Page 97 of Under Pressure

“Making up for lost time,” I murmur, tracing my thumb down her jaw. “When do you want to go on our date?”

“You’ve already taken me out twice this week.” She smiles.

“Third time’s a charm.”

“I think I’d rather stay in tonight.” Her fingers trail down my shirt, toying with the hem.

I scoot closer, taking her in my arms, burying my face in her neck, breathing her in.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice a sweet melody in my ear.

“I love you,” I repeat, meaning it in a way I never thought I would before the last couple weeks. It’s amazing how much has changed and yet, I’m still the same person. I’d been afraid for so long that opening up would change my identity, turn me into someone else, but all it’s done is improve my life, open me to new experiences and emotions I couldn’t have predicted.

I’m less stressed than I’ve ever been, every day and night with Mia better than the last.

And it’s only the beginning.

Epilogue

Mia

ONE YEAR LATER

I standin the warm sunshine, a gentle breeze blowing across my back. The birds are chirping, the flowering honeysuckle bush near Tyler’s front door filling the air with a rich perfume. I inhale deeply, hoping that the perfect nature ambiance going on right now is a good sign that the letter I’m holding in my hand has the news I want.

I pull out my phone and text him that I’m at his house, and a few moments later he opens the door, a slightly exasperated look on his face. “Why don’t you just knock?”

I push past him and make my way into his room, avoiding the gaze of his roommate Tom seated on the couch. I wait until Tyler closes his bedroom door behind us to tell him, “I didn’t want Tom to answer the door. He’s been giving me weird vibes ever since he overheard us having sex in the shower.”

“He’s just jealous he’s not getting any,” he says, coming up to wrap his arms around my waist, nuzzling into my neck. I sigh, melting into him. “He’s confronted with the perfect girl every time you come over. It’s a wonder he’s able to function at all.”

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm, but I’m secretly pleased at the kernel of truth hidden in there. His actions more than make up for his words, though, as he tenderly kisses me. That’s the thing I’ve learned about Tyler. Always pay more attention to what he’s doing rather than saying.

“What’s this?” he asks as he leans back, releasing me.

I hold up the letter still in my hand. “It’s from UMass Boston.”

His eyes widen as he takes a seat on the end of his bed. “What’s it say?”

“I haven’t opened it yet.”

His leg jiggles up and down, nervous energy radiating off him briefly before he shuts it down, clamping his hands on his thighs. See, his actions always speak his truth.

He can’t possibly be more nervous than me, though. We’ve both been receiving our acceptance and rejection letters from various graduate programs we’ve applied to across the country for the last few weeks, and he’s already got an acceptance from Northeastern University, his number one pick. Their Personality, Development, and Health program is perfect for him, and one he’s really excited to be a part of. Well, as excited as he normally gets, at least. Plus, it’s not terribly far from his family. Dr. Friedman really helped him work through a lot of issues he had surrounding his parents, and though there was some resentment at first on his part toward what his mom withheld from him over the years, they’ve worked past it and are closer than ever.

I admit, I’m a bit biased against her after he shared with me everything he discovered, but I’ve been trying to keep an open mind when we go over to visit. His family really is a lot of fun, and it’s nice that they’re so close and have accepted me graciously since my own parents are far away.

“How many letters is this now?” he asks.

“The fourth.” The closest place to Northeastern I’ve been accepted is Penn State, which is seven hours away. Trust me, I’ve looked at multiple routes on Google Maps. Tyler and I can do long-distance if we have to, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. Not being able to see him every day would kill me.

Even though we don’t live together, we’re at each other’s places constantly, not to mention all the time we spend together on campus. We’re also working on a new study in Dr. Price’s lab. He was impressed enough with our research last year that he invited us back our senior year to work on projects directly with him.

“Well, open it,” he says impatiently, staring at the letter in my hand.

I run my fingers over the sender’s address. University of Massachusetts—Boston campus. Getting in here would mean everything.

I turn it over and peel back a section of the envelope, then stop. “Remember that scene in Willy Wonka when Charlie’s too nervous to open the Wonka bar, so he and Grandpa Joe open it together? That’s what I feel like opening all these letters. Like I’m looking for my golden ticket.”

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