He huffed. “I did go to New York.”
I tried to picture Sterling in New York—black jacket, boots, swaggering down a Manhattan street like he owned it.
“College?” I guessed.
“Yes.” His mouth flattened briefly, then eased. “I got a scholarship to Columbia.”
I blinked. “You—Columbia?”
His brow lifted.
“Oh! No, I didn’t mean it like you don’t seem smart,” I sputtered, waving my hands. “You just—I mean—the boots. The whole…cowboy situation. You’re not giving the I wrote my thesis in a library tower vibe.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’d hate for anyone to mistake me for a man who alphabetizes his bookshelf.”
A laugh slipped out of me, unexpected, and a little wild. “Yeah, no. You don’t scream Dewey Decimal System.”
His eyes warmed at the sound of my laugh, lik
