“Then let’s strategize.”
“I’ve already made every strategic mistake possible. I left too late last night to catch her. I surprised and maybe embarrassed her after class. If I see her at a party and spill beer all over her, my trifecta of stupidity would be complete.”
“So now what?”
“Now, it’s time to regroup.”
“You want to fight or drink tonight?”
“Both.”
Chapter Three
Dear Grace,
I’m luckier than most. There are plenty of guys that are homesick and haven’t seen their kids or wives or girlfriends for months except over the Internet.
I don’t have much to miss back home but I’m here with my best bud, Bo Randolph. We’ve been friends since we tried to beat the piss out of each other in seventh grade. Served two weeks of suspension and found out we had a lot in common.
Bo’s my battle buddy. This means wherever he goes, I go, and vice versa. You never go anywhere without your battle buddy, including (or maybe especially) the bars.
Yours,
Noah
Grace
“Calm down, jitterbug,” Lana said for what seemed like the fiftieth time. She handed me another glass of Vodka and pink lemonade—the lazy college student’s version of the Cosmo.
“What’s up with you, anyway?” Amy asked. We were pregaming at our apartment, drinking just enough to feel good before we hit the frat party. Knowing when to show up was just as important as knowing which keg to drink from. The keg in the backyard would be cheap and watered down. Kegs kept in the kitchen or interior bar, surrounded by all the brothers in the house, would be more expensive, although not always better tasting.
“I’m sorry about this afternoon and the photo shoot,” I told Amy. “I’m totally on board for tomorrow.”
Amy waved her hand dismissively. “It was fine. Lana called and said you had eaten something bad at lunch. Why are you two still eating at the café?” She gave a little shudder. “Tomorrow is perfect. More of the house will be there.”
I threw Lana a grateful look, and she just patted me on the back. “You’d do it for me,” she murmured so only I could hear.
“So are you thinking junior college transfers or freshman targets tonight?” I asked her as I finished applying my makeup, pretending like I was interested in finding a hookup.
I didn’t want to answer questions about Noah. I didn’t want to think about him at all. If I pretended to be interested in other things, then perhaps I could make that happen. It was worth a try, anyway.
“Depends on what you’re looking for. One night hookup? Freshman. Some date potential? JuCo transfer,” Lana said, sorting through tubes of lip-gloss. “And can I recommend we do away with lumberjack couture for the night? Your wardrobe suggests that you’re gearing up to haul logs out of the forest. If you’re aiming for Paul Bunyan, then your collection of plaid shirts is a great start—otherwise choose something that isn’t flannel,” Lana said.
I looked down at my plaid shirt. “I thought the thrift-shop, country-girl look was in.”
“Maybe at State, where Josh goes. In fact, isn’t that Josh’s shirt?”
I looked away guiltily. It was Josh’s shirt. I’d stolen a few things from him this summer. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he never said a word. But Lana had already seen my expression and started to wrestle the shirt off my shoulders. Lana is thin but strong. It must be all the yoga she does. I stood there in my thin, ribbed tank top, and Lana looked at my reflection in the mirror, quirking one eyebrow at me.
“Let’s just say the guy-who-shall-not-be-named is there. Do you want to look hot? Or like you just got back from a gold dig in Alaska?”
“Hot,” I mumbled.
“Super.” She proceeded to drag me into her room and throw a silky blue shirt at me. “Put this on with your denim skirt and take off your sneakers.”
I looked at the shirt. I wasn’t even sure how to put it on. There were long straps and a sheet of fabric on one side. “Are you missing a piece, like a camisole that goes underneath?”
“No,” Lana snorted and pulled my tank up over my arms. Surprised, I let her manipulate me like a doll. The blue satin turned out to be a halter top with a low scoop back and ties around the neck. It had an elasticized waist that helped keep it in place. I grudgingly admitted to myself that this was actually a good style for me.
The shirt had a low back, so I couldn’t wear a bra. Unlike Lana, I had a generous C cup. Not wearing a bra made me feel like I was completely naked. Plus, everyone would be able to tell if the temperature dropped just by looking at my chest.