Tamsin

by Abigail Strom

  “You said my first time would be terrible. You said it would totally suck.”

  “I said that?”

  “You did.”

  She kisses the center of my chest. “So you’re saying it didn’t suck?”

  “I am. In fact, I’m saying it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  I feel her smiling against my skin.

  “It was all right for me, too,” she says. “I mean, you know, it was okay.”

  I smack her bare butt, and she squeals. Then she pulls back and grins at me.

  “This is literally the first time you’ve ever had sex and you’re already into spanking?”

  “Only with you, and only when you deserve it.”

  “Wow. That’s a really good answer.”

  I know I should say something funny or snarky back. That’s what we have going right now.

  But I don’t say something snarky.

  “I love you.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “I love you, too,” she says, her voice trembling a little.

  There’s nothing I want to say after that. I just want to hold her, and feel her body against mine, and bask in this incredible glow.

  Tamsin must feel the same way. Because when I pull her into my arms again, she doesn’t say a word. She just nestles close and slides her arms around my waist.

  This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tamsin

  I wake up in the middle of the night as hungry as a wolf. Which isn’t really surprising, since I didn’t eat much yesterday.

  Daniel must have turned his bedside lamp off at some point, because it’s pitch dark. His heavy arm is draped over my waist and I shift a little, trying to ease my way out from under without waking him up. There are three guys living in this house, and I figure there’s got to be a kitchen downstairs with food in it.

  Daniel’s arm tightens around me as he nuzzles my ear.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  The melting thing happens behind my breastbone. I would be totally down with making love again, but the fullness in my bladder and the emptiness in my stomach have to be addressed first.

  “I have to pee. Also, I’m starving. Is there any food in the house?”

  Daniel chuckles. “I guess the least I can do is feed you. We’ve got chips and pretzels and leftover Chinese and a bunch of frozen stuff. What are you in the mood for?”

  “Anything but tofu.”

  He chuckles again. Then he turns on the bedside light, and when I see his naked body in all its glory I almost swoon.

  Do women swoon in this day and age? If not, it’s only because they don’t see enough of Daniel Bowman naked.

  “What?” Daniel asks, when he sees me staring.

  “Nothing. Just…you’re really pretty.”

  He grins as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.

  “I’m not even the prettiest person in this room.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re way better looking than I am. On any objective scale.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” he says as he pulls on his boxers and his jeans. “I’ll go downstairs and grab us some food.”

  “A lot of food.”

  “A lot of food.” He pauses at the door. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. My housemates are probably home, so—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll put some clothes on.”

  “As long as you take them off again after we eat.”

  I’m still smiling as he closes the door behind him.

  I put on my clothes, but before I go to the bathroom I do what every girl does alone in a guy’s room. I walk around looking at everything.

  A lot of football stuff, of course. Some photos of family and friends. A couple of music posters, including one of Tom Waits. Text books and some thriller novels I’ve never heard of and biographies of athletes.

  And a Bible.

  There are also a couple of framed prayers, one painted and one embroidered. I feel kind of taken aback when I see them. It’s easy to forget that Daniel is religious, and my reaction to the Bible and the prayers makes me wonder if he was right about me all those weeks ago. Maybe I do have some kind of problem with religion.

  Or maybe it’s just that it’s unfamiliar to me, and a little bit alien. After feeling so close to Daniel for the last few hours, it’s probably good to have a reminder that we’re still two very different people.

  But that’s true of any couple. Our football team’s quarterback is Muslim, and he’s dating a Jewish girl. If they can make that work, a Christian and an atheist can figure things out.

  My bladder is starting to get insistent, and I go out into the hall to find the bathroom.

  It’s surprisingly clean for a house of just guys. There’s toilet paper and soap and even a couple of hand towels. I resist the urge to open the medicine cabinet—reading a guy’s book titles is cool, looking at his prescriptions is not—and go back out into the hall.

  The rooms are all on one side, and the other side is a banister looking out over the first floor. I’ve only seen the second floor of Daniel’s house—that’s what happens when you come in through the bedroom window—and now I pause to look down.

  The living room is pretty nice, and so is the part of the kitchen I can see from here. I’m about to go back into Daniel’s room when I hear his voice floating up from the kitchen—along with a second voice I don’t know. One of his housemates, I assume.

  “What did I tell you about fucking a feminist?”

  I freeze. And suddenly I remember something I’ve let myself forget—that one of Daniel’s housemates trolls women on Twitter.

  “Don’t talk that way about Tamsin. I’m serious. You’re crossing a line you don’t want to cross.”

  “So she’s not a feminist?”

  “Not like the ones you make fun of. No.”

  Not like the ones he makes fun of? What the hell does that mean?

  “You’re fooling yourself, bro. Remember that question you asked me? Well, the shoe’s on the other foot now. What are you going to do if she gets pregnant? What do you think she’ll do?”

  “I don’t—”

  “I’ll tell you what she’ll do. She’ll get a fucking abortion. She’ll go to those murderers at Planned Parenthood and kill that baby without a second thought. She’s a goddam baby-killer.”

  My hands are squeezing the banister so hard my knuckles are white. This is who Daniel lives with? This is who his friends are?

  “You’re out of your mind, Trace. Tamsin would never get an abortion.”

  For a second I just stand there.

  I don’t decide anything consciously. I’m not even thinking, really. I just go down the stairs and through the doorway into the kitchen.

  Daniel is leaning against the counter. Trace is sitting at the kitchen table. They both turn their heads when they hear me come in.

  “Hi,” I say. “I heard my name, so I thought I’d join the conversation.”

  Daniel looks upset. His housemate, on the other hand, looks pleased with himself. He also looks—and smells—like he’s been drinking.

  “The famous Tamsin,” he says with a big grin. “It’s an honor to meet you. So you picked my boy here to be number twenty-four, huh?”

  It just goes to show that when you think things can’t get worse, you’re probably wrong.

  But it might not have been Daniel who talked to him about me. It might have been Oscar or one of Oscar’s friends.

  I look at Daniel. “Did you tell this asshole how many guys I’ve slept with?”

  He takes a step toward me. “No. Of course not.”

  Trace waves a hand. “Yeah, he did. He was drunk at the time, so he may not remember.”

  I relax a little. “Now I know you’re lying. Daniel doesn’t drink.”

  Trace looks at Daniel. “You want to set this bitch straight?”

  Daniel gives him a look that would send a
ny sober man running for the hills. “You call her that again and I’ll rip you apart.”

  Trace grins again. “I apologize. Let me rephrase. Do you want to set this lady straight?”

  I fold my arms. “Yes, Daniel, please do. Do you drink or don’t you?”

  His deer-in-the-headlights expression isn’t exactly reassuring. “Not usually.”

  “Not usually?”

  “I drank this one time. After our first date.”

  Trace nods. “That’s right. He told me and Beeker—that’s our other housemate, you should meet him sometime—that you’d slept with twenty-three guys. I guess Danny boy was feeling a little insecure, since he’s only slept with, what? Five girls?”

  I’m trembling, and I hope to God they can’t see it.

  “Maybe you weren’t lying about the drinking thing, but I know you’re lying about this.”

  “Oh, yeah? I can’t wait to hear why.”

  “Because Daniel—”

  I stop.

  Everything about this conversation is making me sick, but that doesn’t mean I can tell this asshole Daniel’s private business.

  But Daniel can.

  “Because he what?” Trace asks.

  “He can tell you,” I say.

  Daniel looks at me, and then he looks at Trace.

  “Tamsin is the first girl I ever slept with.”

  Trace stares at him for one second, and then he bursts out laughing.

  “My God. I take back everything I ever said about you, Galahad. This is, hands down, the best scam a guy has ever pulled on a girl. You convinced her you were a virgin? That’s fucking genius. You took all the pressure off yourself to do anything for her, and she was probably panting to do shit for you. I bet she worshipped your cock. And she felt all special, right? The first girl you ever slept with? God, you’d think a slut who’s fucked twenty-three guys—sorry, twenty-four—wouldn’t be such a gullible idiot.”

  Daniel’s expression before was scary, but now it’s more than scary.

  It’s murderous.

  He’s not looking at me, but I take a step back anyway.

  “Stand up,” Daniel says, and his voice is so cold a shiver runs down my spine.

  “What’s your problem, man? I’m proud of you.”

  Daniel crosses the space between them, grabs his T-shirt, and jerks him to his feet.

  “Put up your fists.”

  Trace starts to laugh. “Put up my fists? What is this, a duel of honor? Over some stupid cunt?”

  Daniel lets go of his shirt. Then he takes a step back.

  The punch is so violent that Trace stumbles backward and falls. I see blood pouring from his nose and mouth, and then I turn and run.

  I go upstairs because my shoes and wallet are still in Daniel’s room. My hands are shaking but I manage to get the shoes on my feet and the wallet in my pocket.

  I don’t want to go downstairs again. I open the window and crawl out onto the tree limb, and then I climb down to the ground.

  “Tamsin!”

  It’s Daniel, shouting at me from his open window.

  I don’t even look up at him. I take off, and it’s only when I hear a thud and a curse that I turn around.

  Daniel is on his ass at the base of the tree. I don’t know if he fell all the way from the second floor or halfway down as he was climbing, and at the moment, I don’t really care. But he’s on his feet now and coming after me. Even though he’s limping a little, he’s a football player and I’m not, and if he chases me he’ll catch me.

  So I might as well get this over with now.

  I stop and wait, and in a few seconds he’s standing in front of me.

  “You have to let me explain,” he says.

  “Sure thing. Go ahead.”

  He wasn’t expecting that. He takes a moment to get himself together, and then he reaches for my hand.

  I take a step back, and he doesn’t try to touch me again.

  “Trace is full of shit. Obviously. God, Tamsin, you have to know that.”

  “So you didn’t tell him how many people I’ve slept with?”

  That stops him short. He opens his mouth and closes it a couple times. Then he says,

  “Okay, listen. I might have told him that. The night of our first date I was pissed at myself for fucking things up. I came home and drank for the first time since I’ve been at Hart. I’m honestly not sure exactly what I said. I was upset, and—”

  “And you told your housemates about my sexual history.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. Then,

  “Maybe. But Trace was right about one thing. If I did, it was because I was insecure. That’s on me, not you.”

  I nod. “Right. You were insecure because you’ve only slept with five people.”

  “No! Fuck. That’s total bullshit. I’ve dated five girls since I came to Hart, but I didn’t sleep with any of them. Maybe Trace assumed I did, but I didn’t. I don’t advertise the fact that I’m a virgin but I never lied about it, either. I haven’t slept with any of the girls I dated and I never said I did.”

  I look at him for a moment, and it’s so easy to remember the way his dark blue eyes made me feel just a few hours ago.

  “You’re not a virgin anymore,” I say.

  He swallows. “No.”

  “I’m glad I could help you out with that. Like Trace said, it made me feel very special.”

  He looks stricken. “Tamsin—”

  “Shut up,” I say, and he does.

  I take a deep breath. “The fact that you told your housemates my sexual history sucks. The fact that Trace used that information to slut-shame me sucks, too. Of course, people have been trying to slut shame me since I was fifteen years old. I should be used to it by now.” My hands are shaking, and I shove them in my pockets. “The fact that Trace thinks you lied about being a virgin as some kind of sex strategy also sucks, since I have no idea if it’s true or not. But that isn’t—”

  “Tamsin. You can’t think I’d—”

  “Shut. Up.”

  He does.

  “But that isn’t the worst part. The worst part is that you’re friends with someone like Trace. Someone who harasses women on Twitter and calls them bitches and sluts and cunts to their faces.”

  He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at me like he’s at his own execution, and I’m holding the axe.

  “There’s something else. You told Trace I’m not like the feminists he makes fun of, and you told him I would never get an abortion. What did you mean by that?”

  “I just meant…” He stops. “I just meant…”

  “What?”

  “I just meant…”

  I wait a few moments, but he doesn’t finish the sentence.

  “I think I know what you meant. I think you meant that I’m a reformed character now. Now that I’ve been sanctified by sleeping with you, I’ll happily give up all my feminist ways. I’ll go to church with you every Sunday. And I wouldn’t dream of making a decision you don’t agree with.”

  I turn and walk away. And this time, he doesn’t try to follow.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Daniel

  I go back to the house in a kind of daze. The first thing I see is Beeker standing in the kitchen doorway, watching Trace rinse the blood from his nose and mouth.

  He turns when I come in. “What the fuck is going on? What the hell happened between you two?”

  I have to fix things with Tamsin, and I will. But there’s something else I have to do first.

  “Trace is moving out.”

  Trace jerks upright and turns off the faucet.

  “Fuck that. If anyone’s moving out, it’s you.”

  If Beeker hears the story and sides with Trace, I’d rather move out anyway.

  “I’m fine either way. Let’s tell Beeker what happened.”

  The amazing part is that Trace doesn’t even disagree with my version of events. It’s obvious he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with what he said.<
br />
  How could I have been friends with him for so long and not know what an asshole he is?

  But that’s not really how it’s been. The truth is, I’ve always known what an asshole Trace is. It’s not like he’s ever hidden it.

  It’s just that I let it go.

  Now I’m hearing Tamsin’s voice in my head.

  The worst part is that you’re friends with someone like Trace. Someone who harasses women on Twitter and calls them bitches and sluts and cunts to their faces.

  I’ve called out guys who use those words. But I’ve never stopped being someone’s friend because of it.

  Until now.

  Beeker holds up a hand to interrupt Trace in a tirade I haven’t been listening to. “Okay, that’s enough. Trace, you’re out.”

  Trace explodes, but I don’t wait around to see that play out.

  I should be glad I have one decent friend. But as I go upstairs to my room, I think about some of the things Beeker has said about women.

  Even without calling anyone a slut, he’s still managed to say some pretty shitty things.

  I feel like I know what Beeker would say if I talked to him about that. He’d say he doesn’t disrespect any of the women he actually knows. He’d say he just disrespects feminism in general. He’d say it’s political, not personal.

  Once I’m in my room, I go over to the open window. I start to close it but I sit down on the floor instead. I’ve got a throbbing headache and the cool air feels good on my face.

  I’m starting to realize something.

  I’ve been thinking I could have it both ways. I wanted to be part of the boy’s club—or some version of it, anyway—and still be able to date a girl like Tamsin.

  I wanted to be the good, decent guy who tells his friends not to call women sluts and not to make jokes about rape, but who could still be part of the club when the women aren’t around and the jokes aren’t too bad.

  I thought I could keep the friends I know are assholes, and also be the kind of man Tamsin could fall in love with.

  And that’s a cowardly fucking way to live.

  Tamsin is worth a million Traces, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back. Including giving up the boy’s club.

  There are better guys to be friends with. Guys like Will and Andre. I’ve always assumed I don’t have anything in common with them outside of football, because of my politics and my church. But maybe I’ve been wrong about that.