Soldier On (4 page)

By the end of the first week of classes, I’m completely stressed out and sleep deprived. Thankfully, it’s Friday, and that means and I get to spend the rest of the afternoon in my favorite building on campus.

When it comes to part-time jobs, I really can’t think of a better gig than working in the library. When I’m not checking-out or shelving books, I have all the time in the world to study. I’ve spent the last half-hour reading, but the twisted mind of Hannibal Lecter is too psychologically stimulating for someone running on three hours of sleep.

Giving up, I toss the paperback into my bag and search for a book cart. Shelving books is boring, but there are days when mindless productivity is exactly what I need.

Today is one of those days.

I roll the cart toward the Dewey Decimals. Glancing at the spine of the first volume, I look up to find its proper home on the shelf.

Of course, I’ll need the ladder.

This stepladder is barely four feet off the ground and not nearly as fun as the last one. The memory of that night makes me smile as I climb.

Concentrate, Steph
.

I’ve just placed the book on the shelf when my foot slips, causing my ankle to twist and the ladder to sway.

“Oh, sh . . .”

My curse is interrupted by my scream, and I tumble onto the floor, landing flat on my back. I groan as students rush to my rescue.

“Call 911!” a student yells.

“Do not call 911,” I mutter.

I try to struggle to my feet, but my ankle protests, and I bite my lip before falling back onto the floor.

My stomach flips, and I close my eyes.

Please don’t let me vomit in front of all these people.

Suddenly, I feel a pair of gentle hands framing my face. I open my eyes, and I’m greeted with dimples. And now that his face is inches from mine, I see he has gorgeous brown eyes to match his sexy dimples. Brown eyes that are so very, very familiar.

He smiles. “What is it with you, me, and ladders?”

Ladders. Brown eyes. Dimples.

Could it be?

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” he says.

It could be!

“Did you hit your head?”

Did I?
That would explain why I’m hallucinating at the moment. I mean, could the dimpled guy from my lit class be the same guy from the party? And am I the biggest idiot in the world for not making the connection?

“You look a little dazed,” he says softly, his voice filled with concern. “I’d feel a lot better if you’d say something.”

My laugh is shaky. “Sorry. And no, I didn’t hit my head. Just my ass.”

“What hurts?”

“My ankle.”

“Can you sit up?”

“I . . . think so.”

“Let’s try.”

He wraps his strong arms around me, helping me sit up so that I can rest my back against the bookshelf. I look around, and I’m grateful to see the little crowd of onlookers has disappeared.

He reaches for my shoe, and I wince in anticipation.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to look at your ankle.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, but I play one on TV.”

“Seriously?”

“No. I just thought it was the natural thing to say.”

I smirk. “Well, you are not touching my foot. It’s just a sprain. I’ll go home and take something for the pain. It’ll be fine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Yes, actually.”

He laughs, and it’s soft and sweet. “You should probably go to the student health center. Or the ER.”

“Not happening.”

“Okay. Will you at least let me take you home?”

“I am not getting into a car with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t even know your name.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you when you kissed me on New Year’s Eve.”

Excuse me?

“What are you talking about? You kissed me.”

“That’s not how I remember it at all.”

“Well, then, your memory needs a little work.”

“Fine. You can jog my memory while I drive you home.”

Normally, I would have refused his offer. I pride myself on being strong, independent, and yes, a little stubborn. But he’s cute. So much cuter without the face paint and head-to-toe camouflage. Not to mention, he has dimples, likes
The Princess Bride
, and gave me a midnight kiss that still curls my toes whenever I think about it.

I think about it a lot.

“Okay, you can drive me home . . . on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Tell me your name.”

He smiles brightly and tips his imaginary hat.

“How do you do, ma’am. My name is Brandon Walker.”

Despite my throbbing ankle, I laugh.

“I’m Stephanie James.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Stephanie James. Let’s get you home.”

“Okay, but I’ll need to call Ms. Maria.”

“Maria?”

“The librarian. She’s at a faculty meeting. And I need to get my backpack. It’s behind the counter.”

“Okay.”

Brandon climbs to his feet and places his arms around me. Before I can protest, he gently lifts me off the floor.

“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.”