Soldier On (10 page)

“Maybe we can lead each other,” I tell him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Brandon

Mark and my other roommates help me unload before heading off to the basketball game. Normally I’d go with them, but I need to get unpacked.

At least, that’s what I tell them.

After giving me the grand tour, Steph went to class while I began the process of turning Tessa’s old room into my own. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t have much stuff. Knowing I was headed straight to Fort Gordon after graduation, I had packed light for my last semester at Peyton. Everything made it into two cardboard boxes and a suitcase. I also have my Army-issued green duffle—which will remain hidden in the cab of my truck.

I mean, it’s not like I can let her see it.

Anything with ARMY printed on it goes in the very back of the closet. That includes my PT gear and my Class A uniform, which I’m required to wear to labs on Wednesday and Thursday. I’ve only worn it twice so far, which would explain why Steph’s never seen it. I have no idea how I’m going to get out of the apartment on Wednesday.

Maybe it needs to stay in the cab of the truck, too.

Before I can get too disgusted with myself, I finish unpacking my clothes. I have no pictures, so there’s nothing to hang on the walls. My books now have a home on the nightstand, and my laptop is charging on top of the small dresser.

I save the best for last.

The bed.

Tessa, the sweet girl she is, left me everything—the sheets, the pillows, even the comforter. She could have stripped it bare and I wouldn’t have cared.

With a contented sigh, I lay down on the mattress. My feet don’t dangle. I can turn. I can twist. I can flop. And when I do, all six-foot-two-inches of me remains
on the bed
.

Unbelievably—or maybe not considering how comfortable I am— I fall asleep, and I don’t wake up until I hear Steph’s voice behind the door, calling my name.

It’s the only thing that could get me out of that bed. After taking another good look around to make sure everything that needs to be hidden is out of sight, I open the door.

“Hey, roomie.”

“Hey. All settled?” she asks, taking a peek inside.

“Yep. It didn’t take long. I even took a nap.”

“Well, I brought pizza. You’re welcome to share.”

“Okay.”

I follow her to the kitchen, which smells like heaven thanks to the large pepperoni and sausage waiting for us on the table.

“How was class?” I ask as we take our seats.

“Terrible. I hate Physics.”

“Why?”

She reaches for a slice. “It’s just a lot of math. That’s why I’m an English major, so that I can avoid teaching anything that remotely involves numbers.”

“I’m okay at math, but I like science. Taking things apart. Putting them back together. Making them work when no one else can.”

“Like computers?”

“Computers, radio and satellite systems . . . anything that can be programmed, really.”

“Do you have a job waiting for you in Georgia?”

I choke on my pizza.
How does she know about Georgia?
Steph offers me a bottle of water, which I accept gratefully and guzzle down. As I do, I pray for an answer—an answer that doesn’t require me to lie.

“Better?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” Steph offers me a napkin. “So, what’s in Georgia?”

“How do you know about Georgia?”

“You told us at dinner, remember? The night Tessa cooked you a Mexican buffet?”

Oh yeah.

“I just have some additional training. It’s required.” Relieved that I managed to give her a vague version of the truth, I quickly change the subject. “You know, I could probably help you with your Physics. What was tonight’s lesson?”

“I have no idea. It was completely over my head, so I spent the entire time coming up with a list of rules.”

“Rules?”

“For us.” Steph wipes her hands on a napkin before reaching into her backpack. She pulls out a sheet of notebook paper and hands it to me. Sure enough, right at the top,
THE RULES
is written in black ink.

“You actually made a list?”

She nods. “I’m a big believer in lists.”

With a chuckle, I scan the page. My laughter quickly fades when I read the first rule on the page.

#1. No touching.

“Seriously, Steph? We’re not allowed to touch each other?”

“Not in the apartment, no.”

“Is kissing considered touching?”

“Keep reading.”

#2. No kissing.

What a bunch of crap.

“This is honestly what you want?”

“I never said it’s what I want. I just think we have to keep a respectable distance when we’re in the apartment. If we’re on a date, the rules don’t exist. But when we’re home, I really think we need to try to keep our hands to ourselves.”

I try to find the logic in that, but it escapes me, so I keep reading. The rest of the list is just basic roommate info. Rent is due on the first of the month. Utilities on the fifteenth. I take out the trash; she cleans the bathroom. Evenly divided responsibilities, right down to who cleans the litter box.

“That’s mine,” Steph says simply. “She’s my cat, so . . .”

I nod. Bangle hates me, anyway.

“Is the list okay?”

I shrug. “I’m fine with everything—except for numbers one and two. From what I can recall, we
like
touching each other. I think you’re just setting us up for failure.”

“I’d like to try anyway.”

“But dating is okay?”

“Yes.”

“And we can kiss on dates, but not in the apartment.”

“Right.”

“Why does it matter?”

Steph sighs and pushes away her empty plate. “I just think we will . . . behave ourselves if we’re out in public.”

Translation: There are no soft, comfy beds out in public.

“Steph, I promised to be respectful, and I will be.”

“I know you did. But like I said, I may not
want
you to be. Maybe having established rules will keep us from tempting fate.”

She’s giving this sheet of paper a lot of power. I hope it works.

Remember, Brandon. Let her lead.

“Okay. Where’s a pen?”

She finds one in her backpack, and we both sign at the bottom. If this is what it will take to get her to trust me, I’ll write my name on whatever she wants.

In an unspoken attempt to follow the stupid rules, we occupy ourselves and our hands with homework. I don’t know if it’s a conscious decision, but we both end up on the couch. I’m on one side, she’s on the other, and in the middle is her evil cat.

Staring at me.

Steph pretends to read from an ancient paperback copy of
The Silence of the Lambs
while I pretend to study a chapter on operating systems. Her eyes might be glued to the page, but she’s not fooling me. She has a little smile on her face, and I know for a fact there’s not a thing in that book that would give her a warm, fuzzy feeling.

“You know, Brandon, you’d get more accomplished if you looked at your book.”

“It’s not as pretty.”

Sighing softly, Steph shakes her head before turning her attention back to her book. I can see the faint blush of her cheeks, and I watch in fascination as it spreads down her neck. My hand twitches in response, which leads Bangle to hiss in my direction.

Stupid cat.

I realize I’m being distracting, which was her fear all along, so I decide to give it up and call it a night.

“I should try to sleep. I have to be up at five.”

Steph closes her book. “You always get up at five?”

“Yep.”

“To work out?”

I nod. “Only three days are required, but I do six.”

“I’ve never understood why an engineering major has required workouts.”

Shit.

“It’s umm . . . for an elective PE course I’m taking.”

It’s not exactly a lie, but it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

We stand and walk down the hallway toward our bedrooms. Our
adjacent
bedrooms—you know, because just being under the same roof isn’t temptation enough. The bell on Bangle’s collar jingles, letting us know that she’s hot on our heels. When Steph opens her bedroom door, the feline gives me one last hiss before heading inside.

Steph smirks. “See? You’re growing on her.”

“Yeah, like a fungus.”

We both laugh and lean a little closer. The urge to touch her is overwhelming. The need to kiss her is worse.

“You’re driving me crazy, Steph.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“You can’t help it.”

She smiles.

“Sleep well, Brandon.”

“You, too.”

And I do. It’s my best night’s sleep since the semester began.

When I wake up the next morning, I quietly climb out of bed and make my way to the shower. I know Steph’s first class isn’t until ten, so I don’t want to wake her any earlier than necessary. As I stumble into the bathroom, I flip on the light, and there on the mirror is a yellow sticky note. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, and when I’m able to finally focus on the words, I can’t help but grin.

Brandon,

You drive me crazy, too.

Love,

Steph

By the end of January, Steph and I fall into a comfortable, if not frustrating, routine. I’m out of the house each morning by five, and I don’t usually see her again until later that night. Between my PT, weekend field experience, regular classes, and my job at The Grind, combined with her six classes and her job at the library, we’ve barely had time to say hello. We had planned a couple of movie nights, but something always happened to screw it up. My PT would run late, or she’d have a last-minute project that had to be completed. Or Xavier and Tessa would stop by. The only time we’re really together—and awake—is during Women’s lit, and we can’t do anything in there except hold hands.

I just want to kiss her . . . for an extended period of time.
Is that too much to ask?

It’s Friday afternoon, and The Grind is pretty dead, so I’m using the free time to study. I’ve just started reading a chapter on military ethics when I hear my sister’s ringtone.

“
Sister Christian.” I bet Steph loves that song.

“Hey, Chris.”

“Don’t
hey
me. You hung up on me and didn’t call back.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and I’m still not, so unless you’re calling to talk about Dad or the girls—”