33. Chapter 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.”
“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.
“Torin…” Freya’s voice is cautious. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” I say and clear my throat. I walk into the sitting room and glance around. “Just that Beau and I need to talk when he gets up. You know I don’t like loose ends.”
“Aye, I know you’re an anxious control freak,” she says.
“Har har.”
My gaze moves over the desk, and I frown. Papers are stacked in chaotic piles, books left open with their spines cracked, and pens are scattered across his desktop. Given how tidy the rest of his house is, this corner is a cluttered mess.
“What about your new lad?” I ask, trying to change the subject as I reach out and straighten a page. “Is he alright or a dobber?”
Freya launches into it, but I only catch the first bit because all I can see are the words on the page in front of me.
"Burning the Glen: The Role of Scorched Earth Tactics in Pacifying the Highlands"
Beau Fontenot
My fingers go still against the paper. I lift the cover sheet toward me, slower than I mean to, like the letters might rearrange themselves if I don’t move too quickly. They don’t. His name is still there. The title is still there.
He told me he’d moved away from this topic, hadn’t he? He promised.
My pulse kicks up as I flip through the pages, taking in a substantial reading list, provisions for rare primary sources, a thorough outline of the topic. This is no small rough draft. It’s a complete thesis proposal.
I swallow hard and set the pages down, only to find more beneath them—printed articles, journal PDFs, titles echoing the same themes over and over. Clearances. Pacification. Highland suppression.
My eyes land on the notepad beside them, fingers clumsy as I open it. The latest page is dated this week, his handwriting filling the margins with observations, connections, questions. I turn back further. And further.
He’s been writing notes about my topic since the start of the year.
The truth sinks in, my heart sinking with it: Beau lied to me.
My pulse is pounding, and my head starts to ache. Freya continues talking, but her voice has blurred into meaningless noise.
Why would Beau break his promise? The man who has everything. My mind scrambles for footing, grasping at anything that makes sense.
His first term. He struggled with Scottish history, his own area of study. Then I came along, and his grades have gotten better. Because of me.
It’s happening again. Just like with James.
My chest tightens, breath coming shorter, trying to make the pieces fit together.
I still don’t understand. If he’s stealing my topic, then why is he wooing me now, after all this time? Wouldn’t he want to keep me at arm’s length if we’re going to be in competition?
Then I think back on our timeline. I haven’t spent nearly as much time helping him this term.
A cold, creeping thought edges in.
Beau wanted his Scottish tutor back. And he was willing to shag me if he could get what he wanted. The thought grates against something in my brain. It doesn’t quite fit, not completely, but it’s the only explanation my mind will settle on, and it lodges there.
“Torin?” Freya’s voice cuts through, louder now. “Torin, are you even listening?”
“I, er—I have to go.”
“Wait, what—?”
I hang up. My hands shake more than ever as the awful truth sinks in, turning my once fluttering guts to stone.
Behind me, the floorboards creak. I turn. Beau is coming down the stairs in a tight pair of boxers.
He’s beautiful with his hair mussed, muscled legs flexing with every step. The body he knew I couldn’t resist. The one he’d wielded like a weapon to get what he wanted, my feelings be damned.
I drop the papers on the desk and stand, quaking for a different reason than last night, my face growing hot. His grin falters as his gaze meets mine, and I feel no pity.
It’s time to wipe the smug look off his handsome face for good.