29. Chapter 29
Torin
Nebby
Translation: Nosy
Usage: To describe someone you wish would mind their own business
“I haven’t heard you talk about Beau in a while.”
Freya’s face fills my phone screen, one eyebrow already arched.
I’ve got her propped against a stack of books on my desk.
She video calls every Sunday to badger me about something or other.
I stop pacing my small room and flip the wall calendar over to March, pinning it in place.
I turn to her with pursed lips, pretending to be annoyed, but I miss her.
“Oh, er… he’s good,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
“Why are your eyes all shifty like that?” she asks, leaning closer to the camera. “Did you finally shag?”
Having a twin is a blessing. And a curse.
A blush creeps up my neck as I avoid looking at the screen, my mind flashing back to Beau on his knees for me.
“Surprised it took so long,” she says, sounding beyond excited. “I mean, that chair didn’t break itself.”
“Noticed that, did you?” I say, failing to make eye contact.
Freya stares me down, clearly waiting for me to explain myself.
“We didn’t shag,” I say, “but we did have some fun.” God, my face is hot. I give her the gist of what happened, and she gasps in all the right places, waving her hands around above her head in others, then congratulates me. She even applauds, which feels wildly unnecessary.
“That’s huge, Torin!”
“It really isn’t,” I say.
Except—
He really was.
And the way he’d stared into my eyes while he took me with such ease…
I clear my throat and tap the screen, muting the call for a second as I adjust myself, forcing myself to breathe through it before I compose my face and bring her back.
“So what happens now?” she prods.
I sink onto the edge of the bed. “Honestly, I don’t know.” Burns Night had been incredible, but things have gone back to normal since then. “I guess I’m still waiting for something. A sign.”
“Let me see if I understand your predicament,” she says, sarcasm already creeping in.
“The hottest guy I’ve ever seen, who’s somehow also sweet and intelligent, snogged you while spending the holidays with you and your family, then gave you the best blow job of your life, and you’re waiting around for more signs that he likes you? ”
“Och, fuck off,” I say. “Like I said, we’re just having some fun. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But it does. It means so much. I want more, but being back at uni has stirred up memories of my time with James. And I can’t set myself up for another broken heart.
“What’s the real problem, Torin?” she asks, gentler now. “What are you afraid of?”
I sigh, push up from the bed and start pacing again, knowing she’ll pester me till I give in.
Freya watches me, waiting.
“I’m scared,” I say, the words catching as I try to pin them down, “that what we’ve had so far is as good as it’s going to get, that if he spends any real time with me outside of our holiday and classroom bubbles, that he’ll realize I’m just a bookworm with little else to offer.
I mean, we are so different. He’s gorgeous, confident, and rich as hell. And I’m—”
“Fabulous in every way?” she offers.
I shake my head. “He has a trust fund, Freya. I’m the son of a farmer who’s going to make a professor’s salary. Humanities faculty aren’t exactly known for raking it in.”
“Torin, look at me,” she says.
I comply, grudgingly.
“Don’t give me that face,” she says. “You need to hear this.”
“What is it?” I ask with a groan.
“It’s true he’s a braw lad, and that he has money.”
“A lot of money,” I add. She ignores me.
“But as far as most people are concerned,” she continues, “those aren’t flaws.
Most people would be delighted with an attractive and wealthy partner who gives good head.
And even with all that, he’s still one of the kindest men I’ve ever met.
Guys who look like Beau and have cash to toss around have the potential to be right rockets who are lazy in bed.
Beau is not that guy. He’s attentive. He listens.
He shows up. He’s an absolute catch. The problem isn’t Beau. It’s you.”
“Aye, I’m not good enough for him!” I shout, glad she’s finally getting it.
“No,” she says, “the problem is you think you’re not good enough for him.”
“Aye, because it’s true!”
“No, it isn’t,” she says, calm as anything.
I shake my head, already gearing up to argue, but she cuts me off before I can.
“Torin, when have you ever known me to lie to you to make you feel better?”
“Never,” I say, not even needing to think about it. “You’re always brutally honest with me. You’re actually right mean at times.”
“Exactly,” she says. “I’m not blowing smoke up your ass, so believe me when I say you’re a catch, too.
You’re a good-looking lad—don’t pull that face, you are—you’re already a respected and published historian before even finishing your PhD.
Plus, you’re going to be a well-regarded professor, and a damn good one. ”
I roll my eyes as she goes on.
“And I’ve seen you in a relationship,” she says. “James didn’t deserve how well you treated him, the way you open up and devote yourself to your partner. You commit fully, with your whole heart. That’s not something everyone does.”
“Aye, and that’s a problem!” I’m yelling again.
“If I let myself fall for Beau, I won’t do it halfway.
I’ll lose myself in him and my relationship with him.
Then he’ll go back to his real life in America, and I’ll be left—” My chest tightens, the rest of those words lodged somewhere I don’t want to touch.
“Broken and alone. Again.” I take a shuddering breath, trying to hold in the bitter feelings this conversation is dredging up. “I can’t do it, Freya.”
She sighs, and when I look at the screen, her expression has softened in a way that makes tears prick the corners of my eyes.
“I know James hurt you,” she says, “but it bears repeating that Beau is not James.”
“I know,” I say, knowing she’s right. But knowing something and believing it are two different things. If I wasn’t enough for James, there’s no way I can be enough for Beau.
“I just want you to have the best possible life, and I think Beau could be part of that,” she says. “I think he wants to be. You just have to let him.”
Maybe I do have more to offer than I’m willing to admit, but if the ache in my chest tells me anything, it’s that I’m not ready to do this again. Not yet.
“Even if what you’re saying is true,” I say, returning to my original argument, “I have no way of knowing unless he shows me—no—unless he tells me. And he hasn’t.”
“What if he does? What if he makes it clear to you that he’s interested?” she asks. “Would you give in then?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
“I don’t know, Frey,” I say. “If he tells me, I guess we’ll find out.”
An incoming call flashes across the screen.
“Who’s calling?” Freya asks. “Do you need to go?”
“It’s Beau,” I say quietly. He hasn’t called me all term. We usually text.
“Answer it,” she says. “I’m hanging up. Love you.”
“Wait—” I start, but the line cuts off, and I’m left wondering if my sister is a witch who can conjure calls from fit Texans.
I tap the button to answer.
“Torin?”
Just my name in Beau’s deep voice sends a spark of longing through me.
“Aye,” I say after too long of a pause. I clear my throat. “Sorry. I’m here.”
“Howdy, Torin. Um—” I hear him breathe in before he continues in a rush. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”
My grip on the phone slips. “Shite—” I mutter, fumbling, catching it just before it hits the floor, and pressing it back to my ear like nothing’s happened.
“Torin? You still there?”
A date. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
I know what I should say. I’ve been managing this—us—carefully, keeping everything just on the safe side of controlled.
This would tip it. I should tell him it’s not a good idea.
That now isn’t the time with midterms coming up.
I open my mouth to say it, to explain, to deflect, to do the sensible thing, but my mind betrays me with flashes of his hand in mine.
His excited smile at the simplest of things.
His beautiful blue eyes watching me like I’m something to be cherished.
“Aye.”
“Yeah?” he asks. The cautious excitement in his voice, like he’s just as nervous as I am, has my heart fluttering.
“I’d love to,” I say, wanting his enthusiasm to bubble over. Enthusiasm at going on a date. With me.
“Great,” he says, and I can hear the smile now, the relief threaded through it. “And I don’t want to distract you from midterms, so why don’t I make a reservation for Saturday when they’re over.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, because it does. Having something to look forward to would be nice, but knowing it’s with Beau makes it so much better.
“Great,” he says again.
We both go quiet, but it’s different now. Not awkward, just… new. Like we’re both reeling at the idea of our new paradigm. One where Beau and I go on dates.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it then,” Beau says, recovering first.
“Study, study,” I confirm.
“And, Torin?”
“Aye?”
“Good luck this week,” he says. “Not that you need it. You’re going to be great.”