Page 24 of The Tartan Thesis

Usage: Another word for an idiot

I wait alone in the classroom to make sure Beau is long gone before I leave. It’s the least I can do after going off on him like that.

I run a hand over my face as I traipse out of the building. The way Beau had looked when I mentioned his midterm grade…

I wish I could take it back. All of it.

The look of hurt on his face. Fuck, he’s never going to forgive me. I wouldn’t if I were him.

How can I make it up to him? I have to try. It’s the least I can do.

I drop onto a bench, pull out a notepad, and scribble some ideas about what I have to offer Beau in terms of working together. After a few minutes, I stare at the page and sigh. I really only have one thing in my arsenal: Scottish culture and history lessons.

I’m not sure I want to go down this road again, given all that happened with James, but it’s what Beau needs most right now. And the professor told us to learn from one another. Maybe this is what he meant. Maybe I’m supposed to help him become a better scholar of Scottish history.

I throw the notepad back into my bag and head toward his house. Professor Drummond recommended we wait to meet, but I can’t let this fester. I need to apologize, and I need to do it now. To show Beau I mean it.

And I need to make a stop on the way.

I hesitate at Beau’s door before knocking. Christ, my palms are clammy. I rub them on my pants, shifting from one foot to the other.

No answer.

I knock again, harder this time. I look up and down the pavement, gaze following a yellowing leaf as it floats down from a tree to join its fallen comrades.

Further knocks yield the same result.

I check my watch. Another minute goes by. I settle against the doorframe and pull out a research paper from my bag. Any grad student worth their salt always keeps a stash of PDFs within reach.

The article turns out to be better than expected. I sit down on the pavement, spread the paper across my knee, notepad balanced beside it, pen and highlighter in hand. I put in some earphones and drift into the past. My happy place.

A pair of trainers appears in front of me. Again.

My eyes flick up. Beau stands over me, face flushed, hair damp. He must have been working out. No smile. No dimples. Just a flat mouth and glaring eyes. I pull out my earphones.

“You couldn’t wait till tomorrow?” he asks, deep voice rumbling.

I guess I shouldn’t have expected a warm welcome. Maybe this was a bad idea. I also didn’t plan what I was going to say, so “I fucked up” comes flying out of my mouth. Great start, Ramsay. Open with profanity. Very scholarly.

Beau tilts his head, clearly not impressed. I scramble to my feet, Beau not even watching as I send a highlighter flying over his shoulder in my haste to try again, a car running over it the instant it lands.

This is going well.

“Beau, I’m sorry,” I say. He maintains his flat-lipped stare. “About today,” I continue.

“Torin, this didn’t start today,” he says, his eyes flashing, a sharp edge in his drawl. “You’ve been antagonistic to me since day one. Yes, you humiliated me today, and you do need to apologize for it, but that’s not all there is to it. If you don’t realize that, then you should leave and try again tomorrow. Like Professor Drummond told you.”

“You’re right,” I say quickly as he turns toward his door. “I’ve been awful to you. A right rocket. And you’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve it.”

More staring. Fuck, those eyes are sexy when he’s mad.

“This honestly has nothing to do with you,” I say, wanting to explain. “I took my shit out on you because you were the easy target.”

He flinches. That was evidently not the correct phrasing.

He looks away, shaking his head, unlocks his door, and steps inside. I assume I’ve been dismissed until he calls over his shoulder, “Are you coming in or not?”

He’s still fuming, but this feels like a step in the right direction. Or maybe he’s luring me in so he can kill me.