Page 101 of The Tartan Thesis

I’m actually dating someone. And not just anyone. I’m dating Torin Ramsay. The thought keeps looping, bright and unreal and a little bit dizzying, like I’ve stepped into something I’ve wanted for so long, I’d half convinced myself it wasn’t possible. I open my mouth to say something, plan out our whole future together, but a pointed throat clear cuts through the moment. We both glance up.

Our server stands there, balancing plates, her expression politely expectant.

“Sorry,” I murmur, but my apology is insincere. I’ll never be sorry for showing Torin how much he means to me.

Reluctantly, I let go of his hands, my fingers trailing against his for a fraction longer before I sit back. But I don’t let him go completely. Under the table, I slide my foot forward until it finds his, nudging once, then hooking lightly around his ankle, the small contact reassuring me.

Plates land in front of us one by one, the rich smell of grilled meat and garlic and butter rising between us, but I’m watching him. The way he smiles when he thanks the server. The way he glances at me again, like he can’t quite believe this either.

We start eating, and the banter comes easier now. At one point he laughs, and my fork misses my mouth because I’m too busy looking at him.

This is, by far, the best first date I’ve ever been on.

We stand on the sidewalk after dessert, cold and grinning.

“Thank you for dinner, Beau.” My heart flutters as Torin kisses me on the cheek, sweet agony running deep into the pit of my stomach. I never knew I could feel like this, and I never want it to end.

“It was my pleasure,” I say, wrapping an arm around him.

He grabs my coat and pulls me closer. He’s smiling but his brows are furrowed. “But you don’t always have to pay.”

My cheeks go red. “It’s no trouble.”

“That’s not the point,” he says as he tangles his fingers between mine. “Please just let me buy drinks or something at the next stop.”

“Oh, I— I didn’t make any other plans,” I say. “I figured you’d be tired after exams and ready to crash.”

“Well, we’ve only had one drink,” he says, brows relaxing, “and the night is young. Let’s go out.”

“I’m game,” I say, unable to control my grin. “Got anywhere in mind?”

His lips quirk as he thinks, then a grin spreads across his face. “I’m taking you to your first gay bar in Scotland. It’s time I witnessed Dancer’s mad skills.”

“Tequila again?” Torin asks with a grimace, and I laugh.

I slide in beside him at the tall table he’d claimed near the front of the bar while I’d grabbed us a round of drinks with his credit card. My heart had raced to find him smiling at me as I made my way through the crowd, colored lights swirling around us, a song by Robyn blaring overhead.

He’s looking at the tequila with trepidation as he puts his Visa back into his wallet, so I jiggle his thigh, noting it’s bigger than before. “Come on, Torin! We’re out and about. We’re young and hot, and we’re here together. It’s going to be fun.”

I put on my best golden retriever grin, and he responds with an eye roll. “Fine,” he says, but his smile gives him away.

He watches me pick up the glass and drag my tongue over the salted rim. He mirrors me, a little less confident, a little more cautious, and we knock them back together. I barely register the burn, but Torin… his whole face tightens, eyes squeezing shut before he swallows. I reach for the lime, catch it between my teeth, and bite down. “Like this,” I say around it. His eyes drop to my mouth and he copies me, immediately regretting it, coughing as the sour hits.

“Attaboy!” I say, clapping him on the back.

He shoots me a look of betrayal, completely adorable, as he tosses the spent lime into his glass.

“I thought you said tonight was going to be fun,” he says.

“Well, it was fun for me.” I chuckle, then find his hand under the table, moving it over to rest on my thigh.

The crowd presses in around us, voices rising and falling, and Torin looks around.

I’m dating Torin Ramsay.

The thought hits again, and I don’t even try to hide the way I look at him now. I don’t have to.

“What?” he asks, catching me.