Soldier On (2 page)

“There you are!” Tessa says, grabbing my arm as I reach the landing. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you since I got your text. I am
so
ready to go. Xavier wants to stay and play video games, but I’m . . . Steph? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

She squints and examines my face. “Have you been drinking? You never drink.”

“No, I haven’t been drinking.”

“Are you sure? Because you look a little drunk.”

Shaking my head, I snap out of my daze and pull her toward the door. It’s only when we’re outside in the frigid air do I manage to come to my senses. I spin toward my best friend, whose eyes grow wide as I tell her about my New Year’s kiss.

“Steph, that’s amazing! What’s his name?”

The simple question kills my momentary excitement and knocks me right out of my dazed state.

I just had the most perfect kiss of my life, and I don’t even know his name.

“Is that you, Steph?”

“It’s me.”

I let the door slam behind me and drop my backpack on the floor. The apartment smells delicious, but right now, all I want is the couch. The first day of classes seriously kicked my ass.

Tessa runs out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Xavier’s coming for dinner. I’m making meatloaf.”

Tessa and Xavier have been together since sophomore year, and it’s a rare night when he isn’t here for dinner. Or waking up just in time for breakfast. At six-foot-seven and two hundred twenty five pounds, Xavier is a power forward for the basketball team and eats enough at dinner to feed a third world country. They are a match made in heaven because Tessa loves to cook. On special occasions, she loves to break out her
Abuela’s
cookbook and experiment with elaborate Mexican dishes that I can’t pronounce but will gladly eat. Her major is culinary arts, and she hopes to open her own restaurant someday.

“It smells great. Can I help?”

“Nope, but you can call your mom.”

“I’d rather help.”

Tessa smirks. “Stop that. Your mom is great.”

“No argument here.”

“
And
she finally gave me her kickass oatmeal raisin cookie recipe that I’m dying to try.”

“You know, sometimes I step on the scale and wonder how I’ve gained twenty-five pounds since my freshman year. Then I remember I’m living with Rachael Ray.”

Tessa laughs. “Whatever. Call your mom. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

Sighing tiredly, I take my backpack and head to my room. After quickly changing into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, I grab my cell and climb onto my bed. In an instant, my calico cat joins me.

“Hey, pretty girl.” I scratch behind her ears while she purrs and snuggles close. I’ve had Bangle since my senior year of high school. She’s just one of the many reasons I’m thankful to no longer be living in the dorms. The separation anxiety was hard for both of us.

Snuggling time doesn’t last long. Bangle suddenly jumps off the bed and trots out of the room, probably on the hunt for food. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear Tessa’s voice echo from the kitchen.

“You know the rules, Bangle. No meatloaf for kitties.”

I laugh and scroll through my phone, tapping on my mom’s name.

“Hello?”

“Miss me?”

Mom laughs. “Is it that obvious?”

Growing up, it had just been the two of us in our tiny two-bedroom house. Only an hour separates us now, but Mom had still taken it hard when I decided to move away.

“Mom, we’ve talked every day, and I’ve only been gone a few weeks.”

“I know. I just got used to having you around at Christmas.”

We talk about my first day of classes and the six inches of snow that are predicted for tomorrow. Living in Indiana is always a crapshoot when it comes to winter weather. I’d worn a T-shirt and light jacket to class today. Tomorrow, I would need my snow boots.

“Have you met any cute guys?”

I automatically think about the soldier from the New Year’s Eve party. It still surprises me how attracted I was, in spite of his military gear. Like a crazy person, I had actually looked around campus today, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Unfortunately, he would have to be wearing his camo costume and thick face paint for me to recognize him.

“Oh, I hear a pause.”

“There was no pause.”

“Stephanie Lynn, lying to your mother is a sin.”

“That hasn’t worked since I was ten. What is it with you and your obsession with me finding a boyfriend?”

Mom sighs. “You just work too hard. You always have.”

“A strong work ethic is an admirable trait.”

“It is. I’d just like to see you have some fun this last semester, that’s all.”

Last semester. Such sweet words.

“With six classes and my job at the library, having fun is the last thing on my mind. I have to focus if I want to graduate in May.”

“I know. You just can’t wait to get out into the real world. But what have I always told you?”

I close my eyes and repeat my mother’s mantra. “Don’t be in such a hurry to work, because once you start, you’ll never stop. Let yourself be young as long as you can.”

“That’s right. Just promise me you’ll do something fun this last semester. Do something adventurous before you devote the rest of your life to your teaching career.”

I know it’s pointless to argue.

“Fine, I promise.”

After we say goodnight, I think about my mom and her preoccupation with my lack of a social life. Getting married right after high school and becoming a mother, and a widow, by the time she was twenty had forced her to become an adult way too soon. She worked two jobs—one as the secretary at my elementary school and another as a freelance photographer on the weekends. Mom has worked hard all her life. She just wants me to experience all the things she missed.

Like I always do when I’m feeling anxious or confused, I reach into my shirt and pull out the silver ball chain. The cold metal of the dog tags against my skin serves as a constant reminder of the father I never knew. They are my only real connection to my dad and definitely my most prized possession.

When I think about my mom, and how lonely she has been for the past twenty-two years, I’m reminded why I hate the military so much.

And why I’m in no hurry to fall in love.

CHAPTER TWO

Brandon

“Good afternoon and welcome to Women in Literature.”

I can feel their eyes on me—even the professor’s—and I know what they’re thinking.

Why would a guy take this course? He has to be in the wrong class.

I’m not.

Unfortunately, the stares continue, so my brilliant plan to sit in the back of class and take a much-needed nap is shot to hell. I can sleep anywhere, but I can’t sleep when I know I’m being watched.

I stifle a yawn and force myself to pay attention. My advisor had warned me that eighteen credit hours might be too much to handle, especially with my job at the coffee house and my 5:00 a.m. workouts, but I had ignored him and signed up for six classes anyway. And now, thanks to my one remaining humanities elective, I’m sitting in a Women’s lit class, surrounded by girls.

Okay, maybe that part’s not so bad.

The teacher drones as she goes over the syllabus. It doesn’t look too tough. I like to read, which is why I hadn’t complained when Mr. Ramirez, my advisor, suggested the course.

“It’s either this or another foreign language,” he’d said.

I’m already fluent in Spanish, German, and French. Do I really need to add another language to my résumé?

I glance around the room, and the girl to my right quickly turns her head away. I catch the slight blush of her cheeks.

I smirk.
Busted.

She’s cute, with her Peyton College sweatshirt and ponytail. But she’s blonde. And tall. She also has a barbell in her ear. In other words, she’s not the girl from the New Year’s party, so I’m not interested at all.

That’s what I call her—
the girl
—because I’m an idiot and didn’t even ask for her name.

Like a man obsessed, I’ve searched in every class, stupidly hoping that by some cosmic coincidence she and I might have signed up for the same course. I had asked around after the party, but nobody could remember seeing a Disney princess in a yellow dress, which I still find unbelievable because she was the most interesting person there. She was pretty—not supermodel-like—but in a timeless, classic, girl-next-door way that’s always attracted me.

And I can’t forget the kiss.

I’ve had dreams about that kiss. Fantasies, really. So the fact that I haven’t been able to find her is sort of pissing me off.

The professor assigns the first five chapters of
The Silence of Lambs
, and the class groans appropriately.

Five chapters? I wonder if I can get away with just watching the movie again.

I make a mental note to check Netflix just as a flash of brown catches my eye in the front row.

No way.

She’s facing the teacher, so it’s impossible to tell. I stare at the back of her head, hoping she’ll feel the heat of my gaze and turn around.

Then she does.

Our eyes lock, and I can’t believe how pretty she is. Or that she’s sitting here, in my Women’s lit class.

Cosmic coincidence for the win.

“I love that movie,” she mouths.

Movie?

I must look confused, because she points at her shirt. I glance down at my own. Pictured on the front is Mandy Patinkin, circa 1987, with the immortal words ‘Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya,’ printed along the bottom.

I’m so happy to see her that I’m ready to just rip the shirt over my head and give it to her . . . but that’d probably be a little weird. Instead, I mouth “thanks,” and we keep grinning at each other until she turns back toward the professor.

Disappointment floods me.
Does she even recognize me?
Granted, my costume that night wasn’t very creative. It was a last minute invite, so I just grabbed what was handy, but maybe the black face paint was too much of a disguise.

Or maybe she hasn’t been thinking about me at all.

The thought makes me a little nuts, so I dismiss it and spend the rest of class staring at the back of her head and wondering how I’m going to properly introduce myself.

But when the teacher dismisses us, the girl is out the door and gone.