A half hour later...
I just stood outside his apartment complex shivering—feeling the rain drip down the back of my shirt in cold rivulets as I stared. I knew he was home. I had watched as his motorcycle roared into the garage on the right side of the complex before pulling off his helmet and striding confidently into his home. And, even then, I hadn't approached him—just watching instead as the lights came on in his penthouse upstairs. The rain had started then, and I reveled in the cold feel of it, hoping that the frigidness would somehow knock some sense into me, but the only thing it did was make me cold.
I still felt as strongly about the current situation as I had before, but maybe I was just scared. Why wouldn't I be? I had never taken this final step with anyone before. The closest I had ever gotten to a boyfriend, and Tom and I weren't even involved, was when Spied and I were together, and, even then, I had usually shied away when things got too intimate. I can almost guarantee a therapist would have a field day with me.
Looking once more up at his glowing bedroom window, I took a deep breath, gathered my courage together, and walked toward the entrance uncertainly. "Stop it, Jude." I kept telling myself over and over again as my pounding heart beat out a rhythm that matched remarkably the forceful steps I was taking up the stairs toward the elevator. Could I do this? Of course I could. I watched the lift doors open before me, and I sighed heavily before stepping onto it. The best thing I could do for myself right now was remember to breathe. Which, by the way, was something that I was having a remarkably hard time doing as the elevator opened—leaving me to stare at Tom's front door in uneasy anticipation. What was I doing? Should I knock? Finally, I just placed my hand on the knob and turned—shocked to find that it spinned easily in my hand, and I pushed it open ceremoniously before peering into the room. It was empty. I could hear the shower running upstairs, and I froze at what that implied. Talk about timing, Jude Harrison.
Closing the door behind me, I locked it before heading for the stairs—wondering as I did if Tom really even wanted me here. Of course he did. 'Quit with the doubts, Jude,' I told myself quietly as I took the stairs slowly one at a time—staring at them as I went as if the steps were an insurmountable mountain waiting to crumble beneath my feet. Breathe.
I reached the top of my obstacle to find to my pleasant surprise that Tommy's bedroom door was cracked, and I peered into it like a friggin' peeping tom wondering as I did if I should knock or just call out, but my words froze in the back of my throat as my eyes met with Tommy's towel clad body as he sprawled lazily on his bed looking through a folder he had open before him. Oh, it was like a fire had been lit in my belly as I stared at the damp drops still clinging to his skin—falling to his waist sporadically to gather on the cloth towel sitting just low enough I could make out the faint ridge of pelvis below his abdomen. It was like he was a statue sculpted perfectly out of granite, and I was an art student just enjoying the form in its natural state. I shivered again as a breeze blew from his heater when it kicked on, and the door knob rattled as my hand shook with cold causing Tommy to look up in sudden alert. My gaze crashed with his, and for a moment, neither of us moved.