He was on the thin side, which was another negative strike against him. You never date a guy who can wear skinnier jeans than you. I glanced furtively at Noah’s thighs. While Noah wasn’t heavy, he was big enough that I knew he wouldn’t be wearing my pants, ever.
Noah just shook his head at me and walked forward toward the pair. “Hey, Mike Walsh, right? Didn’t you come to my house out at the Woodlands before school started?” Mike turned toward Noah and stuck out his hand.
“Dude, yes, it was awesome. You’re Noah Jackson right? You fight?” Mike made a little move, like he was ducking and avoiding a fake punch.
“Right. I hear you work with my friend, Grace.”
Mike peered around Noah, and I gave him a limp wave and a weak smile.
“So I was thinking about going to the movies tonight. You want to come?” Noah was saying.
“Um, yeah, that would be awesome.” Mike looked suitably surprised, as any normal human being would be when some total stranger came up and asked them to see a movie.
“Great. Grace here is going to come, and I’m bringing a friend,” Noah emphasized the friend with a wink at Mike. He winked back uncertainly, his eyelid lowering slowly as if he wasn’t sure what he was winking about. I wasn’t sure either. Noah was bringing a friend? We were doubling?
Then my heart sank to my feet when I saw that Sarah was working the periodical desk and had heard this entire exchange. Her expression accused me of violating the girlfriend code.
I wanted to jump back there and assure her that I didn’t have designs on her boy, and that despite the fact that she and Mike were not dating, I considered him off-limits. But I couldn’t do that and keep up my stupid fiction with Noah. I’d have to explain myself later, if she let me.
I extricated myself from the situation moments later by saying I had an appointment at noon. I left Noah standing there chatting with Mike about some kind of fighting stance.
Noah
Grace’s abrupt departure, while her man of interest was throwing a head fake, was more encouraging than anything she had said all morning. When Grace brought up Mike during breakfast, her tone made me instantly suspicious. She drew out the name slowly, like she had to make one up. My first thought was that she was faking. When the name was attached to a real person, someone she worked with at the library, I admit that I may have had a moment of doubt.
But seeing him, I couldn’t believe it. While Grace wasn’t super-communicative in her letters about her dating life, this guy didn’t fit her. He wore jeans that were so tight I wondered if they were from the women’s section of the store. I wanted to lop off those stupid-ass bangs of his. I could barely see his eyes. I didn’t trust anyone whose eyes I couldn’t stare straight into. This guy looked like a stiff breeze might snap him in half.
If I pictured Grace with anyone, something I tried not to do, it would be someone like her brother. A jock. Or, because she loved photography, maybe one of those foreign war correspondents. But not this guy, who looked like he spent more time in front of the mirror than an entire sorority house.
Inviting him and Grace to a movie was risky, but if I was there, I could get a better sense of whether she actually liked him—in which case I’d have to kill him—or whether she was just using him to put me off.
It could be that Grace was just setting up a series of tests for me to pass, like the Twelve Labours of Hercules. That was fine. I’d complete each challenge, and then we could be done with it.
Even though my reunion plans were less than stellar, it was all working out. Grace was talking to me. I didn’t have to skulk around campus anymore. I was putting together the final piece of my overall plan. Get out of the Marines, get a degree, get Grace.
It was all going to work out fine. I pulled out my phone to text her, only to realize that I still hadn’t gotten her number.
Item number one. Get Grace’s number.
Chapter Six
Grace,
I’m sorry I haven’t written for what must seem like months now. I’m currently sitting on my rucksack, with an envelope addressed to you on the bed. I’ve been writing you back lots of things in my head, but I can’t seem to find one minute to actually put pen to paper. By the time you get this, I’m not even sure where I’ll be.
I ended up getting two of your packages at the forward operating base. Mail delivery is really spotty of late. We are all cursing and celebrating the supply truck’s appearance. Cursing because it never gets here on time and celebrating because of its assful of goodness.
I was the most popular guy for a day when I opened those packages. And yeah, we got a ton of mileage out of hazing Bo with the movie The Notebook. He does kind of look like the guy who plays the lead.