Undeclared

I shook it and replied faintly, “Nice to meet you, too.” He didn’t release my hand, instead pulling me a little closer, so close that my breasts were a hairsbreadth away from his chest and I could feel the warmth of his body like a blanket. His neck was eye level and part of me wanted to reach up and smell him up close. With effort, I refrained. His free hand came between us and tilted my chin up.

I stared at him. I had fantasized about this exact position a million times. Being in the circle of Noah’s arms. What would happen when I was there? But nothing prepared me for the reality of this moment and everything that preceded it. His head dropped, and for a breathless moment I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he lifted his head slightly and pressed a kiss to my forehead. He mouthed something indistinct against my temple and then let me go. Just dropped both of his hands and stepped one pace back. He tucked his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans, and for the first time since I had laid eyes on him that day, he looked uncertain.

“Tomorrow, then.”

I guess we were friends who had breakfast at 9 a.m. on Saturdays.

“Tomorrow,” I said and let him out.

Even though I was fatigued, I lay in bed and could not sleep, my mind replaying each minute of the night, flicking through images and recounting each morsel of conversation. I started fantasizing about walking to class with Noah, holding his hand. As I drifted off, I was aware of a sense of dread at the idea that I was pacifying myself with a picture of Noah once again.

Noah

Walking out of the apartment felt like a mistake, but I couldn’t come up with a good excuse for staying. I had hinted at sleeping on the sofa, but Grace chose to ignore me. Her suggestion that she had used it for something other than studying and watching movies wasn’t lost, either.

I had barely restrained myself from dragging her into my arms and laying her down across the cushions. She didn’t seem to notice how the thought of her on that sofa with anyone else made my fist tighten in resentment.

I’ve never been very good with girls, but I never had to be. In high school, there were always girls who wanted a taste of the other side of the tracks. When I was a Marine, there was no shortage of women at the base bars looking for a similar thrill. I perfected the art of standing still, which was about all it took to find myself some random company.

I didn’t need a relationship. In high school, I never wanted to connect with someone, because I was leaving town as soon as possible. In the Marines, there was never any time to develop a relationship. It was basic, then deployment. And then Grace happened.

When she first wrote me, I only wrote back because our CO told us we had to, but then I realized I looked forward to getting her letters. If it wasn’t for Grace, I wouldn’t have received anything from home. Any care package items would’ve been cast-offs from someone else. It’s not like everyone had family or a girlfriend or someone back home. There were plenty like me whose unit was their family.

So maybe my initial responses to Grace were driven by self-interest. At some point, though, Grace’s letters took on a greater importance. With each letter and each care package came the knowledge that the person behind those letters cared whether I made it home.

But I still had no finesse, and after I separated from the Marines, I fumbled Grace’s pass. And then I talked myself into believing that she’d just wait around until I was ready to come and get her.

I needed a new plan. It was a good thing I only needed a few hours of sleep. My nights would now be spent figuring out how to get a woman I cared about into my corner, rather than the best way to take an opponent to the mat.

Chapter Five

Dear Grace,

My biggest fear, huh? I don’t think I ever told you about my recruitment experience, did I? So the AF reps show up at high school on career day. Bo had skipped and gone somewhere to drink the day away. Lucky bastard. I would’ve cut class that day, too, but I had too many skips and was warned that if I had any more, they would withhold my diploma and make me go to summer school. Not going to happen.

Anyway, I end up talking with the Army and Marine recruiters. Their spiels are pretty similar. They ask me about my interests, and I tell them getting the hell out of Nowheresville is my priority. The Marine recruiter nods and says he felt the same way. He tells me I can earn money, get my college paid for, and make a lot of friends. The first one sounds interesting, the second intriguing, the third I could care less about. Turns out the last one is actually the biggest benefit of joining.

Later, the recruiter follows up with me. Gives me a huge laundry list of awesome things about joining. I tell him he doesn’t have to sell me anymore, that I’m ready to sign, only I’m debating between the Marines and the Army. Then I make my biggest mistake ever. I admit that I’m not a fan of water. The Marine recruiter laughs and says, “you’ll be infantry, son,” and I sign.

When I get to boot camp they tell me the Marines are a branch of the Navy. The Navy, Grace. The Marine recruiter must have noted that I had an aversion to water, because every punishment I ever received was water-related.

The moral of this story is that I can’t go around telling people my greatest fear, because someone will use it against me. It ain’t water anymore.

~Noah

Grace

A soft knock on my bedroom door woke me up the next morning. I sat up, disoriented. The sun was filtering through the sides of my curtains. I grabbed for my phone, but I had forgotten to plug it in last night. The dark screen stared up at me mockingly. It was dead. Crap. What time was it?

I scrambled out of bed and opened the door to find Lana standing with her hand raised.

“Knock, knock,” She lowered her hand. Her expression was unreadable and that was sufficient to alert me that something was wrong.

“What time is it?” I looked at her bare wrist. “Why don’t we wear watches?”

“Because we have phones?”

“My phone is dead! I’m supposed to meet Noah for breakfast at 9 a.m.”

I heard a cough from behind Lana. Noah was standing in our living room, waving to me. He was dressed in jeans and another dark T-shirt. Sunglasses hung from his collar. He wore a watch, only I couldn’t tell the time from here. I smiled weakly, gave him a half-wave. I grabbed Lana’s arm and dragged her into my room.

“How long has he been here?” I asked, running to the bathroom attached to my bedroom.

“He just got here,” Lana said.

“My God, what should I wear? Do I have time to shower? How could I have overslept?”

“Yes, take a shower, but don’t wash your hair. We’ll put it up. It kind of looks like sexy bedhead.”

I screamed a little when I looked at myself in the mirror. I had a pair of boxers on and one of Josh’s old shirts. My hair was matted on one side and stuck up about four inches from the top of my head. I couldn’t believe Noah saw me like this.

“Go out there and tell him I’m sick,” I instructed Lana as I turned on the shower and waited for the hot water to climb four stories from the basement.

“Sick with what?”

“Sick with bad hair.” I attacked my hair with a brush. Sexy bedhead, my ass. I looked like a drunken housewife. I only lacked the raccoon eyes.

“While you and I may think that’s an illness worth staying in bed for, my guess is Mr. Hard Body out there isn’t going to fall for that.”

“Pick something out for me to wear and go stall him.”

“Are you two dating now?” Lana called as I jumped in the shower. I washed all my parts in the quickest shower known to womankind. I tried to keep my hair from getting wet, but the ends were dampened. After toweling off, I pulled my now-combed hair into a low ponytail.

“No. We’re ‘friends.’” I curled my fingers into air quotes.

“Ugh, the worst.” Lana laid some clothes on the bed and went out to entertain Noah.

I grabbed some lip gloss and mascara and headed for the bedroom to see what Lana had chosen for me. On the bed were the shortest shorts I had ever seen. I swear she hides random outfits in her closet that she trots out right when I can’t refuse to wear them. I pulled on the bright blue shorts and a racerback bra lying next to the shorts. A white floral racerback tank completed the outfit. It was dressier than I would ordinarily wear, but the loose fit of the tank made up for the brevity of the shorts.

Ten minutes after jumping out of bed, I walked out of the bedroom. Lana was ensconced on the sofa and Noah was in my chair. She was full of smiles, but her eyes signaled to me that we were going to have a long talk about Noah. If only I had answers for whatever questions she’d have.

“Sorry about that, but I’m ready now,” I announced, double-checking to see if I had a credit card, my school ID, and keys in my bag. My phone was charging on my nightstand. It was at 5% when I left the bedroom.

Noah stood up and looked me up and down. He opened his mouth and then closed it. His lips curved up slightly at the ends and this time the smile, albeit small, was real, all the way from his mouth to his eyes, unlike last night. “You have some sandals or something?”

I looked down to see my feet were bare. I turned around and ran back to my room, returning momentarily, properly shod. I fiddled with my bag a little to hide my embarrassment. Could I never catch a break around this guy?

Noah turned to Lana and held out his hand. “Great to meet you finally, Lana.”

“I’ll see you around, I’m sure,” Lana shook his hand and grinned at me. Apparently it had taken Noah no time at all to charm Lana. I was right to be wary. Lana liked to play overprotective mother hen, although the kind that finds hookups for her charges, not the kind that separates the girl chicks from the boy chicks. That he was able to make her so at ease in less than ten minutes told me I had almost no chance at keeping a barrier between us.

I jingled my keys.

Noah walked over. Before I could put my hand on the doorknob, he had swept me aside to open the door and waved me through.

“It’s the 21st century, Noah. Women open their own doors.”

“Not while I’m around,” his previously non-existent southern accent showed up as he drawled the last part. “My momma would be turning over in her grave if I let a woman touch a doorknob.”

I merely grunted in response, pretty sure he dragged that old line out anytime he wanted to get away with something—as only good-looking guys could do.

I stopped when I hit the porch of the Victorian and blinked like a mole seeing sun for the first time. I felt like I had engaged in a twelve-hour bender and had only two hours of sleep before someone pried open my eyes again. The bright sun turned to dark spots in front of my eyes and I started to sway.

“Whoa, there,” Noah said, setting his hand around the base of my neck, his thumb and fingers wrapped around like a reverse collar. “Let’s get some protein in you. The diner okay with you?”

There was a diner on the south end of campus that served breakfast all day long. I nodded again. Noah unhooked his sunglasses and placed them over my eyes, dragging his fingers behind my ears. I suppressed a shiver.

We walked for several minutes without a scrap of conversation. Trying to think of something interesting to bring up reminded me of my early days of writing to Noah, making sure each word was interesting enough to lure him into writing me back.

In retrospect, I probably looked like a fool from the very beginning, a bothersome child who was trying to buy her way into a cool kid’s group with treats and expensive toys. I bit my tongue in an effort to not be the first one to break the silence.

“So, weather’s nice today,” Noah finally said. I nearly stumbled. Was that a reference to my first letter when I told him I wasn’t going to ever refer to the weather because it was such an incredibly boring topic, or was he just really bad at making conversation?

“Yeah, nice.” Our breakfast was going to feel really long if this was the best we could come up with. After the silence became too much for me, I went for the low hanging fruit—his major.

“What do you do with a finance degree?” I had skipped all the business majors in the course catalog. I’d have to go back and review those.

“Build empires,” Noah responded immediately, relief evident in his voice.

I raised my eyebrows behind the sunglasses. “Lofty ambitions.”

“Aim high.”

“Are you allowed to say that, given that you’re a Marine?”

“Probably not. Don’t repeat it or they’ll take away my right to shout Oorah. What’re you studying?”

“Didn’t your recon divulge that? You know my class schedule, where I live, and apparently where I was partying last night.”

“I admit that I hung out over at the Fine Arts Center for a few days and was surprised I didn’t see you or any of your work,” Noah said, unperturbed by my recitation.

“Why would I be at FAC?”

He shrugged. “I just thought you’d be majoring in something over there. Like Art, or whatever majors there are in Art.”