by Sydney Logan
I guess I’m selfish. I’d rather have my dad.
“Could we maybe talk about something else?”
Brandon nods and gives my hand a squeeze.
“Sure,” he says. “I know! Let’s talk about our first date. Is tomorrow good for you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I thought this was our first date.”
“Absolutely not. This is muffins and water. First dates are supposed to be epic. It’s the story we’ll tell our children, and our grandchildren—”
“You know, you’re pretty confident for a guy who wears a paisley apron.”
He grins. “Tomorrow night. You, me, and my old VHS copy of The Princess Bride. I’ll kick the guys out of the apartment, and we’ll order a pizza.”
“How about my apartment, my DVD, and I’ll beg Tessa to cook?”
His dimpled smile melts my heart.
“It’s a date.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Stephanie
Tessa meets me at the door. “You’re home! How was your date?”
I stumble inside and drop my bag before hobbling toward the couch. “It wasn’t a date, according to Brandon. It was muffins and water. But you’ll be happy to know that our first official date is tomorrow night. And we’re staying in, so if you don’t mind, would you care to—”
“No problem. Xavier has a game.”
“You’re the best friend ever.”
Her happiness fades. “I . . . really hope you still think so after I tell you what I need to tell you.”
I’m instantly suspicious. I also notice her apron and a distinct aroma in the air.
“You’re baking peanut butter cookies.”
“Well, I know they’re your favorite.”
“Okay, what’s going on?”
“I really wanted to feed you first.”
“You can feed me later. Spill it.”
She sits down next to me. My beautiful best friend, who never loses her cool or gets nervous about anything, looks a little pale.
“Steph, you know you’re my best friend and that I would never, ever do anything to intentionally hurt you, right?”
“Which means you’re about to hurt me.”
“But not intentionally.”
“Just spit it out, Tessa.”
Taking a deep breath, she squares her shoulders and looks me in the eye.
“Xavier asked me to move in with him, and I said yes.”
“Tessa, that’s amazing! But why would . . .” my voice trails off as I realize how this news, as wonderful as it may be, could unintentionally hurt me. “Ah, the apartment. You want me to move out?”
Tessa’s eyes grow wide. “No, of course not! His parents just bought the apartment building on Pike Street. The fancy one. You know, the place with the private terraces and fitness center?”
“You mean the one we call Paradise on Pike?”
“That’s it! Xavier’s allowed to live there rent-free as long as he stays in school, and his mom and dad love me, so they’re all for it.”
Tessa and Xavier have been dating since sophomore year, so moving in together isn’t a complete shock. What’s a little upsetting is the fact that they chose now to do it. It’s just a few weeks into the semester—the first few weeks of their last semester—and they decide to make this kind of commitment now? After Tessa and I just made a commitment to our landlord in the form of a six-month lease?
“Steph, I know what you’re thinking. I had every intention of staying through the summer. No one was more surprised than me when he asked me to move in with him.” Tessa’s eyes suddenly fill with tears. “I know it’s selfish. You don’t hate me, do you?”
With a sigh, I reach for my best friend and give her a tight hug. “It’s not selfish and of course I don’t hate you. I’m so happy for you. I’ll just have to see if our landlord will let us out of our lease.”
“You don’t want to stay?”
“I can’t afford the rent on my own.”
Tessa frowns. “I know. I was thinking maybe you could find a new roommate. It would just be for a few months. I’ll even help you look. It would help relieve my guilt.”
“Don’t feel guilty. I’ll post an online ad or something and see what happens. Either way, it’ll be fine.”
“Promise?”
It will be fine or I will be homeless. No worries.
I force a smile. I’m not about to let the ball of anxiety that has just formed in the pit of my stomach ruin my best friend’s excitement.
“I promise.”
A sudden knock causes Tessa to beam brightly. I don’t even have to wonder who is on the other side of the door.
“Come in,” we yell in unison.
Xavier walks in slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid a wild animal is on the loose. His eyes widen when he sees Tessa’s tears.
“Do you hate us?” he asks.
I force another smile. I have a feeling I’ll be doing that a lot over the next few days.
“How could I hate my two best friends?”
Xavier sighs with relief and plops down on the sofa.
We spend the rest of the evening with take-out pizza, peanut butter cookies, and some basketball game that I couldn’t care less about. Deep down, I felt a little guilty. They’re in love, and it’s not surprising that they want to be together all the time. I’m happy for them, but at the same time, all I can think about is the fact that I will soon be sharing the sofa with a complete stranger.
Or you’ll be homeless.
I wait until halftime before faking a headache and dragging my depressed ass to bed.
The next morning is cloudy and gloomy, which is ironic considering those two words perfectly describe my mood.
To say this is the worst day for a first date is the understatement of the year.
Throughout the morning, I seriously consider texting Brandon and faking the flu, but something stops me. The fact is that I like him. A lot. Which is weird because it usually takes me much longer to feel comfortable around someone. Tessa found the perfect guy in Xavier, but I’ve never been lucky when it comes to dating. Most college guys are jerks. Or liars. Or both.
Brandon is different. Instinctively, I know this, and that’s what stops me from breaking our date.
I’ve spent the afternoon on the couch with my laptop, scrolling through ads on Peyton Central, our school’s equivalent to Facebook. Students can check e-mail, sell used textbooks, browse for campus internships, and sometimes, find a new roommate.
So far, I’m unimpressed.
Oh, there are plenty of eager hopefuls. Some even posted pictures. And while my 80s-loving heart is impressed with the ad that reads, ‘Seeking roommate who likes to watch Back to the Future and listen to old school Mellencamp,’ I just can’t help but think the crafty bastard, whose name is BigDaddy21, is probably just looking for a girlfriend.
Giving up, I close my laptop and head to the kitchen to finish dinner. Tessa made lasagna, so the apartment already smells like heaven. As I place the garlic bread in the oven, the depressing thought hits me that, very soon, I’m going to be cooking my own meals.
I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of take-out in my future.
The knock at the door jerks me right out of my pity party. I limp my way through the living room and open the door.
“Hi.”
“Hey.” He’s wearing his Inigo Montoya T-shirt and holding a pretty bouquet of wildflowers. He looks a little nervous. “Umm . . . I couldn’t decide between these and roses, but my dad always said that you should bring flowers to a girl any chance you get, so I’m . . .”
He’s babbling, and it’s adorable. I decide to put him out of his misery and reach for his hand, pulling him inside.
“Wildflowers are my favorite.”
His face immediately relaxes. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
I lead him into the kitchen, where I find a vase and fill it with water. “This was really sweet of you. Thank you.”
Over dinner, we talk about school. I’m surprised to learn his schedule is just as horrible as mine, and just like me, he has to graduate in May. Summer classes are not an option.
“I just want to be done. One last summer of freedom before I start teaching.”
Brandon nods. “I understand. I’m headed to Georgia right after I graduate.”
Before I can ask what’s in Georgia, he asks about my future plans.
“I really want to teach English.”
“Here?”
“Anywhere. Hopefully close to home, but I’ll go wherever there’s a job.”
Dinner is delicious, of course, and we each send a quick text to Tessa to thank her for cooking before we head to the living room. I pop the DVD into the player and hand him the remote.
He pulls me toward the couch. “Do you cry?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, when Westley supposedly dies, or when Buttercup marries Prince Humperdinck. Do you cry?”
“She doesn’t technically marry him, if you remember.”
Brandon chuckles and helps me get comfortable on the sofa. My ankle doesn’t hurt nearly as much now, but he insists I prop it up anyway.
For the next ninety minutes, we watch our favorite movie as if it’s the very first time. It feels like the first time, because I’m watching it with someone who truly loves it as much as I do. During the movie, our bodies drift closer, until Brandon finally takes my hand while wrapping his other arm around me. I snuggle deep into his arms without taking my eyes off the television.
It should be weird, but it’s not.
“I could never go out with someone like Buttercup,” Brandon says in the middle of the movie. “She has no faith whatsoever.”
I laugh. “Well, I could never date someone who disappears for years and lets me believe he’s dead.”
“So, who could you date?”
You. The thought is immediate. Thankfully, it remains a thought and the word doesn’t escape my mouth.
“Let’s just watch the movie, okay?”
He smirks and turns his attention back to the screen.
“I have to admit . . . I sort of want to punch Westley in the face every time he says ‘as you wish.’ I never understood why he couldn’t just say ‘I love you’ like a normal person.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe because he was chickenshit . . . kind of like the guy who kissed a girl on a library ladder and then ran out of the room like he was on fire.”
Brandon chuckles. “Who knew Westley and I had so much in common?”
The evening passes quickly. Too quickly for me. I’m too comfortable, wrapped in his arms as if we’ve been together for years. I sneak a peek at him as he watches the sword fight between Inigo Montoya and the Six-Fingered Man.
“You’re missing the end,” he whispers.
Busted. “Sorry.”
At the end of the movie, when the grandfather talks about the five most passionate and pure kisses, I can literally feel Brandon’s gaze on me.
I tilt my head in his direction. “You’re really missing the end.”
He pulls me closer as his eyes flicker to my mouth, and I nearly laugh because this moment is completely cheesy and predictable.
But I don’t laugh. I don’t even breathe.
I’m impatient, so I lean in, kissing him softly. Weaving my fingers into his hair, I pull him closer. Brandon groans and presses his body against mine. He’s soft and warm and I feel it again . . . the butterflies or somersaults or whatever you want to call it that lets me know that this isn’t just an ordinary kiss, and Brandon is no ordinary guy.
And I know, deep in my heart, that I’m in trouble.
“You know, you never answered my question,” Brandon says.
The movie ended an hour ago, but we haven’t moved from the couch. I’ve never understood why couples make out in the backseats of cars. Couches are so much more comfortable.
“Which question was that?”
“Who could you date?”
“Hmm.” I pretend to ponder. I mean, really, shouldn’t it be obvious by now? “Someone who is kind-hearted. Someone who walks old ladies to the door of the coffee shop. Someone who looks sexy in a paisley apron.”
He smiles and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “What about a Kentucky Wildcats fan? Could you date one of those?”
It’s a fair question, considering my Indiana roots and my love for Hoosier basketball.
I wrinkle my nose. “I suppose.”
“Good to know.”
We both laugh, and he buries his face against my neck. He really likes my neck.
“Honestly, there’s only one type of guy I could never date.”
Brandon lifts his head. “And what type is that?”
“I could never, ever date a soldier.”
His entire body stiffens.
“You won’t date a soldier?”
His voice is flat. Robotic.
“No, I won’t.”
“What do you have against soldiers?”
“I have nothing against soldiers.”
“But you just said—”
I shake my head. “I have nothing against soldiers. It’s the military I have a problem with.”
“What’s the difference?”
I gaze into his deep brown eyes. They look tortured now. Sad. And I have no idea why. Have I offended him? Maybe his dad was in the military or something. Surely he would have mentioned that. Wouldn’t he?
“Do we really have to talk about this right now?”
“I . . . think we do.”
I sigh heavily. “The difference is that I can admire and respect the people who put their lives on the line for me. I just don’t think young men and women should be forced to choose between their country and their family.”
Brandon blinks. “But the military doesn’t make them choose. No one’s been drafted since Vietnam.”
This is getting deep. And uncomfortable.
“Brandon, maybe we should just watch another movie.”
“This is because of your dad, isn’t it? Because he got killed in Desert Storm.”
“Well . . . yes. Don’t you think that’s a good reason?”
He lets go of me, and I immediately miss him.
“Your father died doing something courageous and brave. Something he felt was his duty. That should give you comfort. You should be proud, Steph. You should be honored.”
I leap to my feet. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being told how honored I should feel that I never had the chance to meet my father.
“My dad was killed by friendly fire when his helicopter was shot down over Khafji, so no, I don’t feel honored. I feel robbed. I grew up without a father, and my mom was a widow at the age of twenty. Twenty. So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t feel honored.”
I take a deep breath and try to calm down. The last thing I want to do is cry in front of him.
“You really feel this way? You really hate the military that much?”
“I really do.”
He looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. He nods once and rises to his feet.
“I should go,” he whispers.
What?
“You don’t have to,” I tell him, but he’s already reaching for the door.
“I have to get up at five, Steph. I’ll talk to you later.”
I watch him go. I have no idea what happened in the past five minutes. No idea why he’s reacting this way. Clearly, I’ve insulted him. I just wish I knew why.
So much for our first date.
CHAPTER SIX
Brandon
Sweat rolls down my face as I groan loudly, giving the bag one last quick kick. I haven’t kickboxed in months. Now I remember why. Everything burns. Everything hurts. And the pain is welcome. It reminds of what a dumbass I am.
With a tired grunt, I collapse against the mat.
I’m so pissed at myself. And at her
. But most of all, I’m pissed at my stupid heart because it was leading me down a path I have no business going down, and it was this close to convincing me to make the biggest mistake of my life.
What was I thinking? It’s not as if I have time for a girlfriend. Hell, I barely have time to sleep. And in four months, I’ll have even less time. I’ll be training all summer. After that, only God knows where I’ll be.
Not that it matters.
And maybe that’s the part that pisses me off the most, because it never mattered. From the very beginning, I had zero chance.
Zero.
I close my eyes and think back to the few conversations we’ve had.
Did she really have no idea?
“Dude, you just beat the shit out of that bag.”
The voice is vaguely familiar, but I don’t care enough to actually open my eyes.
“Isn’t that what it’s for?”
“Well, yeah, but I’m not sure how I feel about Steph dating somebody with so much rage. She’s a sweet girl and—”
My eyes snap open at the sound of her name. I look up to find Xavier standing over me. He’s sweating like a pig, too. Probably just came from practice.
“Brandon, man, you look like hell.”
“Well, that’s exactly how I feel, so . . .”
He offers me a hand, and I take it, because my legs are jelly. Standing hurts, but again, that’s okay. I need the constant reminder that I’m an idiot.
“Thanks. You’d never know I run two miles a day.”
Xavier hands me a clean towel. “Running and kicking are two entirely different things. Different muscles. Different techniques.”
I don’t really care, but I don’t want to be rude. “Yeah. Well, thanks for the towel. I’m just gonna hit the shower.”
I’ve just turned to go when I feel his hand on my shoulder.
“Seriously, man. Steph is a sweet girl and one of my best friends. I need to know.”
I sigh and turn back around. “Need to know what?”
“Are you always this pissed off or are you just having a bad day?”
Xavier’s a good guy, but it’s not like I can really talk to him. Anything I say will be told to Tessa, who in turn will tell Steph.