#Jude
"Ever get the feeling you argued yourself into a corner and don't know the way out? Pick up your jaw, Quincy." Jude shoved the single red rose she'd bought at the airport into his hands and pulled a Tommy, breezing through the stone-grey apartment door into the…single biggest apartment she'd seen in her entire life! And she'd been at Darius' mansion! Her mind was blown before she made it fully inside. "How much money do you make in this town?" Her duffle landed with a thud on the shiny floor. No wonder the average population of Manhattan complained about a lack of space. With lofts the size of baseball fields, the rich hogged the real estate square meters the same way she bought Oreos on sale – with abandon.
"Er…what?"
Behind her, she heard him close the door. His jaw, from the sound of it, he'd yet to retrieve. "I'm in New York, you're not having a nightmare. It's all real." A week of debating their entire conflict inside her head had left her even more confused than before he'd called. Afraid another phone call with him might lead to a permanent separation, not just of their lives, but of what abysmally little remained of their friendship as well, she'd opted for a face-to-face approach. That not only sounded mature and wise, but it also awarded her a chance to snoop around in his New York life.
What she'd seen of it thus far had her stupefied. "Seriously, it's like Puffy's digs on Cribs or something. Tell me this place isn't hiding a basketball court in the guestroom!"
Like that sticky bit of popcorn haunting you for the rest of the night, Tommy remained pinned to the door by his bewilderment. Eyes, forever blue and piercing, drilled into her, without a doubt trying to make sense of her presence. His question confirmed it: "Why are you here?"
That needed asking? "Isn't it obvious? To talk."
"About what?"
She flung him a dry look. "The weather."
He rolled his eyes. "I came here to—"
"Avoid confronting your conflicting emotions regarding myself and our borderline inappropriate relationship, although now that I'm eighteen it stands to question if inappropriate is a term still suitable to aptly describe us."
His eyebrows shot up, as did the side of his mouth. "Talked to Sadie, eh?"
A few times too often, yes. She spun away to marvel at the kitchen. It was clean and neat and had not a fingerprint on any surface. Not surprising, given Tommy's lack of cooking skills. "Is this a rental?"
"Belongs to a friend of mine. Let's me stay for free."
She snorted. "To have friends like yours…" The lack of pronoun registered, and she turned back, curious. "A female friend?" An assortment of dead flowers that looked like leftovers from a wheatfield stood in vases shaped as no vase should be shaped in. Sprawling green leafy plants placed in fancy-looking planters lined floor-length windows. It had a certain female touch, this place.
And Tommy sure had a touch for all things female.
Tommy made his way over into the kitchen, resting his hip against the spotless counter, arms crossed. Fair, she hadn't predicted her visit would thrill him, but the cold shoulder? "Would that make a difference?" he asked in his customary, I'm-to-cool-for-this-tone. "You went out on dates after I left."
"You checked up on me?" Jude scowled at him. "Tommy!" She'd religiously avoided gossip magazines for exactly this reason. "You left so I could move on, didn't you?!"
"I was told. I didn't ask for it. But yes, I know. So, what? Look, girl, I don't care. I welcome it. It's the whole point."
"You welcome I went out on dates?" If she weren't scowling already, she'd start now. "You welcome I go out with guys and have a good time? That's what you're saying? You welcome I kiss other men? You welcome—"
"Fuck, fine! I don't welcome it." He drove his hands through his hairs. "Geez, stop being so literal. I don't want you to wind up alone."
"I'm eighteen, Quincy. I'm not looking to get married and start a family. You can unmount this high horse you're riding through Manhattan!" The Architectural Digest theme of this uber-sized apartment had her up in arms. Anything her gaze landed on, she found ugly on principle. Not that it was hard. The couch was made of a white leathery fabric, intended to look pretty instead of being comfortable. Somebody ought to have told the interior designer that beige carpets and a grey apartment door were not a match the color wheel would ever sign off on. Not to mention the structured cream curtains looked like oatmeal eaten twice. She blew out a breath, craving a comfortable corner to rest her feet. She'd not find it here. "I wasn't aware it was your prerogative to put me on the market. I knew you left to protect my seventeen-year-old innocence from your twenty-four-year-old bad habits but like I said, I'm eighteen now. I can handle you."
He chuckled, his first one since her arrival. "Cute."
Mockery. She glared. "I came here to confront you while you hide away in what is essentially a beige prison. She should have painted it pink. Saw it on tv once. One of those big mega prisons has a pink cell to calm down angry inmates. Works like a charm."
"Do I look like I need calming down?"
As a matter of fact, the opposite was required. A good ruffling would do him well. Ruffling him would certainly do her well. But Jude shrugged her shoulders, playing cool. "Just sayin'."
His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean I'm hiding away?"
"Look…" She took in a long breath, steadying herself for what she was about to suggest. "Ever since you left, I basically felt every emotion available. I cursed you, I hated you, I missed you, I understood you, I envied you…everything, to sum it up. And it was nice and polite and very grand of you to skip Toronto and grant me some time to figure it all out. As it turns out, last week, I came to understand something."
"You got too much free time on your hand?"
"You're not cut out to be a comedian. No, mind you. It's something else. But while we're at it, discussing things you're not, your skills as a host need some brushing up. I'd like a diet coke, if you have. I doubt this place holds anything sugary."
She swore she saw him hide a grin when he went to the fridge.
He handed her the can, leaning in as he did. Taunting her. "Well? You've got me all excited."
Jude snatched the can from him and took her time drinking a sip. "We've done it all, Tommy. The friendship, the pining, the arguing, the sex, the moving-on. Know what we've never done before? Giving it a try."
"Giving what a try?"
"Us, Quincy." She placed the diet coke away, took three large strides forward, and slowly brought her arms around his neck.
And at once, he moved to pluck them off. Eyes shot open wide. "Whoa, slow down." Growing terse and stiff, just not in a good way, his demeanor turned anxious. "Eh, Jude…what's happening?"
Not giving an inch, she held tight. "Why not?" asked Jude, determined about her plan. It was now or never.
He bent back.
"Is it the sweats I'm wearing?" She should have opted for skinny jeans, a plunging top, or anything not oversized and cotton, but traveling was a marathon gig, and those stupid skinny jeans always pinched her hips when she sat in them for too long.
"Seriously?" Tommy escaped her touch and paced through the pristine kitchen like the battery bunny after a fresh batch. "After everything we've gone through, you think a pair of fucking grey sweats is the final thing standing between us? Are you fucking nuts, Jude? You want us to date? We'd break up before the first course is served. I had time to think as well!"
Oh great.
He continued. "We're bad for each other. We're bring out our worst traits. You hate me looking at other girls and I don't like your work attitude. You're a lazy sod and I'm high maintenance. Your words! For every one thing you think you like about me, you can easily name two things you don't. And that goes both ways."
"I don't want us to work together," she returned.
"Oh, good, 'cause of all the things we've done together, that's the one thing that actually went places."
"Sarcasm," she argued snappishly, "only suits you when it's not directed at me."
The side of his mouth flew up, an involuntary grin.
The second one.
Like it always did, it softened her and she smiled, too. "Tommy, we don't know if we work out or not unless we try it and find out for sure. My point is, without us trying it, the question will forever stand between us." It was the one question her mind kept returning to. What if? And if it haunted her, it had to haunt him, too. "It's the very thing keeping you from returning home."
He raised his chin. "What makes you think I don't want to stay here?"
"In cellblock beige?" Her eyes grew small. "Why haven't you found your own place?"
"It's spacious and…" He became quiet.
She understood perfectly. "Yeah. Spacious." If nothing else, it was that. The perfect image for his current life. "You have space. All the space you could crave. And what's it you're doing with it? Reaching out to me with a handwritten letter. You know I'm right. Don't tell me you never wondered what it's like dating me."
"Madness," it shot from the tip of his tongue.
This time, she was the one with the quick grin. "Who likes it boring?"
Tommy dropped his head, chuckling despite himself. She knew him well. "Girl, this is insane." Taking a seat on the leathery couch, he leaned back and regarded her with a resigned mien. "I admit that there were times when I did imagine what an us might look like. And then, in the last year and a half, when all that shit went down…I mean, I practically switched my head off and went on emotions. Which led to chaos!"
She watched him run his fingers through his hair and for the first time in far too long, she wanted to do it, too. Not because he was hot or because his hair was silky or even to peeve him since he hated nothing more than to have his styled coif come undone at the touch of another person. No, she wanted to run her fingers through the strands because she knew it calmed him down and she longed to do the calming-down for him.
"Let's not even mention the fact that your dad would kill me, that Darius would have me fired, that Sadie will hire paid assassins to snap my neck, that Kwest will tell me ten times a day not to say a single bad word to you lest I accidentally use one that hurts you, that—"
"Are you done making excuses?" She was more than done listening to them. "All of that may be true. But know what else would happen if you asked me out? I would say yes. And we would go out and enjoy a nice night out. We'd laugh together because we always laugh together. You'd flirt with me because that's what you do. And then, at the end of a long evening, you'd find yourself lucky and be allowed to kiss me. Depending on how much I ate, you might just be allowed to do more than that."
He cracked a laugh.
"I'm not asking to move in together. I'm not asking to make long-term plans. I'm saying let's go and have dinner and see where that leads. Because I meant when I said this will always stand between us." Even when she'd gone out on dates and entertained the idea of moving on for real, it was his face she'd seen upon closing her eyes. Those gorgeous features showing of self-doubt and overcoming odds. It wouldn't be easy. But it might be worth it. "We will never be just friends, Tommy. You know it and I do. Not until we give it a go."
"I couldn't ask you out if I wanted to." From the couch, he shot her a smirk, to her great surprise appearing less and less objecting. "You're in sweats. It's a fucking no-go in this town. Not even McDonalds would have us. Well, they'd have me. Not you."
"If that's the last excuse you have not to take me out for a night around town, let me do away with it." Striding over to her duffle, she yanked it open and rummaged through it. She'd packed a dress. She knew since she'd filched it straight off Portia's hallowed Never Touch This Rack-rack. "Ha! Knew it was in here somewhere!" Accompanied by the sounds of sequins chafing against the duffle's linen, she withdrew a black, knee-length dress. "The tags are still on it, so…make sure to tug 'em back inside when you see 'em."
Tommy leaned over the back of the couch and shook his head. Was he amazed or dumbfounded? "Did you seriously buy a dress hoping I'd ask you out? Gotta say, you grew cocky since I moved here!"
"Buy?" Jude cackled, unladylike as ever. Spend money on a dress for a date she'd no idea would ever happen? "Stole it from Portia." Her money was invested and tied down. She had dibs on a car and two guitars on hold. "Don't tell her."
Tommy scoffed.
Duffle back on the floor, she flung the dress over her shoulder and cocked her left hip, hands on her waist. "Before I put this on, since it's tight and it's gonna pinch me in weird places and it'll require me to suck in my stomach…are we going on a date?" If not, she had to look for a place to stay, for a meal to eat, and most importantly, she'd have to find a dark corner to deal with some seriously crushed hopes.
For she might be playing cool and aloof, which was fun to a degree, especially seeing Tommy react to it with intrigue instead of dismissal, but under the surface, she was a jittery mess. She could handle rejection. The last year had trained her well. If this was the last she'd see of Tommy, then somehow, she knew deep down, she'd make it through to the other side and continue standing strong on her own. The problem was: she didn't care for the other side. There was no Tommy on the other side. She'd be able to handle the other side, yet she wanted this side. If it didn't work out, so be it. But to try it, they had. Or the ghost of what might have been would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Tommy shed time not saying a word. For a long time, he watched her. A plethora of questions and objections and unspoken words flittered across his face and colored his eyes every shade of blue imaginable. Until, after what felt like hours but probably were mere minutes, he tilted his head as he'd done countless times, drew one side of his mouth up, and shrugged. "Got plans tonight?"
She felt weightless. Floating. High and happy and speechless all at once. "I…yeah! No! I mean…" Take a deep breath, Jude! "I'd love to go out with you, if that's what you're asking."
"Good." Tommy got off the couch and rounded it, coming to a halt less than a foot in front of her.
Inside her chest, her breath hitched. That familiar crackling returned full swing, stronger than ever before. Heat wafted from Tommy and made her palms sweaty. She gripped the dress tight.
He reached down and picked up her duffle, not breaking eye contact once. "Second guestroom is down the hall." The world's most benign statement, spoken by Tommy like the dirtiest demand inside a fogged-up bedroom. His voice had fallen to its husky timbre and his gaze, she swore, had started to simmer. "'s got a bathroom and a shower and a nice view of the Hudson."
"Yeah?" When he turned around, walking off, she watched his ass sway from left to right to left to right. "I like the view from here."
"Of the city?" asked Tommy, glancing over his shoulder.
Jude snapped her head up. "Yes!"
#Tommy
"…sonofa…fuckin' stupid…argh, God damnit!…damn a kitten…damn Keith Richards…"
Tommy was about to shrug his suit jacket on when the sounds of Jude's sweet voice cursing like a drunken sailor traveled down the hall like a half-finished witch's spell. "Jude? Everything alright?" Just in case it wasn't, he went and checked. Though, to be honest, he was mainly interested in what Keith Richards had to do with anything. He knocked on the guestroom door. "Girl?"
"…motherfucking…curse the cheese!"
What the…?! Tommy peeked through the open door. "Jude?"
"It's the damned gouda!" She stood by the dresser, a hand to the wall, the other arm bent over her shoulder, holding a clothing hanger, the swivel hooked through the back zipper of her dress, which appeared stuck at her lower back. Cheeks flushed, one leg stretched out, the other pressed against the dresser for support, she looked like sequined-topped ballerina dancer who'd knotted herself while twirling.
Laughing, Tommy stepped into the room. "What's the gouda done, eh?"
"Turned me fat. The dress was for me! I know 'cause it had my name written on a tag. Portia got my measurements. The stuff she gets me fits. It ought to fit, that is. But last week, there was a party Spied dragged me to. A cheese party. He's got the hots for some preppy rich chick, and she had some kind of soiree? Never mind that, there was cheese. I was bored. Need I say more? There's a reason I'm wearing sweats on a plane! Can you zip me up? I can't hold my breath and pull the hanger up."
He'd have said something but between two black, shimmering ends of fabric he caught sight of her fine, creamy skin. The zipper, almost entirely undone, barely shielded from his transfixed eyes the top of her butt. It exposed the entirety of her spine as it curved all the way up her body. And since she arched forward, he saw it in all its glory. A long, sloping bend that beckoned him to trace it with his finger.
Whatever she feared the cheese had done to her, it was all in her mind. There wasn't an inch to her that didn't leave his mouth dry with desire. She'd pulled her hair forward, over her shoulder, but she'd cut it and the silky strands tumbled back, dangling against her nape.
He drew in a sharp breath and steadied his hands before taking the hanger from her, unhooking it as he did. "Gonna…" He gave it the gentlest tug, probing the fabric. It wasn't the fabric not giving an inch. It was the zipper being stuck that prohibited him from closing the dress. Carefully prying it apart, he slipped his index finger into the material.
In front of him, Jude gasped, arching forward. A move that, coincidentally, brought her behind closer toward him. "A sequin's come loose. Gotta pull it down a bit."
"You're just saying that 'cause you want to see my underwear," teased Jude. "Spoiler. Not wearin' any."
He dropped his head forward, his forehead coming to rest against the back of her left shoulder. "You're killing me, you know that?"
She swirled around before he could step away. "Changed my mind."
"About the dress?" He met her eyes and was taken aback by the all-consuming darkness inside them. She was still the young ingénue. Tommy doubted her age would ever not make him feel guilty. But damnit, this wasn't the look of a girl who was nervous or uncertain about what she wanted. This was the smoldering gaze of a woman aware of her needs. It was fiery, hot-blooded yearning painting her eyes a shade of black he'd never seen before.
Jude reached behind herself and he heard the fabric tear. A moment later, the strapless black dress with its millions of sequins pooled on the floor around her bare feet, forgotten. True to her teasing remark, she was completely naked.
"Fair warning?" She flashed him a cheeky grin, flooring him with her confidence as she stood before him in the nude. "Forgot my razor at home. Couldn't shave my legs."
He couldn't possibly care less. When had this happened? When had she grown up and learned to stand in front of a man, self-possessed and full of poise, not a flicker of nervousness on her face? Had there been other men who taught her? Who'd proven to her how beautiful, how astonishing she was? The thought made him nauseas and he forced himself to bear it. Slowly but determinedly, his fingers darted out, its tips making landfall, running in slow-motion up the slope of her hips. "Jude…"
"I've lain in bed so many nights," whispered Jude, chasing the movement of his hands with her eyes, "and imagined this moment. I've fantasized about your eyes on me. About your hands touching my body. Your lips kissing mine." There'd been an almost undiscernible hesitation in her voice when she'd almost steamrolled him into asking her out. That tremor had vanished. She oozed composure as she spoke in a quiet tone. And as though she could read his mind, she answered his unspoken question. "I want this too much to be nervous."
His hands stroked up her stomach. His thumbs flicked up, circling the underside of her breasts.
She licked her lips. "Tommy…" Her eyes fluttered. "Take me…"
And he did, diving forward, kissing her as though she was the very air he needed to survive. Which could very well be true.