Anything More Than Now (Sutton College #2) Page 10

  “You must be Reagan. Welcome. Come in, sit. I’m making breakfast.” His voice is rougher than Noah’s, a smoker’s voice, aged from a hard life.

  “Thank you.” I glance over to Noah beside me. I’m stuck in the middle of a silent conversation. His father all but skewers him with a hardened glare and Noah responds by looking at me, guilt thick behind his bruised face. The two of them let whatever it is fall between the three of us, and brush over Noah’s swollen black eye as though it doesn’t exist.

  “This is my dad. Jimmy.”

  Noah leaves me, then his father smiles and extends his hand toward the small table in the corner of the tiny kitchen. I thought the frat house screamed bachelorhood, but this is the epitome of the word. Everything is worn, once rough, now a little gentler but still masculine.

  We’ve switched from Elton John to Johnny Cash on the radio. Since I don’t know what to do with myself, I sit in the wooden chair and fold my hands in my lap as Noah grabs the coffeepot from the counter and two mugs.

  Jimmy sets the bowl on the counter, nodding to a cast iron skillet on the stove. “Finish up,” before turning to me. “How was the ride, Reagan?”

  “Oh, it was fine.” I pick at my jeans, matching the same drumming bass strum of “I Walk the Line.”

  I should have changed. I’m still wearing what I was wearing yesterday morning and my hair is probably a mess. This shouldn’t matter. I’m just meeting the father of a…friend. I’m having breakfast, that’s all. Pancakes aren’t a commitment. Except the perfectly made coffee that slides in front of me suggests something else entirely.

  “She slept half the ride,” Noah says from beside me.

  When our eyes meet, I slide a bit farther along my seat, suddenly feeling flushed. Noah winks at me before he hip-checks me in the shoulder and walks off to make pancakes. He digs through a freezer of microwave meals, cursing. “Do you have any blueberries, Dad?”

  “Why they hell would I have blueberries?”

  I try not to laugh, hiding again behind my cup of coffee. I guess the Burke men are full of surprises because for a man who looks like an old gruff cowboy, Jimmy chats my ear off, asking about everything. I don’t have many answers, none I want to share with Noah yet, but I do share about prepping for graduation, about maybe moving to New York City this summer.

  Noah hands his dad a tall stack of pancakes and sets down a bottle of syrup in the middle of the table. “Dad, she’s too young for you. Stop flirting.”

  “Is she too young for you?” Jimmy replies, sinking his knife and fork into breakfast. He looks up and winks at me before stuffing his mouth full.

  I try to fight the stupid flutter in my stomach when I catch Noah ducking his head down, a soft curve to his lips, but there’s no use. What’s the point of trying to stop the sun from rising? Without a cloud in the sky or with, it’s still going to happen, somewhere. Like falling for Noah Burke.

  It was a slow burn, an explosion, and now that the flames have died away, I realize that the embers are still glowing. We can’t be put out, not until something puts us out. It could be us or the world, our lives…but until then, do I want to enjoy something that won’t be permanent?

  Love, lust…it’s all fleeting. It wanes, it ends, it vanishes. Then there’s Noah.

  I peek at him from beneath my bangs, my hands clutched around my coffee. He meets my stare, pinning me in my seat.

  “No,” he says, his voice soft before he turns back to the stove. “She’s just right for me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Reagan

  I wake up and get dressed as if it were any other day, smiling as I catch my black robe hanging from the bathroom door a month later. I feed Cecily and check my email, sipping coffee, while I find some upbeat music to match the sunny day outside. The bulletin board above my desk, once full of all things New York, is packed, replaced with a one-way ticket to New York City that’s graced the corner of my desk now for a week. While my classmates spent the past week reliving their best memories of college, I’ve been packing and working between sending out more résumés and looking for a sublet apartment anywhere near Manhattan.

  My stomach flutters as I slip into my robe, my secret smile beaming as I adjust my hair and place on the cap, which I decorated, then slip out the door to walk myself to graduation. Except Trina is waiting outside, leaning against her car with happy tears in her eyes.

  “You don’t have to always walk alone, kiddo.” She pulls me in for a hug. “I’m proud of you.”

  I shrug, uncomfortable with not knowing what to say.

  She opens the passenger side door for me then skips to the driver side. I stifle a laugh, glancing up to the bungalow as I get into the car. I took down my curtains, so my window is bare. The house looks empty. I guess this is part of growing up, of letting go. I guess sometimes you leave pieces of yourself behind because you have the hope there’s something better out there waiting.

  *

  My phone buzzes in my dress pocket as the crowd of my classmates swells before breaking into excited squeals and camera flashes. Smiling happy families, proud parents. I keep my eyes down, avoiding everyone in my way, clutching my diploma.

  I did the same when I graduated from high school as valedictorian. I had given my speech wishing to see Kelsey out in the crowd, doing something cheesy like beaming with pride or boasting “that’s my sister.” I walked across the stage, waiting for my mother to give me a hug when I stepped off. Instead, Trina hadn’t been able to come, so I had done it all myself.

  “You look like a whore,” my mother said when I graduated eighth grade. “And this piece of paper means nothing. It won’t solve shit when life goes wrong.” She slammed the door, trapping me inside the small closet by the kitchen. I sat there in the dark, smearing off the lipstick I’d taken from the bathroom with the back of my arm, hunched in the corner until Kelsey came home that night and let me out.

  My phone goes off again and I find a quieter spot by a tree overlooking the field stuffed with folding chairs.

  Look up, the first reads.

  I scan the bumbling mass of people around me. It’s hard to make out anyone considering more than half of us are dressed alike, and the other half are old. I’d planned on meeting Trina at a restaurant downtown after I go back to the bungalow to change out of my robe.

  Stay where you are, the second reads.

  I glance up again, not seeing anyone I’d care enough to take a picture with or meet up. I really just wanted to get back to the bungalow and leave all this happy family shit behind me for the day. I have my diploma and that’s all I care about.

  “There you are,” Trina says. “Don’t you dare take off your cap, I want a picture.”

  I freeze when I spot his silhouette emerge from behind Trina. My heart hammers against my chest and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so breathless, so certain my heart would break free of its bony cage.

  Trina hands me a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. I grip them clumsily and smile, the world warping around me. I hear her ask me to smile but I think I already am. She asks me to hold up my diploma, so I do as she snaps another photo. I try to concentrate on the small things because the big thing is standing silently behind her, his hands behind his back, dressed up and looking perfectly kissable.

  He looks perfectly fuckable too, but one thing at a time. I can’t even say hello right now.

  I think I might finally be able to manage a few words before Trina squeezes me into a hug, tears in her eyes. She’s talking, but I don’t have the chance to do much more than go along with the selfies she’s snapping of us.

  I didn’t know getting your diploma made you into a bobble head. Already twenty minutes into my new life as a college graduate and I’m overwhelmed by the speed of it, by the amount of grace I lack. I don’t know what to say or do. I know I should do something. Instead, I’m just as lost as ever, trying to make small talk, trying to remember this moment when it’s the very thing I’ve fought toward for years now. Why a
re the biggest moments always the quickest ones to pass by?

  I nod along to Trina’s plans and stop short of saying anything to Noah.

  Noah, cleaned up, in a light blue dress shirt, gray slacks, and no beanie. He’s even wearing dress shoes. I can’t peel myself away from staring at him like a creeper, even when we break away from Trina on our way back to the car.

  “Hey there,” Noah says, stopping short of placing a hand on my arm. “I wasn’t sure….” He holds out a small bouquet of flowers tied with a sequined ribbon. They’re shades of purple and gold, our school colors. “Mati put it together. She says congratulations, too.”

  “Thank you.” And thank God I finally found my words. Sweet baby Jesus in a hand basket.

  Noah places his hand lightly on my shoulder, steering us out from the crowd and away from campus. He swats the tassel hanging in front of my face, and draws me out of my daydream of him scooping me up in his arms and kissing me until I forget my name.

  I don’t know why he came, but I don’t know if I care about the reasons right now. He’s here. At graduation.

  I graduated.

  It’s quieter now on a side street by campus. My cap itches, but I don’t want to take it off just yet. I want to enjoy the last few minutes I have here. When I get in the car and drive to the restaurant, it’ll be over, more so than when classes finished last week. There won’t be any going back.

  I stare down at the huge bundle of flowers in my hand, the diploma clutched tightly in the other, and smile.

  “You did good today,” Noah says.

  I peek over at him, the sun filtering in through the trees. His silhouette is familiar and then different, this new Noah. This adult Noah, even with aviators on.

  “Did they take your voice up on stage?” Noah nudges my shoulder.

  I press closer, lost in my own reflection in his aviators. “You came today.” I never asked him. It’s been something I’ve shouldered by myself. I owed it to myself to walk across that stage after what I went through to get to Sutton.

  He clears his throat and leans away. “Of course.”

  Trina is up ahead, getting into the car. I’m not ready to give up the few minutes we have alone, so I slow my pace. “And you stayed for the whole thing? It was almost four hours.”

  “The speech was subpar and watching everyone get their diplomas was boring as shit, but I’m glad I saw you walk across stage.”

  I want to ask why but decide it’s not the right time. All that matters is he’s here with me now. I take out my phone and hold it up high, snapping a photo of the two of us, his arms wrapped tight around me, the two of us smiling.

  Noah

  I took a chance, fully expecting Reagan to try to stab me with her fork at dinner by surprising her at graduation. Something better happened.

  I watched her smile over and again, without hiding. I watched her walk across the stage and get her diploma. And I get to have dinner with her now, like I matter in her life, contained in the small bubble she keeps around herself.

  I glance at her across the table and stretch back into the bistro chair. We came to some place nice downtown, a French restaurant. The candle flickers from the middle of the rough-hewn table, the rest of the tabletop littered with our wineglasses and carafes. It’s a tiny place with pink walls that make the crowded tables come alive.

  And still I can’t take my eyes off her.

  Reagan gives me another flirty smile, then drops her glance to her glass, her cheeks pink from a bit too much wine. She finally unzips her robe, revealing a tight black dress that I want to personally go thank the designer for, after I kiss her, good and hard, and until we lose the meaning of hours and time, and discover the meaning of life.

  She drapes the robe against the back of her chair and turns back to me, drumming her glossy red nails over the tabletop. We’ve been here almost three hours now, the entire time having a silent conversation with eyes and lips, all without touching while we talk with Trina.

  “Well, graduate, I think it’s time we head out. What do you think?” Trina asks.

  The waiter comes and clears away the last of our dessert plates. I’ve never anything like choux à la crème in my life, but I’m rethinking that after sharing the pastry puffs with Reagan, watching her lick her lips of powdered sugar and cream.

  I tilt my head back and take the last draining sip of my wine, some peppery red that Trina ordered. Cabernet Franc, I think. I haven’t mastered wine yet. I’m still at the “what’s cheap and will get me drunk” phase of life. And since my dad’s fridge is usually only stocked with Bud Light, I don’t see that changing soon.

  She pushes back in her chair and I panic. I don’t want her retreating to her room on the night of graduation. I don’t want to lose her. I can be an adult about this. I can accept she’ll be in New York soon, and I’ll be stuck here in Portland. I missed what time I could have had with her for lots of reasons. What I can’t accept is losing the time I can have with her now, especially when it seems like she finally doesn’t want to stab me or spit in my face.

  Trina heads to the front to pay the check and I walk around to Reagan’s side of the table, then sit on the wooden bench hidden by the small alcove behind her. To one side of us is the large-paned window to the street, the late spring night gradually growing gold before the day’s flame is extinguished.

  I know people can see us, I know we’re not hiding from the rest of the restaurant, but I really don’t care. And Reagan doesn’t either. She stands up and I glance down at her feet. Heels. Good fucking Lord. Heels and legs and a figure I want to lick each curve of. Her hair cascades down her shoulder in soft curls, and the deep V of her dress perfectly frames her breasts.

  I reach out and grab her arms, slowly dragging her to stand between my legs. Her perfume of ginger and honey wraps around me, and words carelessly fall out of my mouth in the fever of it all. “Je veux t’embrasser.”

  Her eyelids grow heavy and she sways a bit closer, pressing one hand against my chest to brace herself. “Speaking French now? How smart of you, Noah.” She draws her other hand farther up my thigh, the heat of her hand burning through my dress pants. I swear she’s scorching me alive, all while she wears a dreamy smile on her face.

  I tip her chin up so our eyes meet. I’m lost to the jazz, and great wine, and this gorgeous girl who somehow is finally in my life after I’ve spent years being in love with her. “I’m proud of you,” I whisper. I tilt my head up as her breath hitches, moving my lips closer to hers. “That’s why I came today. I’m proud.”

  Her lips take mine before I can finish and for once, it doesn’t matter. I’m not in a rush to tell her everything, and we’re not in a rush to ignore what’s happening between us. We kiss in that French restaurant to the quick, tipsy rhythm of Django Reinhardt. We charge ahead blindly, but know the beat, and we lose ourselves in the familiarity of facing the unknown.

  I kiss Reagan like I love her, and she kisses back like she just might love me, too.

  Reagan

  I’m still trying to remember what Noah said to me in French so I can look it up later, but I begin to forget somewhere around the time our lips meet, then completely blank when he drags my bottom lip between his teeth, tasting me as if I were the wine in his glass.

  That was three hours ago. Now it’s dark and Noah’s dragged me to some party. Usually I’d be grumbling or holed up in my room, but tonight I want to send off college with a night I’ll always remember. Something inside me buzzes from the excitement of it, the danger of just throwing my life on the line and living. Fuck rules. Fuck expectations. Tonight is simple. Tonight is uncomplicated. Tonight I’m going to be the girl I always am on in the inside, but never let out.

  Strings of lights hang overhead and sway to the bass beating through the night air. I’m not sure whose backyard we’re in, but it’s nice. Then again, I haven’t really sobered up so I think everything is pretty special right now.

  Like the hand I’m holding as I twist
my hips and make my way to the crowd that’s dancing. My classmates. I look around and I see strangers. I won’t really ever know them and I never tried. A small pang hits me as I watch everyone take photos and hug, and I’m left parting the crowd to dance with a boy who may or may not be a little drunk, too. At least there’s a real DJ here. Some strobe lights go off as one song winds down and another amps up.

  “What are you doing?” Noah yells against my ear.

  I peek over my shoulder and toss up my free arm, wiggling my body in response. I’m not sure why I’ve waited so long to wear high heels until tonight, but they make you feel like magic and sex. Or maybe it’s just the cat-eyeliner I did over and over so it’d be perfect, or the contacts I put in while Noah got changed.

  I could have changed too, but if I’m being honest, I didn’t want to. I liked how Noah looked at me in this dress. I liked the fuck-me eyes he gave me all throughout dinner. I liked the way he kissed my neck until my skin tingled on our way to the party. And I like to think of what he’ll say and do when he takes off my dress later.

  “Rea?” he asks again.

  I swing out wide, not letting go of his hand and twirl, swaying my hips from side to side until I slowly close the gap between us. I rock my hips against his and hook my arms around the back of his neck.

  “I’m not dancing,” he says into my ear.

  I ignore him, licking his mouth before pulling away and raking my hands underneath his T-shirt.

  “I don’t dance.”

  I spin around and press my back against his body, shimmying down to the ground, before grinding back up. His hands snap up to my waist.

  “Dancing is the last thing I want to do if you’re going to move like that,” he growls into my ear. Before I can answer, his teeth pull on my earlobe and his hand reaches up and cups my breast for a moment.