Page 109 of The Tartan Thesis

“We jumped each other,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It wasn’t all me, ya know.”

“So…” she says, her tone somehow even more mischievous, “how big is it?”

I stifle a laugh, trying not to wake Beau. I should’ve known this question was coming. I lean back against the counter, tapping my chin like I’m giving it serious academic thought. “How do I put it?”

She makes an impatient noise down the line.

“Let’s just say that we’ll have to forgive him for wearing boxers under his kilt.”

“Meaning?” She knows the answer but wants me to say it.

I sigh and give in. “Meaning he’s got a lot to contain, and he’s more likely to be forgiven for the faux pas since he’s American.”

“He nearly broke you in two, then, did he?”

“Och, that’s enough now,” I say, taking a quick sip of water, as if that might cool my face. “No more talk of my boyfr—” I choke on the word and cough, heat flaring up my neck. “No more talk of my night with Beau.”

“Fine,” she says sweetly, too sweetly, “I’ll not ask you anything else about your boyfriend’s Texas beef.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”

“You know me so well.” I can hear the grin in her words.

“Aye,” I mutter, pushing off the counter and pacing a few steps across the kitchen, “sadly I do.”

There’s a beat, and when she speaks again, her voice has softened. “I don’t imagine you would’ve slept with him and stayed the night if you weren’t getting serious…” she trails off, the question implied.

I catch my faint reflection in the window—flushed, rumpled, a bit dazed—and I rub a hand over my jaw.

“Aye, we talked last night…”

“And?” she asks, drawing the word out.

“And… we’ve decided to give it a go,” I say, a grin stretching my face again.

“That’s brilliant, Torin,” she says. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks,” I murmur as my worry sets back in.

“What was that? Why don’t you sound more excited?”

I hesitate, thumb tapping against the side of my glass.

“I don’t know,” I say. “We still have a lot to talk about. I don’t even know what his plans are after we graduate, and I can’t help but worry.”

“Worry about what?” she asks, sounding genuinely confused.

“I’m worried because…” I take a deep breath, steeling myself to say it. “Because what does the man who has everything need with someone like me?”

“Torin,” she says, her voice suddenly harsh, “you do realize that ‘the man who has everything’—which is a load of shite, by the way, ’cause everyone needs something—can be very particular about what and whom he chooses? And even if he doesn’t need anything, he wants you. I think that speaks volumes. Don’t you?”

I hadn’t considered it that way before. Beyond helping him with his studies, I didn’t know what I could possibly offer him. Now that he’s told me more about his romantic past, I see that he doesn’t put himself out there unless he’s really interested. I still don’t understand what he sees in me, but maybe it’s enough that he does see something…

My mind flashes back to last night. God, it was incredible. Ravenous. Approaching carnal. It was passion, through and through.

With the morning light shining in, I see what we did as more than just physical. The things we felt were more than just the pleasure of sex. It was an expression of… love.

I push off the counter and start pacing, the energy suddenly too much to keep still. Before my date with Beau, I was just along for the ride, waiting to see what would happen. Now it feels like I’ve stepped onto something moving too fast to get off. Less like an exciting adventure and more like the brakes have gone out on the car and we’re careening toward the unknown. I’m falling hard and I need to know where this is going. Because if I hit the ground, I don’t think I’ll be able to get up again.