his jeans. He is placing extremely distracting wet kisses down the side of my neck and over my chest. I feel my body arch upward without my permission, unconsciously seeking him out. He discards his shirt and kicks his pants off. I help him detangle them from his ankles. I am abruptly struck by the intimacy of what we are doing. The idea that this is just a last thrill before heading off to war enters my mind and I cannot shake it, even as Tommy is igniting my body with his hands.
"Tommy," I gasp as his palms skim the bottom of my breasts.
"Yeah?" his voice is muffled against my skin.
"Would you be doing this, if you weren't—"
"Getting deployed again?" he lifts his head long enough to smirk at me. "I was going to come over here and seduce you no matter how the trial went."
His cockiness is infuriating, but his answer is comforting. As if to reassure me, he captures my lips in another kiss.
"You've been driving me crazy since we met in that casino. God," he groans, rubbing against me. "I want you."
I stop asking questions after that.
I am grateful for all the time I've spent recently watching MMA because being in bed with Tommy Conlon is like a wrestling match. I hit the mattress so many times in so many different ways that I lose count. By the time it is done, my legs are shaking and I feel like I have some sort of magnificent vertigo. He is lying behind me, his chest pressed to my back, one hand locked firmly around my waist and the other tangled in my mass of hair. He leans forward like he is trying to pull me into him. He drops a kiss on my shoulder.
"You ok?" somehow I know he is asking about more than my post-coital bliss. I nod slowly.
"Are you?" I ask quietly.
"No. Not really." He admits. I want to turn around to look at his face but I do not seem to have the strength.
"What are you going to miss most?" I ask.
"I don't know. The little things." He exhales. "Beer, junk food, my family I guess."
"You guess?"
"We were never close. And for the first time, we've got a chance to change that. And I have to go back."
"But you'll come back."
"Maybe."
"You will." I grasp his hand tight.
"If I do, I'm still coming back to a pile of shit." He says. "I'm going to need serious therapy." It is supposed to be a joke, but we both know better.
"Will you keep in contact with me?" I ask after a few minutes of silence.
"If you still want to talk to me." When I ask why I would not want to talk to him, he continues. "I'm different over there. You have to be. It's going to be like moving backwards."
I roll over so that I am facing him. His grey eyes stare into my brown ones. For once, I am the one with nothing to say. There is so much I want to tell him, so much I want him to know, and I cannot even form a single sentence. So I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him with as much passion as I can muster. He returns the gesture eagerly. We are locked around each other, skin on skin. By the time I pull back we are both gasping for air.
"Thanks," he tells me again. "For everything."
"I'd do it again." I say.
"I know this is a lot to ask." He begins. "And it's not like we're a couple, or…" he swallows thickly. I stroke his cheek to urge him to continue. "Don't forget me while I'm over there, ok?" It is the last favor he has to ask of me.
"Don't forget me either." I tell him.
"I promise." He kisses my ear.
"I promise too."
We drift to sleep in each other's arms.