“It was unbelievable. Like unbelievable.”“How fit is he on the Tom Hardy scale?” Bec curled up in the armchair and wrapped a fleece blanket ar...und her shoulder.The Tom Hardy scale was the rating system we had developed after three years as singletons in London. Zero being our landlord Richard, five for Leonardo DiCaprio’s level of hot, and ten for Tom Hardy.“He’s off the scale.”“Girl! No chance. Better looking than Tom Hardy?” Bec arched an eyebrow and looked at me as though I had just pissed. Come on!” I get out of my car and follow him into the house. It’s quiet, besides the TV on in the background. We head upstairs, to Jake’s room, and I know I've never even seen his room. I’m pleasantly surprised: It doesn't look overly childish. It’s rather clean, and filled with baseball things. I know he’s on the team in his high school, though he graduated this year. He suddenly looks rather nervous and I can’t help but giggle at him. Stepping up to him, I run my fingers down his arms,. More

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