“I think I may keep calling you country boy.” When she turns her face to me, I melt. She wrinkles her nose as if to say, ‘whatcha think?’ I don’t want to admit what I’m thinking. For some reason, though, I get the feeling I’ll be doing more than admitting I like it.
“Country club, I like the way you think,” I pause to get her acknowledgment, she nods. “How about we hang out, decide if we want to share our names and our Xbox profiles. Deal?”
She looks away to consider what I’ve just said. Like it’s a make or break kind of a deal. She spins around, twisting as if she doesn’t know whether to stay or go. That’s the minute I realize, I’m holding my breath.
“So, we goin’ country clubbing or country muddin’?” I draw her attention to me with my question.
She looks me in the eye and juts her hand out in front of her. “Let’s start with names, I like my Xbox more, Torrie Harrington.” Taking her hand, I shake it then let it go. “Now, what the hell is mudding?”
“It’s ‘muddin’. Brannon O’Hurley.” I jerk her to me and knock her off balance as I lean into her ear to whisper, “Now, to learn all your secrets.” She squeezes my hand before pulling away.
She eyes me skeptically. “So, your place or mine?”
“Depends. I have a roommate. You?” Shrugging through my last words.
“My own apartment.” We gaze into each other’s eyes as light flickers between us, which passes an understanding beyond words. It’s kismet.
“Alright. Let’s swing by my dorm room to grab some stuff, then we can head over to your place.” I flash my best wry smile.
“Head? Okay, my place it is. We’ll work on the language barrier later.” We both laugh at her words, this should be good. Between her northern accent and my southern country twang, it guarantees a few laughs.
“Girl, you done gone country. I’ll have you muddin’ and cow tippin’ in no time.” I jerk my head to the right, signaling her to follow me to my dorm. She doesn’t skip a beat when her eyes go wide with wonder.
“Sweet mother of God. Cow tipping? I’m intrigued.” We burst into laughter.