Page 42 of Tenure

“Iknowthis isn’t a good idea, Kiernan. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop doing it.”

She frowns, confused. “Why are you upset then? You weren’t upset earlier. Mad at me, but not upset.”

“Tell me why you don’t have a boyfriend.Haven’thad a boyfriend.”

She eyes me warily but pulls on her fingertips, fidgeting, giving her away like always. She’s nervous.

“I’ve just never been interested in anyone before,” she says quietly.

“Nobody? Not ever?” I’m not sure why this pleases me so much, but it does.

She shakes her head no. “Nobody. I’ve kissed a few—or they’ve kissed me”—my knuckles crack—“but it just never felt right.”

“Why?”

She blushes and stares down at her hands.

“Tell me why. Now.”

“They weren’t you,” she says quietly.

For once, I’m glad she’s not looking at me because I open and close my mouth at least three times before my tongue starts to work.Don’t say what you’re thinking. Don’t say what you’re thinking.

“You know I’m almost forty, right?” I finally blurt out instead.

She looks up at me and grins. “I’m kind of good at math, you know.”

I reach over and grab her chin, pulling her close.

“You little shit,” I say warmly, and then I kiss her again.

34

Kiernan

He takes my hand as we walk into the restaurant, and I grimace as the hostess does a double take.

Yeah, yeah. He’s hot. We know.

Her eyes slide over to me and then down to our hands, and she looks a bit surprised, glancing back up at his face and then blushing.

“Hi,” he says after a long beat of awkward silence. “Table for two? Under McGrath.”

“Yes, um, right this way please,” she mumbles.

“Well this is fun,” I mutter.

“What’s fun?”

“Being stared at.”

He shrugs. “It happens.”

“You’re used to people staring at you for a living. I much prefer to hide behind an abnormally large textbook at the back of the room, thank you.”

He squeezes my hand as we slide into the booth, letting it go slowly like he’s reluctant. I’m having kind of a hard time keeping up with his moods, but I feel like that has more to do with who he is as a person than with me. I have no context for boys except Connor who has always just been the boy from down the street with the purple mulberry stains on his cheeks, to me, and I definitely have no context for men, but I’m not stupid. I know he’s . . . a lot.

I like this place. It’s moody, like him, with black floors and black walls and black booths lit only by glowing orange candles and sparkling chandeliers. I make a mental note to thank SJferociouslyfor her outfit choice; I’d have looked like a fucking peasant if I’d worn my jeans.

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