Page 108 of The Tartan Thesis

Something about us pressed against each other like this—the way we fit so perfectly together—is creating a fissure in the brittle dam that’s holding back my trepidation.

I shiver despite his warmth, adrenaline hitting my system as I work up my courage. “Torin,” I whisper.

His even breaths continue, his rib cage expanding and contracting in my arms.

I swallow hard and whisper again before I lose my nerve. Whether he’s awake or not, I need to say it.

“I’m in love with you.”

I hold my breath for a reaction, but none comes. He’s well and truly asleep. I shudder as I exhale and reflect on my words, still hanging in the quiet room.

I’m in love with Torin Ramsay.

With this new word attached to our relationship, the feeling courses through me, making my heart swell, pushing some of the fear aside.

Because I may not know what will happen tomorrow or the next day, but right now I’m holding the man I love. And right now, that’s enough.

33

Torin

Scratcher

Translation: Bed

Usage: To describe where you might find yourself after a night of mind-blowing sex

I wake up in a bed that’s far too comfortable to be mine and roll to check my phone, but I don’t make it far. Beau is sprawled out flat beside me, muscular arm draped across my torso, effectively pinning me in place. I smile as I admire his sleeping form, face relaxed, hair a mess against the pillow, broad back rising and falling with every slow breath, one foot reaching toward mine, the other splayed wide under the sheets.

Then the memories from last night come rushing in.

The way he’d held me. The way he’d studied me, figuring out exactly how to make me come apart. How he’d used every bit of his strength to put me where he wanted me but had also been tender. Caring. Loving.

And the things he’d said.

It’s always been you, Torin.

A grin spreads across my face at the memory of his words.

I want to stay here in the warmth of his embrace all day, but I know Freya will be calling soon, like she always does on Sundays. She has my location on her phone, so if I don’t pick up, she’ll quickly deduce what happened and proceed to be too irritating for words.

I gently pick up Beau’s very heavy arm, which is like moving a fallen tree, and sneak out from under it. I drag on my jeans, wincing slightly at the lingering ache in my body—worth it, every second—and tiptoe downstairs to gather the rest of my clothes, socks already in my pocket. My shirt goes on crooked as I head for the kitchen, still half-distracted by flashes of last night.

I check my phone as I pour water from the jug in his refrigerator. There’s a text from James; I delete it—along with the rest of our messages—without even reading it, and resolve never to respond to the prick again. Maybe Beau really has fucked my ex right out of me.

Glass full, literally and metaphorically, I call Freya, who picks up on the first ring.

“Where are you? Are you at Beau’s house? Did he shag you senseless?”

“Why are you like this?” I ask her, exasperated.

“I’m so proud of you!” she yells, and I pull the phone away from my ear before she goes on. “Good on you, Torin. Bet it was pure class.”

I want to hold out on her because she’s a right fanny, but last night was too good to keep it to myself.

“Aye, we fair wore ourselves out,” I say, a smile on my face.

“I knew it! Glad you finally jumped that braw Yank.”