01.0 Soldier On

by Sydney Logan

“You know, you don’t have to carry me. I think I can hobble to the parking lot.”

  “That would be a long hobble. My truck is clear across campus.”

  “Of course it is.” How embarrassing is this?

  “Besides, your ankle could be seriously injured, and putting pressure on it could do lasting damage.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “And this gives me an excuse to hold you in my arms, something I’ve wanted to do since New Year’s Eve, so stop being stubborn.”

  Words fail me. I have no clever comeback. No witty response.

  Brandon grins, and with a defeated sigh, I loop my arms around his neck.

  “Are you Pre-Med?”

  “Nope.”

  “Nursing?”

  “Would you relax? It’s just ibuprofen.”

  I sigh heavily and place the pills against my tongue. Brandon offers me a bottle of water to wash it down.

  “Happy?” I ask after swallowing.

  “Thrilled. Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Haven’t we already covered this? Yes, I’m very stubborn.”

  Brandon shakes his head and leans back against the couch. He glances around the living room. “Nice apartment. You live here alone?”

  My cat chooses this moment to make her appearance. Bangle jumps onto the couch and immediately hisses at our guest.

  “Umm . . . I guess not?”

  I stifle my laughter. “No, I have a roommate. And this is Bangle. She doesn’t like strangers.”

  On cue, Bangle hisses again. I don’t even bother hiding my laughter this time.

  “Sorry, she’s protective, too.”

  Brandon chuckles nervously. “Obviously. Why did you name her Bangle?”

  “Because I love The Bangles.”

  He frowns.

  “Girl rock band from the 80s?”

  “Oh, yeah. ‘Walk Like an Egyptian,’ right?”

  “Right. If she had been a boy, I was going to call her Prince. But it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “You must really like 80s music.”

  “I’m obsessed with the entire decade. The music, movies, television shows. I love it all.” I know I probably sound like a crazy person, but it’s best he knows now.

  Now that she’s been properly introduced, Bangle jumps down and makes her way toward the kitchen. I struggle to get comfortable with my swollen ankle propped up on the coffee table.

  “How’s the foot?”

  Despite the ice pack, I can’t ignore the fact that it seems to be getting bigger. “Maybe I should have gone to the ER or something.”

  “I suggested that.”

  “I know.”

  “We can still go.”

  “I’d really rather not. Can’t we just . . . wait and see how it looks later?”

  “Sure, especially since you said we.” Brandon props his elbow up on the sofa and grins. “So, what are the odds that we’re in the same lit class?”

  “Women’s Lit, no less.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you sitting there. I’d asked around after the party, but nobody knew who you were. Someone said they thought were invited by one of the basketball players—”

  “Xavier, yeah.”

  “But no one knew your name.”

  “Frat parties aren’t my usual scene. Go figure.”

  “They aren’t really mine, either, but it was New Year’s Eve and I was bored. A buddy invited me. He thought it would be a good way to meet people.”

  “You mean girls.”

  “You sound jealous.”

  I scoff and shift on the couch.

  “Believe me, Stephanie, you were, without a doubt, the most interesting person I met that night.”

  I wonder if it’s a line, but it’s a sweet one, so I decide to let it go.

  “My friends call me Steph, by the way.”

  “Can I call you Steph?”

  “Is that your way of asking if you can be my friend?”

  He shrugs. “We can start there, sure. I don’t think it’ll last, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I’m devastatingly charming, for one.”

  “And modest.”

  “Plus, that was some kiss. Do you really think two people who shared a kiss that hot can just be friends?”

  It’s the perfect opening for the question I’ve wanted to ask since the night of the party.

  “If it was so hot, why did you run away?”

  He has the decency to look appropriately ashamed. “I guess when it comes to pretty girls on library ladders, I’m just chickenshit. If it’s any consolation, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true. I felt like such an ass for not asking your name. That’s why I was so excited to see you in class. I tried to catch you after, but you had disappeared.”

  “I’m an idiot. I didn’t recognize you without your war paint and camo. I only noticed you at all because of your T-shirt.”

  He looks confused. “My shirt?”

  I nod. “I’m obsessed with The Princess Bride. I can quote all ninety-eight minutes of the movie. It drives my roommate crazy whenever we watch it.”

  Brandon sighs dramatically. “Well, that proves it.”

  “Proves what?”

  “Steph, we can’t be friends.”

  “We can’t?”

  “Nope. Any woman who can quote the entire script of my favorite movie is marriage material. I should just propose right now, but I’d rather wait until I get a ring. Makes it more official.”

  I roll my eyes. I’m so not used to this level of flirtation. Or maybe it’s just been a long time since anyone has paid this much attention to me. Either way, it’s weird. Flattering, but weird.

  “I think we should just start as friends and see how it goes.”

  He nods. “Fair enough, but I really think the unresolved sexual tension will be too much for us to handle, and you’ll have no choice but to fall in love with me.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  We share a smile just as a giggling Tessa walks through the door with Xavier close behind. Her laughter fades when she sees the two of us on the couch.

  “What happened to your foot?” Tessa asks before turning her attention to the stranger on the sofa. “And who are you?”

  Tessa can be a pit bull—loyal and a little scary.

  “Sprained it, I think, and this is the knight in shining armor who brought me home.”

  Brandon springs to his feet and offers his hand to each of them while I make the introductions. The guys immediately start talking basketball while Tessa leans down to check on my ankle.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not much. Brandon forced me to take something for the pain.”

  “Brandon is cute.”

  “Brandon is G.I. Joe,” I whisper.

  Tessa’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open. Without another word, she jumps to her feet, pulls Brandon into a hug, and rushes toward the kitchen. Within seconds, cabinet doors slam and pots and pans clang while she jabbers in Spanish.

  Brandon slowly sits back down. “Is she okay in there?”

  With a laugh, Xavier grabs the remote and collapses into the recliner. “Oh, yeah. All that noise you hear? That’s happiness, man. Hope you’re hungry.”

  I grin, because it’s true.

  Whenever Tessa is happy, her first instinct is to feed someone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Stephanie

  “You’re from Kentucky?” Tessa asks.

  Brandon nods. “I grew up in a small town called Applewood. It’s about thirty miles east of Pikeville.”

  “I played in a tournament there a few years ago,” Xavier replies, scooping another helping of Spanish rice onto his plate. “That’s way up in the Appalachian Mountains.”

  “Yeah, we’re just a little coal mining town in the hills. Population is about eight hundred. There’s a small hospital and
a city hall. A few stores and restaurants, most of them locally owned.”

  I sit back and listen as my two best friends interrogate my . . . whatever he is.

  This should be awkward—sitting at the kitchen table with my foot propped up on a chair while Tessa and Xavier grill Brandon on all the personal details of his life—but it’s not at all. And if he’s uncomfortable, it certainly doesn’t show. He just keeps answering questions while Tessa continues refilling his plate. So far, I’ve learned he’s a senior, majoring in computer engineering, and has a dad and an older sister who both live in Kentucky.

  Brandon groans appreciatively as he takes another bite. “This is so good! I don’t think I’ve ever had . . . what is this again?”

  Tessa beams. “Turkey chimichangas. It’s my Abuela’s recipe.”

  Xavier slides his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder. “I don’t even ask what she’s cooking anymore. I don’t ask what’s in it. I just smile and eat.”

  “And you occasionally do the dishes,” I reply.

  Xavier groans a little.

  “We should do that,” Brandon says, before wiping his mouth with his napkin. He shoots me a grin before reaching for my empty plate. “How’s the foot?”

  I glance at my poor, elevated ankle. “It aches, but I don’t think the swelling is getting any worse.”

  “That’s a good sign.” He nods toward the kitchen. “I’m going to help Xavier, and then I’ll get some fresh ice for your ankle.”

  “Thanks.”

  Brandon and Xavier gather the dishes and head toward the kitchen. It isn’t until we hear the faucet running that Tessa moves to the chair beside me.

  “I like him,” she says.

  “I can tell. Since when do you dust off your grandmother’s cookbook for traditional Mexican on a weeknight?”

  “Well, this is a special occasion. You brought a nice guy home. That hasn’t happened in . . . okay, it never happens.”

  I roll my eyes. “You are far too excited about this. But yes, he seems nice.”

  “But?”

  “But I really know nothing about him.”

  “Well, Steph, there’s this amazing thing called dating. It’s when a guy and a girl invent things to do and places to go, all in an attempt to get to know each other. I realize this is a foreign concept since you haven’t gone out in forever—”

  “You’re such a smartass.”

  “Seriously, it’s been like a hundred years.”

  I sigh and shift uncomfortably in my chair. “Tessa, I have six classes and a part-time job. I don’t have time to date.”

  “That’s just an excuse to keep your nose buried in a book for the next four months. Besides, you know what they say about all work and no play?”

  “Steph graduates in May?”

  Tessa smirks. “That rhymed. Impressive.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “All I’m saying is Brandon seems like a really nice guy. Why don’t you get to know him before you totally dismiss the possibility?”

  Before I can answer, the sound of breaking glass against linoleum echoes from the kitchen, followed by Xavier’s muffled curse.

  “Those boys are going to destroy my kitchen.”

  Tessa sprints out of her chair and runs toward the commotion. I’m still laughing when Brandon returns to the table moments later.

  “I didn’t do it,” he says as he slides back into his chair. “But she threw me out anyway.”

  Of course she did, the little matchmaker.

  “Yeah, she’s territorial when it comes to her kitchen. She wouldn’t be mad at you, anyway. You’ve charmed the pants right off her.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And what about your pants?”

  “My pants aren’t coming off anytime soon.”

  We grin at each other, and it dawns on me that I’m actually flirting.

  I never flirt.

  “Well, I’m glad she likes me. I have a feeling I might need her help, what with you being so stubborn and all.”

  “Why would you need her help?”

  “To convince you to go out with me.”

  My face heats, and I wonder if he can actually see my blush.

  “Brandon, look—”

  “We’ll start small. Coffee? Tea? I know you’re busy. I have classes and a job, too, but I’m willing to carve out thirty minutes in my hectic schedule to have coffee with you.”

  I have to admit, his sarcastic nature is kind of cute.

  “Just coffee?”

  “Yes. And when your ankle is no longer the size of Everest, maybe we can talk about dinner.”

  I grimace and look at my pitiful ankle. “It’s not quite Everest . . .”

  Brandon reaches for my hand, and I let him hold it. I mean, we’ve already kissed and he carried me across campus. Holding hands seems tame. He slides his fingers along mine, linking them. The sensation sends little jolts of electricity along my skin.

  “When’s your last class tomorrow?”

  “I get out at three.”

  “There’s this little coffee shop just off campus called The Daily Grind. If your ankle feels better, I’d love to meet you for coffee tomorrow after your class. Say 3:30?”

  “Okay. If my ankle feels better.”

  His smile is triumphant. “You should probably give me your number . . . you know, just in case.”

  I roll my eyes, which causes him to laugh. Brandon releases my hand and digs his cell out of his pocket. I give him my number, which he immediately punches into his phone. Seconds later, I hear my ring tone coming from my backpack in the living room.

  “And now you have mine,” he says with a satisfied grin.

  When I limp into The Daily Grind the next afternoon, I’m grateful to find the shop is nearly deserted. It can be a busy place—not just because it has the best coffee in town, but because of the awesome muffins the owner bakes each morning. It’s a cozy coffee shop with round tables, padded booths, and loveseats and chairs nestled into the corners.

  A few students with their laptops are scattered around the room, but Brandon isn’t one of them, so I hobble to one of the loveseats and try to get comfortable. My ankle throbs, but the swelling isn’t so bad today. Glancing down at my watch, I notice it’s time to take more painkillers. I also notice that Brandon is ten minutes late.

  Being stood up for a coffee date would be really embarrassing.

  With a sigh, I unzip my backpack and dig for my meds. Maybe he’s late, and maybe he is a flirt, but I have to admit he did take pretty good care of me yesterday. I find the ibuprofen bottle just as my cell vibrates. The message on the screen makes me smile.

  You look pretty today.

  I quickly look up, but he’s nowhere to be found. Glancing out the window, I see a silver-haired guy riding a bike and a teenage girl walking her dog.

  I send a text back.

  Where are you?

  Look at the register.

  I do, and I laugh when I see him standing behind the counter, wearing one of the Grind’s paisley aprons. He flashes his dimples and waves at me before turning his attention back to his customer.

  I shake my head. Those dimples are going to be the death of me.

  After the customer leaves, Brandon makes his way over.

  “Nice apron. I never would have guessed paisley was your color.”

  “I know it’s sexy, but please try to control yourself. I’m at work, after all.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  Brandon laughs. “I’m off in ten minutes. What would you like?”

  “A muffin and a bottle of water, please.”

  “No coffee?”

  “I hate coffee.”

  “Me, too.” Brandon looks behind his shoulder. “Just don’t tell Ms. Linda. She’ll fire me.”

  “Ms. Linda?”

  “The manager.”

  “Well, your secret’s safe with me.”

  Brandon lau
ghs and heads back to the register. I try to use the free time to study, but my textbook is boring compared to the guy behind the counter. I watch the way he interacts with the customers—giving each of them his dimpled grin and walking elderly customers to the door. It’s sweet, watching the old ladies giggle like teenagers when they loop their arms through his as he walks them out.

  After ten minutes, Brandon returns with two blueberry muffins and bottles of water.

  “Bored yet?” he asks.

  “Not at all. I’m curious, though. Why do you think grandmothers come to a college coffee shop?”

  He sits down beside me. “Well, the shop has actually been here longer than the university. Plus, everyone knows Ms. Linda has the best muffins in town.”

  I grin, because it’s obvious what brings the little old ladies to the shop, and it has nothing to do with Ms. Linda’s muffins.

  For the next hour, we bombard each other with questions. That’s how I learn that he’s been crashing at a friend’s apartment.

  “My roommate graduated and I couldn’t afford the apartment by myself. I couldn’t stand the thoughts of a dorm, so I’m staying with some buddies of mine. It’s not so bad. There are five of us, so it’s pretty much a constant party all the time, which sucks because I have to be up so early.”

  “How early?

  “Five o’clock.”

  “Five? As in A.M.?

  Brandon nods. “I work out each morning. It’s mandatory.”

  I wonder why an engineering major would be required to exercise before dawn, but he changes the subject and asks about my family.

  “I’m an only child. Mom lives in a small town just outside of Indianapolis.”

  “What about your dad?”

  I take a deep breath and stare down at my hands. It’s not that I mind talking about my father. I just never know how to explain it.

  “I never met my dad. He was killed in Desert Storm before I was born.”

  Brandon reaches for my hand.

  “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry, Steph.”

  “Thanks.” I squeeze his hand. “You know, they say it’s hard to miss something you never had, but they are full of it. I miss my dad every single day.”

  “I understand. It must make you proud, though. Knowing he died defending his country.”

  I bristle. It’s the same speech I’ve heard all my life. Some families probably find comfort in the fact that their loved ones died in combat. I’ve even had people tell me that I should consider it an honor.