I’d know too. He’s not the first guy I’ve dated, although there haven’t been many . . . for good reason. But I’ve dated enough to know I’ve found something special in Harbor.

One of my favorite parts of dating him is that we talk about everything and nothing at all. There’s no pressure to perform or be “on.” Not every conversation has to be some great reveal about ourselves. Instead, it’s been a journey of slow discovery. So much so that I wonder if this lifetime will ever be long enough to lose interest. It seems downright impossible when it comes to him.

Parking the car, he shrugs. “Okay, then we’ll study more.”

“No, I need to study more. You’re a complete distraction.”

He chuckles. “Maybe we should study in public places.”

“Um, no. The last time we did that, you had me pinned to the Italian breads of the 17th Century section of the library with a hand over my mouth to muffle me.”

Getting out of the car, he leans back in. “In my defense, we were shushed twice before you came on my hand.”

He’s so open about sex, like it’s just a part of normal life. Guess he can be nonchalant about it since he’s had it. His door closes, and then mine opens seconds later. I place my hand in his, and he brings me to him. See? Princess.

One arm comes around my waist as he leans in to kiss me but stops abruptly before impact. “We also made a killer loaf of bread that night.”

“I felt obligated to check out at least one of the books we violated.”

“You also came twice while it was baking.”

“And that’s why I need some time alone to study. I can’t be coming all the time.”

He tilts his head like the thought doesn’t register. I’ve never felt better about myself, my body, or been in a better mood than when I’m with him. Does orgasming on the regular play a part in that? Hell yes. But it’s also just the time I’ve spent with him. He always manages to make me smile.

Bending down to look me in the eyes, he says, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“The problem is it’s too good and causing my grades to slip. I can’t focus on anything else, and my applications are due soon. I haven’t gotten everything together yet. Have you applied for med school?” You’d think I’d know this, but school is one of the last things we talk about when we’re together.

He kisses me and then shuts the door, so we can head to class. He replies, “I’m working on it.”

We reach the corner of the building where we usually say goodbye on days we go in different directions. “Maybe this will give you time to work on that. I don’t want to be blamed for you missing deadlines.

“As long as you’re not actually trying to get rid of me, I’ll give you the time you need.”