Thomas & January (Sleepless 2)

We were on the road and headed toward the Channel Tunnel an hour later. I made sure I had all my meds with me but Tom assured me the ride was exponentially smoother than a water voyage and it would take us straight to Paris in only two and a half hours. I knew Europe was small but it was flabbergasting to think I could go from London to Paris in the time it takes to watch a film. Okay, the film would be Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, but still, that’s pretty amazing.

We dropped the car off at the rental place and cabbed it over to the Chunnel station. The entire process from leaving the hotel to boarding the train took less than an hour. I was impressed, thoroughly. Impressed because everything we did in Texas seemingly took a day’s commitment. One, because everything is twenty miles away regardless of where you’re going but also, to be honest, we just move slower than the rest of the world. It’s why we’re incorrectly pegged as slower thinkers. We aren’t. In fact, we’re sharper than most people; we just take our time, fewer mistakes that way. I think I sort of preferred it that way, but a little change of pace was always nice. Always.

We boarded the Eurostar and easily found our seats.

“Comfortable?” Tom asked.

“Very,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder and whipping out a bag of Twizzlers I brought from home. “Want one?

“Always.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a vine. That’s when I noticed it.

“Your jacket’s unzipped.”

“So it is,” he said, glancing down at himself, not realizing the significance.

His t-shirt was plain as day. He slumped a bit in his seat making it stretch tightly over his stomach. He’d chosen a charcoal grey tee and it was light enough for me to count each individual muscle in his abdomen. My own stomach clenched in the need to outline each one.

“My God,” I blurted, unaware I’d said it out loud.

“What?” he asked absently, chewing his Twizzler.

“Oh,” I gulped, “nothing. I, uh, just-nothing.”

“Okay,” he sung, narrowing his brows in suspicion.

“Want to listen to my iPod with me?” I asked. It was very important that I changed the subject.

“For business or pleasure?” he asked.

“Purely pleasure,” I said, my face and neck warming to a deep crimson. I could feel it burn up my neck slowly. I leaned into my bag in front of me to retrieve my iPod, letting my hair fall.

“Your hair has a bit of split, January. I can see your skin.”

“Damn it,” I said, blushing deeper, fighting a grin and sitting up.

He leaned into the side of my face and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Not to mention the heat I can feel just emanating off you.”

“What?” I panted, turning toward him.

“I can feel it when you blush. It settles here,” he said, bringing my hand to his chest. “And here.” He brought my hand down the abdomen I wanted to line with my fingers.

I yanked my hand back as if it was on fire, making him laugh loudly.

“Shh,” a little old English lady told him over her shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said, but the decibel of his laughter did nothing but rise. “Sorry,” he said again as the lady stared harder. He choked and coughed into his hand to control himself. “Sorry, ma’am.” She turned around. “You’re going to get me in trouble, January,” he whispered.

“Me? You can’t do things like that, Tom. Seriously.”

“Why not? That blush of yours drives me up the wall. If I can’t see it at least once morning, noon, and night, I don’t feel complete.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, blushing yet again. “Stupid blood.”

“No, it never lies,” he said more seriously. “I love your blood, it paints the most beautiful things on your face.”

“It doesn’t,” I told him, rubbing at my cheeks.

“Yes, it does,” he said, grabbing my face. His thumbs grazed over my jaw, back and forth, back and forth. He mesmerized me. “It tells me just how much I affect you and, in turn, you enchant me. You’re breathtaking, January.”