"I'm going to bed." Jenny pouts, standing up and wrapping her robe around her tiny waist. It is nearing on two in the morning, and Santos is already half passed out on the floor. Emily and Mark have been gradually moving closer and closer to each other as the night has gone on, and at this point I am just waiting for them to crawl on each other and start making out in front of everyone.

"Good night." Santos murmurs, face down in the plush carpet.

"Go to bed, wastey face." I poke him in the butt, and he grunts.

"Tom?" Jenny looks at Tom and gives him a wheedling smile. Tom shifts on the couch, and stands up. He kisses Jenny on the cheek, his hand resting on the top of her butt.

"I'll be up in a bit, Jen. I'm gonna have one more." He says. Jenny looks upset for a second, but then sighs and nods. Santos gets up a second later, looking a bit like a swamp monster coming out of the ooze, and follows her toward the stairs.

"We're going to bed too." Emily takes Mark's hand, grabbing a few empty glasses to take to the kitchen. I stay where I am on the floor. It's just the two of us left. Would it be weird to leave now? Or weirder to stay? I'm not sure, but I feel glued to the spot.

Tom settles back onto the couch, sitting across from me. The house is so quiet, the only sound is the soft crackle of the fire to my side. I can feel his eyes on me. I'm warm from the alcohol and the flames, and my head feels lovely and fuzzy.

"Are you going to stay on the floor?" He breaks the silence after a minute and I look up. I can tell he's a bit drunk as well. He's still clear eyed, but there's something else there that's not normally there. An abandonment, a wildness.

"It's pretty comfy." I say quickly.

"Yeah, but I have pillows and blankets on the couch. What does the floor have?" He smiles and suddenly looks like a young boy. He's got this amazing, open, silly smile. He sits back, looking totally at ease and comfortable, his lean frame relaxed. It is hard not to remember those wonderful, sexy hours we spent together a month ago.

"When you put it that way." I shrug.

"I'm very persuasive." He grins, and I continue with the flashbacks. My stomach tightens and I know this is a bad idea.

Still. I get up and plop down next to him. It's one of those wide, deep couches. I slide back and pull my feet under my legs. Tom has a fuzzy blanket on his lap, and I reach over, grabbing it off of him with a smile. He protests for a minute, but then lets me have it. I settle it on my legs and then turn slightly toward him.

"Tell me...the game from earlier..." He is only a few inches away from me, and from this distance I can see the slow steady rise and fall of his chest. I can see the light, golden hair on his arms that is such a contrast to his dark hair on his head.

"Yeah?" I lean back feeling comfortable and a little tired.

" What would your stripper name be?" Tom asks, his eyes sparkling. He's taken off his sweater, and has on a pair of loose sweat pants. He looks so relaxed.

"I don't want to tell you." I shake my head, feeling silly. So, maybe there is a chance that I'm also the last person he slept with, but I don't know for sure. Maybe he's had other one night stands since we met a month ago. Maybe he's on one night stand number 62, and I'm still at one night stand number 1.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." He smiles, tilting his head back against the back of the sofa. I don't know why I care to know, but I roll my eyes and pull the pillow I'm hugging closer.

"Fine. It's Lucky Hiddleston." I say quickly. Tom's eyes are on me for a few lazy seconds. His eyes search mine, and then he looks away, a smile curling on his lips.

"Don't. I know I'm lame, and please don't take it as some sort of compliment. But I told you at the time, I don't sleep around and...I just haven't...met anyone else." I ramble, scrunching the pillow nervously between my hands. I feel about a foot tall. Tiny, insignificant, silly-

"Mine would be Brando Bell then." He says, cutting me off. I stop mid sentence, the words hanging. Bell.

"But you're dating Jenny." I say softly, unbelieving. I couldn't be the last person he slept with.

"True. We haven't had sex though. Not yet." He runs a hand over the back of his neck, and then to the side of his throat, looking rather boyish and perhaps embarrassed.

"I'm shocked." I manage. He laughs and looks at me with those blue eyes.

"Don't be. I told you as well that I don't sleep around." He shrugs. I scrunch my nose.

"I hardly believed you. Not with that face." I smirk and Tom laughs, looking pleased.

"Well thank you, I think."

"Lucky Hiddleston is a pretty good stripper name, you have to admit." I grin, trying hard not to blush. Tom pulls his long legs onto the couch and stretches them toward where I'm sitting. I watch as he slips them behind my back.

"It is." He smiles absently.

"What are you doing?" I laugh as I feel his feet nudge behind me.

"My feet are cold." He grins.

"Oh, you're that kind of person?" I scold him, leaning back against his legs.

"Perhaps." He shrugs and then buries his feet deeper between my back and the back of the couch. I sit back, and it's surprisingly comfortable. His long legs stretched out in front of him, my knees and thighs bumping against them. I rest my arm on his knee caps, careful not to get too familiar. I feel warm all over.

"I never thought I'd see you again." He says suddenly, his eyes on me.

"That was sort of the point." I smile.

"Well, yes. But I wanted to see you again. And so it's surreal that you're here, sitting in my mum's living room, on Christmas Eve." He leans over, fiddling with his nearly empty cup.

"It is a bit surreal."

"You didn't want to spend the holidays with your family?"He asks gently. I don't know how much he knows about my background from Emily, but I'm guessing it's very little. I waver, not sure how much to tell him. Do I tell him the whole psycho story? Or do I give him the story I tell first dates. Just the bare minimum?

Tom is watching me, and he leans forward, offering me his mug. I don't know what he's drinking, but it smells wonderful. He had disappeared into the kitchen about twenty minutes ago, and had come back with a new drink. The rest of us had still been working on finishing up the whiskey, and hadn't asked what he'd been drinking. I take a sniff. It's a bit sweet and strong.

"Drink. And then tell me the real story." He urges me on. I smile, chuckle softly and take the mug. I take a sip, finding it surprisingly delicious. Like sweet, buttery caramel.

"What is this? It's delicious."

"My specialty. Let's go into the kitchen and I'll make you one." He offers. I nod, and Tom pulls his feet out from behind me, and then holds out his hands to help me off the couch. I take them, and he pulls me up gently.

I follow him into the kitchen. Tom motions to one of the bar stools at the big island, indicating he wants me to sit down. I sit, leaning against the bar as I watch him move about. He adds butter, and two kinds of sugar into a sauce pan, and starts whisking them together as the butter melts.

"I didn't know you were good in the kitchen." I smile, sitting up a bit to try and get a better look. He looks over his shoulder, and gives me a smile. He seemed so different at first with the dark hair, but there is no mistaking that smile. So sweet and incredibly genuine, but hinting at someone a bit mischievous underneath.

"I can hold my own." He turns back to the stove. I can't help but stare, watching the muscles move in his back as he mixes. He's so tall, and lean. His sweats hang low on his narrow hips, and his tshirt hangs nicely from his frame. He's thin, but in a good way. I watch the back of his arm as he moves, the muscles flexing and spreading as he makes my drink. He adds what looks like milk or heavy cream into the pan, and then turns and looks at me.

"Darling, do you want it to be spicy or sweet?" He asks, twirling the spoon in his fingers. I feel my face flush immediately, despite myself.

"Um." I'm quite the conversationalist.

"From what I remember, you like it a bit of both." He smiles widely and then turns around, stirring the mixture and adding what looks like cinnamon and other spices. I know I shouldn't say anything, but the drinking has left me a little loose lipped. Alcohol and curiosity are never a good combination.

"Why haven't you slept with Jenny?" I say, praying my voice sounds normal. Tom turns, placing the spoon on the edge of the counter. He rubs a hand over his jaw.

"I don't remember you being so blunt."

"I think it's the alcohol."

"Then let me finish making you this drink, so we can keep talking." He grins. I roll my eyes. He turns back around for a minute, adding what looks like rum to the pan. I didn't know we had rum, but apparently Tom had a secret stash. He pours the mixture into a clean mug, and then refills his own.

He leans over, setting the mug down in front of me and then leaning against the island.

"Hot buttered rum."

"Thank you." I nod, and then blow gently on the caramel colored liquid.

"I haven't slept with Jenny because I'm going to break up with her soon, and I think it's best we kept it simple." He says, looking straight ahead as he talks. I set the mug down, so I don't drop it or scald myself. He looks at me then, and gives me a simple shrug.

"What?"

"We were pretty casual. She invited herself along this week, bought her ticket and everything. I don't mind her company. I just know she's not...what I'm looking for. So when we get back to London..." He trails off and then grimaces, pulling his lower lip down.

"Wham bam, thank you ma'm." I am surprised he's being so candid, but then again I'm pretty sure we'd both fail sobriety tests at the moment.

"Yes, but no wham bam." He points out.

"Why? She's practically offering herself to you on a silver platter."

"Yes. I know. I'm very aware." He laughs drily. "She's too much. I could have fun with her, I know. But things are about to get really serious with my career, and I need to keep things simple. She's the sort that could really...distract me." He takes a gulp from his mug. I nod, looking away and trying not to let my mind go crazy.

He won't sleep with Jenny because she's a distraction. She's gorgeous and more than willing and has the body of a Victoria's Secret model, but he won't have sex with her. So what, exactly, does he think about me? The random girl he met on vacation and shagged silly two nights in a row? And now has to sit in his mum's kitchen and chat with during the holidays?

"Sorry, it's really none of my business." I say softly, then lean down and take a sip of my drink. It's delicious.

"It's okay." He shrugs.

"So this movie you're going to be in? It's a big deal?" I ask.

"Maybe. Yes. We'll see." He looks bashful.

"Congrats then." I raise my mug and he smiles and clunks his against mine. "Have you been in anything I'd have seen?" I ask. He leans against the counter, and then walks around, sitting down next to me on a stool. He's much more animated than I remember. Energetic, excited about things. It's rather charming, even at 2 in the morning.

"Probably not. A few British shows and a few small movie parts. I've done some theater as well. Anyway, enough about me." He changes the subject so rapidly, I don't even catch it at first. "I've heard a lot about Santos, and Em has been friends with him since she started uni. It's strange I've never met him until now. Why has it taken me so long to hear about you? Have you known Emily long?" He asks.

"Not long actually. I've known Santos since high school. We've been best friends for awhile. Emily was always more his friend, and that was partially my fault. I was in a relationship until recently, and I spent most of my time with him. So I knew Emily, but I've only recently become close with her. She's so great." I feel a little nauseated talking about Richard.

"She is great." Tom smiles. "You were dating someone until recently?" He cuts right to the chase, one eye brow raised. I can't help but smile, my cheeks flushing.

"I was."

Tom leans forward, urging me on.

"And?"

"And I'm no longer dating him." I laugh. Tom stands up, crossing his arms over his chest. His shirt pulls up at the bottom, revealing a few inches of bare stomach. I catch a glimpse of some muscles, and a happy trail and...

"Is that what Punta Cana was about?" Tom looks as if he's been hit by lightning. "You were getting over your ex?" He asks, speaking a bit too loudly.

"Shh! You'll wake the whole house. And maybe. Possibly." I shrug. He makes tiny explosions around his head with his hands and then laughs, sitting back down.

"I've never been someone's rebound. Wow."

"Not that you know of." I smirk.

"Well then? How was I? On a scale of 1-10. How was I as a rebound?" He is so excited asking me this, I can feel the energy rolling off him.

"We aren't having this conversation. You have a girlfriend."

"Barely." He winks at me, and I shove him hard on the shoulder, making him tip backwards. We are both drunker than we have realized. He waves his arms forward, grabbing my forearms to steady himself.

"You were my rebound. And you were perfectly adequate. Now change the subject." I get up off the stool, feeling the ground shift slightly under my feet. Silly alcohol. Playing tricks. Tom is laughing and spinning on his stool to follow me as I walk around to the sink.

"Perfectly adequate? I'm wounded." He grabs his chest.

"Tom! Shush!" I scold him as his voice gets louder.

"Fine. Change the subject. Must not talk about your multiple orgasms that you call perfectly adequate." He says the last two words using air quotes, and I am sure I am going to die of embarrassment.

My eyes go huge and then I rush at him, slapping him with just a bit of force on the shoulders and sides and...oh...he's surprisingly muscular. I've forgotten about that. And stronger than he looks. He grabs my wrists, holding them steady at my sides, and I laugh as he pushes me against the island. The granite edge digs into my lower back, but I'm still laughing.

Tom stands up then, and takes a rather steady, quick step toward me, closing the gap between us. His hands are still wrapped around my forearms and wrists. I can't go anywhere. His thighs press against mine, and I feel as if the air has been pressed out of my lungs.

Oh, I would be a horrible person if I kissed him, right? I would be a terrible, terrible person to kiss a guy with a "barely" girlfriend. I lose my head for a moment, and I know I shouldn't blame the booze, but I blame the booze as I ground my feet and lean into him. He lifts my arms, bending them back behind my back and pressing them into my lower back with his hands.

He smells so good. Like caramel and vanilla and rum and maybe just a bit of that terrible peppermint schnapps. I remember the way he kissed me and touched me and made me forget. I remember the way he made me laugh, and made me wish he'd been something maybe a bit more.

"Tom." I say his name softly. He looks down at me, down the slope of his perfect, strong narrow nose. His eyes are heavy, blue like a rolling, stormy ocean. He's breathing softly, his lips parted slightly.

"Why are you here? You didn't have family or someone you wanted to see for the holidays?" His voice is soft, deeper and rough as he continues to look down at me. Our faces are inches apart, and I can make out his light brown eyelashes. He's got a few freckles on the side of his neck. I fight the urge to just rise up onto my tiptoes and kiss the side of his throat. It would be so easy. And so simple. Though, not really that simple at all.

"I don't have a family. My mom is a mess. She's most likely getting high at this very moment. My dad is...not in the picture." I whisper. "My aunt said there wasn't room for me to come for Christmas at her house. So I'm here." I tell him the truth. His eyes move back and forth, reading my face. We are still pressed together, my arms tucked behind my back, his hands keeping them there. His body is hot against mine, and I can feel his thighs, and...I can feel everything through the soft material of his sweats.

"I'm sorry. I like when we are honest with each other." He says, his voice unemotional. There is something in his eyes though. Something charged, emotional. I don't know if he's referring to the fact that we once lied about our names, and now I have most definitely not lied to him about my messed up family. I'm surprised that he likes that.

I lick my lips. Kiss me, please. I don't care if it makes me a terrible person. If it makes him a terrible person. His eyes focus on my lips.

"Honesty is good." I say softly.

"It is. And I'm honestly very...glad you're here." He leans down then, and I can feel his breath against my skin. I hold my breath, as he leans down, his chest presses against mine. I feel completely alive. My skin is awake, tingling with any miniscule touch from him. His eyes are still open, a tiny bit, and we lock eyes.

"Tom?" A voice comes from the living room, from just around the corner.

We both move quickly. Tom steps away, dropping my arms. I turn away from him, feeling like I can't breathe. I lean against the island counter, my back to the doorway. If anyone sees me now, they will know everything that was just going through my head.

"In here." His voice is deeper than it should be and rough around the edges.

"Are you coming to bed?" Jenny comes into the kitchen but I don't look at her. I drop my mug into the sink, and walk quickly out of the kitchen.

"Goodnight." I say softly over my shoulder, as I brush by her. She's back to wearing just her slinky camisole. I move quickly, out of the kitchen and through the living toward the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. It shouldn't matter to me what his answer is, so I don't wait to hear it.