Chapter 15

Three years, two months, two weeks, and six days earlier

Edinburgh, Scotland

The guys are a few feet from us, currently talking about the Antonine Wall, the fort in Newstead, some other shit that always seems to loop back to the Roman Empire, and I must admit it: it’s kinda hot, watching Conor lay his dick on the table.

The way my male friends gather around him like he shits good advice and life skills gives me some secondhand embarrassment, but it’s nice that he doesn’t look too out of place, even in a bar that’s literally in a student union—a converted library where the median age is nowhere near his. His clothes are simple, but too high quality to really blend in, and there is an assurance about his presence that sets him apart. Still, since he settled everyone’s tab and kept the bill running, Alfie has been giving him resentful glances, and witnessing that feels almost as good as sex.

I don’t think Conor enjoys being at the center of attention. He’s well practiced, socially adept, but it’s obvious to me that he sees my friends as infants who just outgrew their diapers. I’ve been developing a theory about him, which is still half-baked, but here goes: The smooth manner in which he conducts himself, the ease as he walks about the world, is only superficial. He has learned how to be congenial and businesslike, but that’s just the surfacing tip of the iceberg. Deep down there is something else. Wilderness, maybe. A block of ice. A lot of control, for sure.

The worst part is, I am the one he should be hanging out with. He keeps looking in my direction, maybe bored, maybe just checking in. We both know that if it was just the two of us, we’d be having way more fun.

Like we did today.

Sorry, I text him from my table.

When he reads the message he turns toward me to mouth, You better be, and I don’t hide my grin.

“You know,” Rose tells me, sipping her hot toddy, “I briefly wondered if you had lost your mind and were letting some old guy dip his cookie into your milk just to get back at Alfie, but…”

I follow her gaze all the way to Conor. “But?”

“Now that I’ve seen him, no notes. I’d do him.”

I laugh. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t. The idea is repulsive. But less so than most men. I can appreciate him, aesthetically.” She ponders it. “Maybe it’s because he had more time.”

“More time to…?”

“Become attractive. Maybe hotness is something you marinate toward? The longer you have, the more likely it is to accumulate?”

Maybe. But: “You know, he’s not just handsome. He’s actually really fun to talk to, too.”

“Right, yeah.” Rose seems skeptical. “I reckon you discuss…yachting and certificates of deposit?”

“Both topics have yet to come up,” I say, wondering if she’d be surprised to find out that we spent the day together.