Beth
I leave the classroom as soon as possible. I have to get away. The air is crushing me. The ethics class has fired me up and not in a good way. I was already wound up from the phone calls this morning, and arguing ethical dilemmas struck a nerve that I wasn’t prepared for.
Sitting next to Noah threw me off balance and my comment to him about Oxy snuck out before I even knew what I was saying. It is universally stupid to even joke about stuff like that. I don ‘t know him well enough, and it isn ‘t something I joke about with anyone. Because the reality is about as unfunny as it comes.
“Beth!”
I try to pretend I haven’t heard him, but he catches up too quickly with those long legs of his. “Hey, wait up a sec.”
I stop and close my eyes, searching for some semblance of professionalism. I need my mask back in place, and I need it now. I’m feeling far too exposed today. Raw from dealing with the VA and, if I am honest with myself, a little afraid.
My dad is getting worse. The last time he threw his back out, he was flat out for a month. This time, it’s been close to three, and the VA docs are no closer to getting him fixed than they were when this process started.
I stiffen when Noah’s hand closes over my shoulder. His touch is strong and solid and offers a comfort that is far too tempting. He stands a little too close, his hand warm where he touches me. There is strength there. Real. It is a comfort that I badly need and for a moment, I allow myself to be selfish and don ‘t pull away.
“Are you okay?”
Genuine concern in his words. Noah is nothing like I expected a former soldier to be ’96 nothing like my dad’s friends before he got hurt. They used to come to the house and drink and play cards and talk endless amounts of trash. If not for that stupid bravado, my dad might not have gone on his last Airborne jump. He might not have destroyed his back trying to prove he was still high speed and low drag.
Noah is nothing like the men my father used to call friends. There is no arrogant bravado, no need to cross the line between hoah and stupid. He is…he is just a good guy.
“Some girl is going to be really lucky to land you.” My words slip out before I can stop them.
“I think that’s a compliment?” He flushes and drags his hand through his hair. It makes me like him a little more. “But you avoided the question.”
I look away then, because the concern in his eyes is blinding. “Just a rough morning,” I say. Because I cannot find the words to tell him how tired I really am.
Because he is not mine to lean on. Not like that anyway. I’m his stats tutor, and there can be nothing else. No one wants to compete with a girl’s father for her attention.
Every one of my relationships in the past ended because of my dad. And I’m better off without them, but I’m also tired of the heartbreak. I don’t have the energy to deal with it anymore.
“Rough enough that you were crying before class.”
Damn, he saw that. “What are you?” I ask, cracking a half smile. “Most guys don’t notice anything beyond the size of a girl’s tits, and you’re actually telling me you noticed I’d been crying?”
He returns the half-assed grin. “Well, I mean, I did notice your, ahem, curves, but seeing how I’ve developed a thing for your eyes, I noticed those, too.”
“My eyes, huh? That’s not a euphemism?”
His thumb brushes my shoulder. I can feel the gesture beneath my sweater. I resist the urge to lean into the caress. “It depends,” he says. “Do you want it to be?”
I smile and shake my head. “Thanks for that. I needed a laugh.”
“You didn’t really laugh. You just kind of smiled sadly.”
He steps closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He’s wearing a light blue striped button-down shirt and black pants. He looks every bit the business school student. It’s his hands, though, that give him away. They’re rough. Not manicured like many of the business school upperclassmen.
“My life is kind of a disaster, that’s all.” I want so badly to lean on him. To pretend that I could lay all of my problems in his lap, and he’d just hold me while I talked to him.
It’s a stupid fantasy. The world doesn’t work that way for girls like me. I’m not quite from the wrong side of the tracks, but I don’t fit in with the women here who come from money and are looking for a husband with the right pedigree.
No, for women like me, the story is dramatically different. It usually involves a cat or six, and many beloved nieces and nephews if we have siblings.
Since I have neither, I’m leaning toward cats. Except that cats cost money, and we can’t really afford another mouth to feed at the moment. Maybe when I get insurance.
“Want to get some coffee and tell me about it?”
My stomach takes that moment to rumble. Loudly. I want to crawl into a hole and die because Noah looks down in the vicinity of my belly. “Or I can buy you lunch.”
“You don’t need to buy me lunch,” I say. But there’s not much protest in my voice because I’m not prone to lying to myself or others. I am hungry. The apple and yogurt I’d had for breakfast didn’t hold me over very long.
“I’d like to.” His hand is still on my shoulder.
There are a hundred different reasons why I shouldn’t go to lunch with him. Why I should go finish my assignments for the week and get prepared for our next tutoring session. I’ve got four more hours before Dad should be sober enough to take to the emergency room.
There are so many things I should be doing instead of going to lunch, but for one blindingly stupid moment, I want nothing more than to be normal.
And so I let my stupid need not to be alone take the lead. I nod and offer a warm smile. “That would be nice.”
Noah
The mystery that is Beth Lamont continues to deepen. I half expected her to say no. The redness in her eyes is gone now, but the fatigue is still there.
“Where would you like to eat?”
“Whatever’s easiest,” she says.
“You’92re going to have to help me out here. I’m not over the getting-lost-on campus part of this operation.” But she doesn ‘t smile so I pull out my phone and look up local restaurants nearby.
She falls into step next to me, which is good because I have the strongest desire to pull her into a hug. She looks like she’s about to fall over. I’ve seen people look like she does. Coming off of long ruck marches, they do everything they can to stay upright, but the march has taken every ounce of energy they’ve got. They either sit down on their own or they collapse.
I’m hoping she’ll make it to my car before she crumbles.
“So what led to the rough morning? Fight with the doctors?”
She sucks in a quick breath. It’s subtle, but I notice because I notice everything about her. She’s more pale than normal.
“Something like that,” she says.
“Are you sick?”
“No.” Her response is quick. A little too quick.
“Family?”
A quiet sigh. “My dad.”
We enter the parking garage, and she follows me up the deadly stairwell to the second floor where my car is. I’m good at hiding it. I fucking hate parking garages. The stairs, man, the stairs are a fatal funnel. There’s no defending yourself. One disciplined shooter can control the entire approach.
I pause at the top of the steps, looking into the cavernous parking garage. I’m not insane enough to think there’s actual danger lurking in the shadows, but try telling that to my nervous system that reacts to every parking garage like I’m back in Iraq. I’m paranoid enough that I’m alert to the possibilities. Criminals tend to seek out the weak, and at approaching six feet tall, I’m not weak. But I’m also unable to relax.
Beth’s hand is gentle and strong on my upper back. “Hey, where’d you go just then?”
I try to shake off the question. “My PTSD flares up in parking garages. Just checking to make sure there’re no bad guys hiding in the dark.”
She makes a sound that’s somewhere between skeptical and amused. “That explains why you checked on me when I was walking home,” she says.
“Bad guys like to hide in the dark,” is all I manage. She’s caught me, but I’m not sure if she realizes that she’s seen a good chunk that remains wrong with me.
I’ve come home from the war pretty normal, all things considered. I’m dealing with the anxiety and the sleep problems. I’m actually considering trying to get my doc to wean me off the pain meds for my shoulder, but I’m going to hold off until after the fall semester. I don’t want to be dealing with pain and trying to pass Stats. I’ve got more than enough to worry about without adding to the chaos of my first year as a civilian.
“Some of the worst of the worst, though, are hiding in broad daylight,” she says as she climbs into the passenger’s seat.
“True enough,” I say. My throat is dry. Goddamn it I hate the parking garage. “How hard is it to get a parking pass somewhere else on campus?”
“Depends on how much money you’ve got lying around. Why not take the bus?”
I pause, taking my hand off the shifter where I was going to put the car in reverse. I twist toward her, wanting to get closer. “You know that whole parking garage issue I’ve got? I’m worse about busses.”
“Fair enough. You could park off campus and walk in, though.”
“How far?”
“Not too far. I usually walk to campus each day. There’re lots of places just off campus you can park for a small daily fee. It’s probably cheaper than parking in here every day anyway.”
A half-assed idea forms and it escapes before I think better of it. “I could park at your house and walk you to class every day.”
“But then I’d have to explain you to my dad, and he’s made me swear off boys until I graduate from grad school.”
“Seriously?” I’m suddenly really curious about this mysterious father of hers. He’s sick but dictating her life’85
“I’m kidding, Noah,” she whispers.
I’m struck by the sound of my name on her lips. It’s something smooth and sensual and my mind detours into a decidedly not comforting place. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” I like it. A lot more than I probably should.
It was a whisper across her lips. I want to hear her say it again. I suddenly want very much to see if she’d let me kiss her. I wasn’t lying when I told her I had a thing for her eyes. The green is intense and lined with grey but it’s her mouth that draws me closer. It’s wide and full and the perfect shade of pink against her skin.
I sound like a romantic, and maybe the war has made me appreciate beautiful things. There’s not a lot of beauty at war. Terrible things. Ugly things. Anything good ends up destroyed. Violently.
She hasn’t moved since I spoke. Silent and still, she’s so quiet I can hear her breathing. “I’ve said your name before.” A hushed whisper.
“No, I’d remember.” I’m closer now. Close enough that I can feel the heat from her skin, the quiet huff of her breath against my mouth.
This could ruin everything. If I’m wrong, she could run out of my car, and I would have to let her go.
But I lean a little closer. Until my lips brush against hers. She’s so much softer than I imagined. I nudge her gently, searching for permission before I go any further.
Her lips part, and then I’m not thinking anymore. I’m feeling. The soft glide of her tongue. The warm press of her lips against mine. The mingling of breath until I can’t tell where she ends and I begin.
My hand shakes as I slide my palm over her cheek, cupping her face gently. Her skin is soft, so soft compared to the hard calluses on mine.
And I kiss her like she’s my first taste of salvation.
Because she is. She just doesn’t know it yet.
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