Page 44 of Mating Theory
A date. He’s asking me on a date. He isn’t the first boy to do so, but he’s the first one where I’ve thought about saying yes. Jason is cute, and he’s kind. I think about Sutton, but he’s not here. He left. Part of me wants to be pissed, but part of me also knows he was right. I have to at least date another boy in my lifetime. That has to be part of the experiment. If you build a life, and there’s room for me in it, I’ll be there. “Yes,” I say. “Dinner would be great.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Five years later
“Ashleigh Johnson.”
Until the moment my name is called, part of me doesn’t believe it’s real. I stand up and climb the steps to the stage. The band plays their short crossing-the-stage montage. It’s a small department in a small school, with a graduating class of 20 in the School of Natural Science. The dean smiles at me and mispronounced my name—Ash-lee—and hands me a rolled sheet of paper. We pose for pictures. It feels like a blur, like maybe this is a dream instead of real.
Only when I’m crossing the other side do I see him.
The audience sits on white folding chairs across the green lawn, the mass of them moving. Parents. Siblings. Friends. That’s why he stands out. Other people look down and leaf through the program. Other people wave at their children waiting for their turn. Other people are on their phones.
My mother wipes tears from her eyes.
Even Ky has his camera in front of his face, snapping photos.
Sutton is completely still, watching me in a suit, a solid point in a storm. I would recognize those blue eyes from outer space. That wild mane of hair and square jaw. That body that looks as comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt as he does in a custom suit.
The rest of the ceremony takes forever.
Then we throw our hats into the air. Even before they’ve hit the ground, I’m pushing through the crowd, searching for him. He finds me and pulls me into a bear hug. He smells like sunshine and male spice. I almost remembered this scent in my dreams.
“Congratulations,” he says to my ear.
There’s a crowd of people around us. This isn’t a private moment, except it is. We’re the solid place in the middle of a storm. “You got my invitation.”
“I was coming either way. It was better not to sneak in, though.”
That makes me laugh. The security on this private university campus is laughable. Then my smile fades. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. Or that you’d remember.”
“Every day. Every night. Every goddamn hour.”
“It wasn’t so long that the two of us were together. Not compared to a lifetime.”
“A lifetime wouldn’t be worth much without love.”
I hold my breath. “Love?”
He presses his face into my hair and breathes deep. “I have this theory.”
“It doesn’t matter how many times we fail or how much it hurts.”
“It doesn’t matter how long we have to wait.”
It feels almost impossible that he could have come. That he would love me and I would love him. One chance in a billion. The great human experiment. “Did it work?”
Blue eyes search mine. “Let’s find out.”
That makes me laugh, though I’m not sure why. It’s a joyous sound.
Sutton pulls something from his pocket and drops to one knee. A brilliant cushion cut diamond sparkles at me from a blue Tiffany box. “Marry me.”
Emotion tightens my throat. Tears prick my eyes. People turn to watch us. There’s clapping and cheering. We’re surrounded by friends and by strangers. All of them understand what’s happening, because this is more than an experiment.
It’s the great human constant. “Yes.”
The people around us go wild. More hats fly into the air.
Sutton pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he’s never letting go.
* * *
Ashleigh
I take him back to my dorm room, which is swarming with students heading to after-parties and a few families helping their graduates move out. Sugar hisses when she sees Sutton and runs out of the room. “Don’t take it personally,” I say. “She hates men. And my neighbor keeps cat treats on his nightstand.”
He gets this look on his face like he’s holding something in. A comment. A question.
“What?” I ask, pausing in the act of moving a box of books from my bed.
It’s like the question is pulled forcibly from his body, catching on everything on the way out. “Have there been a lot of men here? Christ. I wasn’t supposed to ask that.”
I try to look stern. “Are you slut shaming me?”
“God. No. I’m a caveman. There’s no excuse for it.”
He’s so adorable when he’s flustered. Adorable and handsome and yes—there’s something distinctly caveman about him. The suit and slacks can’t disguise the primal male who’s come to claim his mate. “Have there been a lot of women for you?”
