He pretended that he was setting a good example. I guess he never realized how much girls gossiped about guys and sex, because I had gotten an earful ever since he started making the rounds in high school. I kept quiet about it, though, knowing he would be mortified. I certainly was.
I allowed myself to drink heavily. Josh and others were there with me, so I knew I was safe. The liquor desensitized me, and I became more frenetic as the night went on, dancing and carousing in my little group. I actually ended up having a good time. Josh eventually had enough, though, tired of babysitting me and maybe just exhausted from the game. We left Levacki there acting as the dancing pole for a few girls. He looked happy.
***
Josh saw me off on Sunday. “Be careful down there at Central. Have you thought about joining the chess club? I bet those guys’d make good boyfriends.”
I scrunched up my nose. “They have sex in the chess club, too. I hear it’s really crazy. The winner sweeps the chess pieces off the table and then just takes their partner right there on the table.”
Josh look horrified and partly intrigued and said, “No shit?”
I laughed at him. “I have no idea, but this is the very reason I didn’t go to State with you. You’d have been monitoring the dating pool non-stop.”
He didn’t even look ashamed at being caught.
“Just looking out for my baby sister.” Ruffling my hair, he handed the backpack to me and shut the door. Tapping on the front window, he handed the driver some cash for gas, and we headed back to State.
I tossed my phone back and forth between my hands, unable to sleep on the return trip. I wondered whether I should text Noah and when we would meet up again. I wondered what I should wear. I hadn’t ever bought sex underwear before, and I assumed that I would be having sex with Noah at some point in the near future.
The thought made me faint with worry and overly excited. I needed to have a long talk with Lana. Were there books I should read on making it good for Noah? Should I be watching some porn? Questions ping-ponged back and forth in my head during the whole trip home. I was relieved when we pulled up to my apartment.
I thanked the two for the ride and asked, “Do you guys need more money for the trip?”
“No, we’re good. Text us anytime you need a ride,” the guy responded. I nodded and slid out the door. It was time to do some research.
Noah
When I was in high school, we managed to have keggers courtesy of an assistant wresting coach who was old enough to buy beer and young and stupid enough to be willing to supply it to underage kids. While there was a social hierarchy observed at the parties, it usually started with male student athlete rather than rich kid.
I never played sports in high school, even though I had the build. I didn’t have money, either. But I did a good job of looking dangerous, which was enough reason for many of the girls to walk over to me while I stood, holding up a wall at these parties. Friendship with Bo, who was rich and did play football, didn’t hurt.
As I leaned against one of the posts holding up the roof over our deck, I couldn’t help but be reminded of those days. Present but not quite belonging. Even though I lived here and had more right than anyone—besides my roommates—to be standing where I was, I still fit poorly. I was always just waiting for someone to kick me out.
I took a long draw from my Coors. Glass bottle. Hierarchy at parties like these was established by the quality of liquor in one’s hand. Glass bottle meant you were either trustworthy enough the hosts weren’t worried you’d break something or in good enough that they wouldn’t care if they had to clean up after you. Essentially, glass bottles were for very close guy friends and any girl you wanted to nail. Plastic cups and keg beer for the rest, or the“ pogs,” as Bo called everyone. It was an insult leveled toward anyone not infantry Marine, but it worked just as well in the civilian world.
“Nice buffet.” Bo came up to stand next to me, waving at the college girls we had rounded up from Central. It looked like the beach at Silver Strand, where the West Coast Seals trained. That expanse of beach was strewn with women and their tight bodies, with very little covering them.
The night air was heavy with humidity, and the pool gave everyone an excuse to strip down regardless of whether they had bathing suits. A couple more hours and there would be plenty of nudity, as even the thin scraps of underwear would become too uncomfortable for some.
When I first moved into this house, I thought that the distance from Central would prevent any real partying with the students, and, given that I was a couple years older than most of the seniors, that was okay. That thought ended with our first rager, held at the start of summer classes. The debauchery of that night must have spread like a fire through the California forests in summer because we’ve had to turn people away ever since.
The number of people just showing up was unmanageable. While we weren’t gunning to be neighbors of the year, we didn’t want to be monumental assholes, either. So we instituted rules. No more than six people per car. Every vehicle had to have a designated driver. Everyone had to be of age. By the end of the summer, though, we still hadn’t managed to curtail the migration westward. The last party we held we required people to have armbands that Bo and I handed out on campus.
It made the parties more exclusive to students at Central, which put us in the position of divining the haves and have-nots. It made me uncomfortable.
So yeah, the buffet of girls was quite impressive. While they were all very nice to look at, not one of them was the girl I was thinking about. Which Bo knew.
“Going to try one out tonight?” Bo pressed.
“No.”
“You really think you’re doing the right thing?”
“In what way?”
Bo gestured again to the pool lined with college girls mixing with guys from the gym where Bo and I worked out and some of the guys that worked on Finn’s construction crew. It was a weird mix, but it always seemed to work, even if those Central girls would never date any of the guys here. Central girls, like the girls back home, liked to flirt with the blue collars, but they always went home with the ones who would end up wearing suits and ties. “You’ve barely sampled the goods here.”
“I figure you’re doing enough sampling for both of us.” I drained the last of my beer and went inside to get another from the fridge. The kitchen was fairly empty. Another sign of belonging. No one goes into the fridge except us. Bo followed me inside, and I tipped my head toward the fridge to see if he needed a new one. He shook his head.
The only furniture we had on the first floor was a very long, battered table, where a bunch of people seemed to be doing body shots off one girl laid out like a sacrifice, and two equally battered sofas around the spot where our big screen TV usually hung.
It made for a good party house. I headed for the stairs. Maybe I should see if Grace texted me. The stairs were taped off with some fake crime scene tape. I hopped over and took the steps three at a time. When I stopped at the landing, I realized that there were people in the hall bathroom going at it.
I hated that. Someone always had to clean up the mess left by drunk people. The vomit was bad enough, —but somebody’s discarded condom was even worse. I gave the door a loud bang and told them to get the fuck out. I didn’t stick around to see if anyone obeyed my orders. Bo was right behind me and banged on the door, too. “I hope you used a condom.”
I smirked at him. Our interruptions definitely would’ve caused a hitch in some guy’s stroke.
“What’re we doing upstairs?” Bo asked.
“I’m checking my phone.” I hadn’t heard the phone alert me to any text messages, but it was loud. Maybe I had missed one. I wanted to be in a quiet place if I needed to call Grace back.
“I’m worried, man,” Bo said concern tingeing his words. I wasn’t really listening.
“Yeah?” I responded, my attention on my phone. No messages.
“Grace was a nice girl to send you all th
at shit, but you know you don’t really owe her anything,” Bo continued.
“I don’t think I owe her something.” I was getting a little irritated now that his words were penetrating.
“I just don’t get it. She’s not your type at all,” Bo said.
“What’s my type?” I challenged.
“Someone more driven. Someone who has her act together.”
“She’s got her act together,” I said. I really didn’t know if she did, but what did it matter. I knew where I wanted to go. She could just come along with me.
“She doesn’t. She doesn’t have a major. She almost had a panic attack watching a dirty movie with you. She doesn’t have any other interests in her life.”
“How do you know that?” I shook my head. Bo knew nothing about Grace.
“Because I can ask questions just as good as you. This girl goes to class, does her ten hours of service, and nothing else. She’s not in a sorority. She doesn’t do theater. She doesn’t volunteer. She doesn’t take a ton of classes. She’s just existing.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said, looking pointedly at Bo. I wondered why this bothered Bo so much, since he pretty much described his own life. He looked away for a minute but didn’t allow that point to deter him. He pressed on.
“Yeah, but I shot bad guys next to you,” Bo said. “You have to be friends with me. And you can be friends with Grace. It’s just, why tie yourself to one girl? You should be downstairs taking one or more of those chicks up on their offers instead of up here checking your phone. This is your time to enjoy yourself.”
Bo’s mantra was to live hard, as if we only had so many years to be able to have fun before real life beat us down. Enjoying life apparently included bedding as many girls as humanly possible, like life was a first-person-shooter game, only women were Bo’s targets. He was accumulating life points with each conquest.
“You don’t know her,” I repeated.
“Tell me, then,” Bo said skeptically.
I stared at him in disbelief. “Why’re you busting my balls over this?”
Bo looked out the window over the pool and at the mass of flesh below. “Because you’re one of the good guys, Noah. The rest of us are a bunch of assholes, but you deserve something special.”
“You sell yourself short, bro.” I clapped him on the shoulder. I didn’t want to argue with Bo over Grace. These two were going to have to be friends. They were going to be part of my life for a very long time. “Be happy for me. I want to look at the world like Grace does, so that even the ordinary things look amazing.”
“Just think about it,” he warned. “It might even be good for you and Grace. You could make sure that she was right for you by testing out some other options.”
“How about I go downstairs and be the best fucking wingman ever,” I suggested. Bo shrugged. He’d said his piece. If this spiel had come from any other person, I’d have thought that they were implying I wasn’t good enough for Grace. Bo was the opposite. He didn’t think Grace was good enough for me, which I didn’t get, even though I appreciated the loyalty.
Bo and I were about the only two guys unattached in our unit when we began, but by the end at least half, if not more, had divorced, broken up, or were cheated on. Grace had been more constant than any woman we knew. She was able to cut through all the bullshit and focus. I wanted that, and I wanted to be the object of her focus. There wasn’t any reason to sample anything. I knew a good thing when I found it.
Chapter Ten
Grace
When I got to the apartment, Lana greeted me. She was alone.
“How was Josh?”
“Good. He didn’t get hurt much in the game, and I got some cool photos. I think they want to frame one in the locker room.” I went into the bedroom and dropped my backpack on the bed. “By the way, thanks for calling Josh and ratting me out.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, completely unrepentant. She came in and helped carry my toiletries into the bathroom. “What’d he have to say?”
“He lectured me for all of two minutes and then the idea of his sister having sex turned his stomach, and we dropped the subject.”
“I can’t count on Josh for any help in this, can I?” Lana complained, but amusement was lurking in her voice.
“Nope,” I placed the now-empty bag into my closet, tossed the dirty clothes into my hamper, and went to stretch out on the bed next to where Lana had planted herself.
“Your desensitization plan didn’t work,” I told her and braced myself for a lecture on foolishness.
“I’m not surprised,” Lana sighed with resignation.
I turned to look at her. “What? No ‘don’t do this self destructive thing?”‘
“I don’t think anyone could withstand a guy like Noah,” Lana admitted. “And his steadiness says something about him. Like he’s really sorry, and he’s serious about winning you back. That’s pretty awesome.”
“I’m scared,” I told her quietly, almost afraid to say it, as if speaking it out loud gave my fear power.
“That’s normal,” Lana smiled wryly. “I’d be scared too.”
I lay back against my pillows and thought of Noah lying next to me on the bed. What scared me was that I wasn’t going to be enough for Noah. My limited bedroom experience was bound to show. Maybe we could start off slow and work up to actual sex. We hadn’t even kissed yet. I thought of the roughness of his slightly chapped lips against my fingers and suddenly felt very heated. Overly heated.
“God, it’s so hot in here. Do you have the air on?” I asked Lana.
“65 degrees,” Lana said, “but I don’t think it’s working.”
“Nope, not working,” I said. Lana had a light sheen on her forehead from the heat. I’m sure I didn’t look much better.
“What do you plan to do this afternoon?” she asked.
“I’m supposed to call Noah, but I’m wiped out. I think I drank too much last night. I need a nap.” I ran my hand over my forehead. I could feel a headache coming on, part hangover and part heat-induced.
“I’m going to the house,” Lana said, and she got up to escape to her presumably well air-conditioned sorority house.
I drifted off to sleep but woke what seemed like minutes later when the phone rang.
“Did you forget something?” I thought it might be Lana.
There was a pause and then a familiar low voice came on the line. “Missed you last night.”
Noah.
“What’re you doing right now?” he asked.
“Right now? I’m lying on my bed in an apartment where the laws of physics apparently demand that heat rises,” I complained.
“Heat and cold displace each other, actually. The cold sinks and the hot air rises, one molecule at a time.”
“I thought you were a finance major. Whatever, I feel like I’m in an uncooled attic. I don’t think the air conditioner they installed is powerful enough.”
“What if I told you I could solve your problem of being hot and miserable?” Noah cajoled.
“I didn’t say I was miserable.”
“I used my great deductive reasoning skills,” he said dryly.
“Fine. If you can solve my problem of being hot and miserable, I’ll give you—” I said, breaking off before I could blurt out something suggestive. I hurried to add, “I’ll bake you brownies.”
“Great, it’s a deal. I’ll collect you in twenty minutes, and you can deliver the payment after we make you cool and happy.” He didn’t mention if he’d have liked something else.
“Where are we going?” I asked, curiosity chasing away my headache.
“It’ll be a surprise, but get your swimsuit and a change of clothing,” Noah instructed and then hung up.
The idea of a swim sounded great.
Noah knocked on the door at fifteen minutes instead of twenty, but I was ready. Not much preparation was really necessary for swimming. I pulled on my swimsuit and a terry cloth cover-up . A towel and a change of
clothing went in a bag with some sunscreen, and I was waiting by the door when he knocked.
“Where are we going?” I asked when we got to his truck.
“Surprise,” Noah said, helping me up into the cab.
He drove west of campus in the direction of two of the city malls.
“Are we going shopping?” I asked Noah, worried that I wasn’t quite dressed for the occasion. “Because I’m wearing a cover up and flip-flops.”
He glanced over at me and said, “You’re perfect.”
For some reason this caused me to blush, and I tried to disguise my response with another question. He didn’t really think I was perfect. It was just a saying. “What’s our destination?”
“Casa de Hombre.”
“The Man House?” I translated with some amusement.
“Yup.”
“You have a pool at your house?” And I thought I lived in swanky college digs.
“Finn’s dad is in construction. He was building this house at the Woodlands.” Noah said it like I should know about it, but I didn’t.
“Never heard of it,” I admitted.
“The Woodlands is a gated community. Very rich. The guy who contracted for the house lost his shirt during the downturn, and his financing fell through. Finn convinced his dad to let him finish the house and buy it. We all contribute to the mortgage, and when we sell it we’ll split the equity,” he explained.
“Sounds all too grown up for me,” I said. I couldn’t wait to see where Noah lived. This was personal and intimate stuff, and I could barely sit still with my excitement.
Noah stopped at the gatehouse in front of a two lane street and pressed a button on a remote. The gate opened, and he waved at the attendant.
The Woodlands was aptly named. A variety of trees, none of which I could identify, hung over the streets and filled the yards of the houses that dotted the landscape. Each home looked like a private oasis of forest and green grass.
Undeclared (The Woodlands) Page 13