Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

Tucking my arm through Carter’s as we stroll down the street, I lean my head on his shoulder and muse, “We should go ice skating in front of the tree like we did last year.”

“We will,” he assures me. “I have a whole anniversary date planned, I’m just waiting for finals to be over so you won’t be as stressed.”

“I’m not stressed,” I deny. “There’s just so much information to remember. I want to finish my first semester strong so they don’t regret lettin’ me in.”

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side, he says, “No one’s going to regret letting you in. You’re smart enough to be here even without the nudging we did on your behalf; you don’t have to kill yourself studying now that you’re here. The world won’t end if you don’t have a perfect GPA. Once you graduate and you’re in the field, it won’t even matter what your GPA was.”

“It’s not all about my GPA. It’s important information I’ll need to know later, in med school and when I’m practicing.”

“Some of it is. Other stuff is filler. How often do you think you’ll need to be able to quote Socrates? Yet, you spent all last night jamming ancient Greek philosophy into your head. It’s crowded up there, save space for what matters and give yourself a break.”

“Maybe I’ll have a patient who is obsessed with the Socratic method, and my in-depth knowledge will be the key to figuring out his problems,” I suggest, primly.

Carter smiles and tugs me closer so he can kiss the crown of my head. “If that ever happens, I’ll eat my words. But assuming it won’t, at least take it easy in the fluff classes.”

Largely inspired by my experiences with Carter and then reaffirmed by conversations I had with university faculty, I decided to pursue a career in behavioral sciences. It’s going to mean a lot of school, but eventually I want to be trained to help those at-risk for problematic behaviors, and counsel people whose general mentalities err more toward the abnormal. Carter lucked out by finding me, but if some other girl had crossed his path, I don’t know where either of them might have ended up.

Years down the road I’ll be Dr. Ellis, and I’ll be able to help people with their problems while doing something that interests me, too. It’s the perfect career for me, and with Carter’s dad paying for my undergrad study, I won’t be afraid of any potential debt I might incur pursuing my PH.D. either. Plus, Lucis is on the same path, and he has already told me I could work as a TA while I’m doing my grad work.

I can’t hold back a little sigh. There’s plenty of day-to-day stuff I could stress over, but ultimately, so much is going right in my life, and I would rather focus on that.

Giving me a light squeeze, Carter asks, “What’s that sigh for?”

“I’m just happy. Everything is so perfect right now. Even this snow,” I add, holding my hand out to catch a few crystal flakes on my cashmere glove. Peering up at him with a smile, I tell him, “I love our life.”

“So do I.”

Carter opens the heavy black door for me when we get to the upscale steakhouse where we’re having dinner. One of his friends owns the place so we have a standing reservation. There are black, leather-upholstered seats lining each wall of the entrance cove, both of them completely full of people. Carter puts a hand at the small of my back and walks straight to the hostess stand.

“Reservation for two. Carter Mahoney.”

The hostess looks up, her gaze nearly as sharp as her jawline until she sees Carter, then her face softens into a little smile. Disinterestedly, she flicks a glance at me. I flash her a smile that she doesn’t bother returning, then she consults her list, doesn’t find what she’s looking for, and looks back at him. “What time were you supposed to be here?”

“Whenever I show up,” he states, a touch arrogantly, given her dismissal of me. “Other list, sweetheart.”

Her posture is already astounding, but she stiffens at his tone. Flipping that list, she consults a much shorter list behind it. “Ah, there it is.” Covering the exclusive list back up, she grabs two menus and leaves her hostess stand. “If you’ll just follow me, Mr. Mahoney.”

The hostess walks us through the crowded restaurant, past the bar dotted with well-dressed women and men in suits, or at least dress shirts and ties if they’ve taken their jackets off. I’m not sure if there’s an actual dress code here, or just an unspoken understanding that it’s not civilized to show up in jeans if you’re going to spend this much on a steak.

The reserved seats are the ones you never have to wait for, and also the best seats in the place. We’re escorted up a floor and led back to a private corner, removed from the noise and chatter that filled the dining room downstairs. The hostess waits for us to take our seats, then she hands us our menus and removes the additional place settings. She comes back to light the candle on the table between us and fill our water goblets, then she tells us our server will be over in just a few moments.