He’s so friendly and approachable. He wouldn’t have been one of the jocks who thought they were god’s gift to women back at college, more like one of those dependable, attentive types that contributed to discussions and asked questions when needed.
A guy everyone was friends with, and all the girls wished would be the focus of his attention.
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t even goin’ to medical school at that point. I was doin’ a dual arts and science degree.”
My brows furrow deeper. “OK. I’m confused. How did you know me then?”
He gulps down a mouthful of beer before lowering the bottle to the table and cradling it in his big, strong hands. “This is goin’ to sound creepy, but I promise you it’s not.”
I snort. “Sounds like something someone doing something creepy would say.”
“I have anxiety. I’ve had it pretty much since I was a teen. My grandfather–the one who left us the ranch–he was the first to realize. Anyway, it was fairly controlled to a point, but socially I was a bit awkward. Especially when it came to girls.”
My heartstrings pull tight. “You liked me?” I say softly.
His head jerks side to side. “I’d had to have known you to have liked you. But I was drawn to you.”
“So, a crush then?” I ask, tilting my head to study him.
Sutton shrugs. “Maybe.”
“But why? I blurt out. I’m both puzzled and flattered. I’ve never had a man tell me so openly that they felt a pull toward me. I’m in new territory here as much as he is in telling me about it.
He must see something in my expression because he sighs, tightening his grip on his drink. “This is comin’ out all wrong.”
“You’re doing fine, honestly. I’m just confused, that’s all,” I reply. “Did your anxiety have something to do with why you never talked to me?”
“Yep. I’d think about it and play it out in my head.”
Now I’m intrigued. “And how did that go?”
“I’d walk up and introduce myself and ask if you’d want to grab coffee or a drink sometime. I didn’t exactly have a lot of game back then. I may have thought out how it might play out but thinkin’ about it and actuallydoin’are very different things.”
“They are. But most of the studentsIencountered in Boston weren’t the kind to see what they wanted–orwho–and shoot their shot.”
The warm comforting sound of his laugh washes over me. “Well, we both know Ididn’ttry.”Why am I suddenly wishing he had?
My college years were all work and no play.Literally. I was focused on getting through Med School and that was all I had time for.
I think I went on my first proper date around age twenty-five. That was with an intern who was very much in the mindset that he was going to be a surgery god and who thought I’d be perfect arm candy. On ouronlydate he stated before the mainswere even on the table that it would bemewho would give up my career to become a stay-at-home mom.
“When was this? When you first saw me, I mean?” I ask.
He rubs his hand over his stubbled jaw. “It was my last year so I would’ve been twenty-two, and I’ve just turned thirty-four.”
“I’m thirty-five so that means I would’ve been around twenty-three.” Then it hits me. “That would’ve been my last year in Boston. I transferred to Columbia after that.”
He huffs out a laugh. “That would explain why I came back after Summer with a plan to finally talk to you, but it didn’t happen because I never saw you again.”
“Wow. It sounds like a sliding doors moment of sorts, doesn’t it?”
He nods and it’s then that our meals arrive.
As we eat, I run his words over in my mind and wonder what might have happened if things had been different.
“You said you were studying arts and science,” I say in between mouthfuls. “When did you switch to psychology?”
He looks up and pins me with a stare. “About two days after I realized my anxiety held me back from doin’ somethin’ I really wanted to do and that I wanted to help others so that they didn’t miss out like I did.”
