I stare at him. All the comfort I had with my friends evaporates. I wouldn’t call this intimidation, but suddenly I don’t know what to say…or even my name.
A strong hand cups my shoulder. Then I feel him kneel beside me, his next exhale tickling the shell of my ear. “This is where you tell him your name,” Cooper whispers, voice dipped in honey. Sweet and coaxing, worming it’s way through me.
“I’m Sutton.”
Seb smiles. It’s crooked and charming.
Cooper is back in my ear, giving me pointers and coaching me through the seven minutes. Our conversation is clunky and awkward, but I don’t think Seb cares.
Three more rounds go this way before Cooper pulls me away from the group. We find a table in the adjacent corner.
Crossing my arms in front of me on the table, I bury my head between them. A groan slips out of me. “Ughh.”
The chair across from me is pulled out and turned around so that the back is pressed against the table. Cooper slides into the seat, resting his crossed arms along the top.
“So—”
“So that was terrible.”
“You had your moments.”
I perk up, barely able to glower at him through my lashes. “And by moments, you mean when you had to remind me of my name or when someone asked me my favorite color and I told them how white is technically not a color, or went on a rant about how rude it is for people to believe that Cleopatra was Egyptian. She wasn’t, by the way; she was of Macedonian Greek descent.”
He snickers, tongue running along the bottom of his teeth. “God, you’re something else.” Cooper doesn’t say it negatively, but more…amusing, affectionate.
“You’re going to fix me, right?” I ask into my arms, head buried again.
A hand snakes between my elbows, tapping my chin. I move it up, barely. Cooper takes my chin in his hand, encouraging me to sit up straighter. Taller. His touch transferring confidence into me.
We are interrupted before he can answer.
“That was so much fun! I got four numbers and have a date tomorrow night,” Elliot says, diving into the booth next to me.Cooper drops my chin, and I lean back into the seat just in time for an arm to be thrown over my shoulders.
At least someone got something good out of this.
Tonight cemented what I already knew: I am completely out of my league with Zach. How am I supposed to have full-fledged conversations with him when I can barely even talk to guys who I’m not interested in?
You’d think as someone who is studying the brain, I’d be better at understanding my own. Put these guys in a class or make them my lab partner, and I’d be perfectly fine. Conversation would flow naturally—I’d even initiate it, then never want to stop, finding every detail about them.
I like people. I like talking.
I like to think of myself as an extrovert. Bubbly, outgoing, and overall a confident person.
But put me in a romantic type of scenario, and I become a deer in headlights. A baby deer in general. Barely able to stand on my own, wobbling with each step I attempt.
Why am I like this?I ask myself, tuning out the conversation happening around me. I can feel my heart sigh.
My parents are high school sweethearts. They never split. Not during college or Dad’s first few years in the league while Mom was finishing up school. They’ve overcome everything life has thrown at them—unexpected loss, cross-country moves, infertility.
Never once has their love wavered.
Having a front row seat to it was one of my favorite parts of my childhood.
I don’t remember my real parents, and I’ll never know if they loved each other, or the dynamic of their relationship.
But what I do know, what I do have, is my parents’ love. Mrs. and Mr. Carmichael’s, too.
They make it seem easy. Sure, I know they probably fight—I’ve heard disagreements, watched them make mistakes, they aren’t immune to that. What they do so well is choosing each other every day.
