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The worst part is, I can’t even blame him. Not when it’s my unwelcome feels ruining this.
I’m over him, dammit.
The schoolgirl crush I nurtured died eons ago...didn’t it?
So maybe I’m just not done being mad at him. That’s what’s got me knotted up tonight.
I look at Marty as he tips his oversized red beer cup back, chugging the remnants. He wipes at the excess that slips down his chin with his arm before flashing me another goofy grin.
“Dude. Mind your manners. We have napkins,” I whisper, scrounging one from my purse and pushing it into his hand. “Just because Gram’s laid up doesn’t mean I won’t tell her you gave those cute pigs at the petting zoo up front a run for their money.”
“Like hell,” he mutters, flipping me off, pushing up his nose with his middle finger.
Then he shifts seamlessly into this wild oinking sound that’s so middle school I laugh.
Big brothers. Gotta love ’em, right?
Because we’d be killing them otherwise.
For everyone’s sake, I should lighten up and enjoy my time here.
Who knows when I’ll be back after I start my new job. It could be years before I see Dallas again.
By then, Marty might be less of an overgrown kid and well on his way to married with 2.5 kids like legions of other good-hearted small-town guys.
So will Weston, I think bitterly. Are you even a memory?
My stomach sinks into a pit.
While I’m fighting not to let my eyes wander to Weston’s big blue truck, something else catches my eye. Something moving, blackish and mottled white, too round to be a missed car part and—are those four legs?
A pig!
Oh my God.
It’s definitely a stray pig, maybe one of the porkers from the petting zoo, and it’s blundering into a commotion that’ll make it a ham sandwich any second.
I jump up for a better look, straining on my toes. Next thing I know, my hands are around my mouth, and I’m shouting, “Hey, hey! Somebody stop them! There’s a pig down there, a pig in the arena!”
Of course, I’m drowned out by the incessant loud chatter and unhinged cheering when the front-end loader starts moving again.
I smack Marty’s arm, but it’s too noisy for him to hear me and he’s too drunk to comprehend my wild gesturing.
“I know. Pretty freakin’ cool, huh?” he mouths back, nodding with a lazy wag of his eyebrows. He lets out another loud wolf-whistle as my eyes flick over the scene frantically.
Sweet Jesus. There has to be some way I can signal an emergency.
Before I can even think, Weston’s navy-blue truck rolls back in action, preparing to climb over the old school bus parked at the end of the row of cars he’s already crushed.
Holy crap, no.
I have to do something.
Grabbing Marty’s arm, I scream in his ear again, but all he does is nod and grin.
“Jeez, I know, Shelly! He’s gonna squash that bus like a stuck hog,” Marty says with a messy laugh.
Yikes. I can’t let that very real, almost stuck pig get pulverized into a sausage patty.
