My Blue River (12 page)

“See, there’s more of that twisted small town crap. I gotta tell ya, Jack, I’m not sure I’ll make it through tonight,” he didn’t even question whether I was joking or not and quite easily dismissed me.

“So, do you want to eat or dance first?” he repeated his original question.

“Since I don’t “
country”
dance, then I would say eat first. Definitely eat. I’m starving and ever since you mentioned oysters, I’ve been craving them,” I patted my belly.

We turned to walk toward the food. Jack placed his hand lightly at the small of my back. I liked the gesture. It made me feel like I was someone special to him, like when he opened my car door. I examined all of the food trays. I was still confused because I certainly did not see any oysters. In fact, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing.

“Jack, those aren’t oysters. Where are the oysters?” I asked. I was certain I looked completely perplexed. What I was looking at were breaded, deep fried, slices of some type of meat.
I bet they’re the organs of Californians.

“Oh, they’re oysters all right,
Rocky Mountain
Oysters.” He started to chuckle. Something was funny and I wasn’t in on the joke.

I raised one eyebrow, “
Rocky Mountain
Oysters?”

“Yep! Rocky Mountain Oysters, otherwise known as
bull testicles
.” With two simple words Jack had washed away the sentiment I felt toward his previous gesture.

“
Bull
…
testicles?
” It was a despicable thought that caused me to wrinkle my nose. “You’re going to eat
bull…testicles
?” I kept saying the words in long, exaggerated syllables.

“Yep! And so are you!” he exclaimed as he attempted to shove a small bull testicle in my mouth.

I quickly slapped his hand away and shouted, “The hell I am!”

“Try it—tastes like chicken—well, actually, it tastes like liver, but saying “it tastes like liver” doesn’t sound nearly as funny as tastes like chicken. Come on. You’ll like it. They’re a little chewy. You can dip then in ranch, or hot sauce. Actually, it looks like there are a lot of different dipping sauces tonight.” He turned to survey the table.

I stared at Jack in disbelief. He was completely serious. Finally I stated, “I don’t like liver either, so you’ve lost this one Jackson Cooper. There is no way I’m eating bull balls. In fact, I just threw up a little in my mouth.” I shielded my mouth with my hand and declared, “You people are insane—seriously—I mean—I’ve had my doubts all along but this confirms it. Small town people are definitely insane.”

Jack laughed but stopped long enough to pop one after another of the “oysters” into his mouth. As he chewed his food, he tapped his cowboy boot with the beat of the music. The band was actually quite good, if you liked country music. It was not my personal preference of music, but my ears had not yet begun to bleed, nor had my head exploded so I guessed I would survive a night of country music.

“So do you want to dance now?” asked Jack.

“You done with the cow balls?” I asked.

“Bulls.”

“What?”

“Bulls, they’re bull balls not cow balls, and yes, I’m done, and I’d love to dance. Thanks for asking,” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the dance floor before I even had a chance to argue the point that he had asked me to dance not vice versa.

“Jaaaaack,” I whined.
Ugh. Even I hate it when I whine
. “I don’t know how to dance to this type of music. It’ll be embarrassing.” He continued pulling me to the dance floor. We were such a mismatched pair. Jack wore a brown, leather cowboy hat, a western style denim shirt, Wrangler jeans with a huge belt buckle that reflected something he had accomplished riding some animal in a rodeo, and brown boots that were called Ropers.

I wore a baby blue t-shirt that said, “I’m not insensitive. I just don’t care.”—which, unlike my Brody’s smock, really did set off my eyes—jean shorts, and I mean, short,
why not?
I have the legs for them, and silver, sparkly, flip-flops. I had given my toes a French pedicure. It wasn’t as good as a professional pedicure, but since there were no salons in Blue River, it would have to do. I wore a sterling silver toe ring on my right foot’s second toe. I no longer wore French tip acrylic nails, so I painted my fingernails a deep shade of pink. I wore a pink blush gloss on my lips. I wore my blond hair, long and straight. My tan skin pulled it all together.
I just might be a little too full of myself tonight.

“It won’t be embarrassing. Do you seriously think you’re the only one here who doesn’t know how to two-step? I mean, look at your mom over there—she looks by far more ridiculous than you will—” I started to pull away from him—“I’m joking!” he said quickly, pulling me back to him.

“I can’t. I won’t.” My jaw was set. I really wanted to be stubborn about this one, but he kept holding my hands. I pretended to try wriggling my hands free from his grip but he held on, which was actually my goal all along.

“You can. You will,” he persisted. By all accounts, I should find him completely annoying and yet he managed to drag me out to the street.

“Now, this is all you do,” he instructed, as he put my left hand on his right shoulder, his right hand on my hips, a little lower than was necessary, but still within hip region. We clasped our available hands. He gently pulled my body closer to his. “Two steps to your right, one step back, over and over…that’s all you do. Oh, and try adding a graceful glide as we go around the dance floor…well, the street. Just let me lead you.”

“I’ve got the instructions, but I’m not sure I can get into the music.”

“I’m sure you can do it. I’ve got faith in you.”

He pulled me a little closer with each step. I could smell his cologne. It was somewhat of a musky scent and I found it intoxicating. Despite our mismatched dancing skills, everything eventually came together. By some miracle, we made opposites find a working rhythm. Jack was even occasionally twirling me gently around in circles. I decided it wasn’t too painfully embarrassing. I knew I looked out of place, but being in Jack’s arms made it feel less obvious, and because he made me feel secure, I didn’t care what anyone else thought about me.

We began to playfully argue about his oyster trick. He maintained he hadn’t lied and I maintained it had been a trick all along. His argument was that, after all, this was an oyster festival while I argued that he was desperate to constantly embarrass me.

“Just wait until I get you into my playpen, cowboy,” I taunted.

“What playpen would that be? And that does sound…interesting.”

“My playpen is California. You’ll see it when you come to see me next year. You’ll come see me, right?”

Jack pulled away from me to examine my face in what I thought was an attempt to know if I was serious or not.

“I’m serious. Come visit me in California next year.”

“I don’t know. That’s like, what’d you tell me? Thirteen hundred miles away from here? So that’s a good four-day trip traveling alone.” He looked as though he were actually making mathematical calculations in his head.

“Not driving, you silly cowboy! Flying. You wouldn’t drive. That would be self-torture, and that’s just sick and wrong.”

“Oh, sorry. Jack doesn’t fly,” he insisted. He looked completely serious, too. He pulled me back to his body a little closer than before, but I pulled back to see his face.

“Oh, Jack does fly, and that starts next year.” I leaned in a little closer. I loved the feel of his arm around my waist and the grip of his hand on mine.

“No, seriously, I am completely terrified of just the idea of flying let alone actually boarding an airplane.”

I wanted to pull back to see if he was serious, but this time, he kept his hold on me. “You’ve never flown?” I asked.

“Nope. Never—never will. It seems wrong—and—unnatural.”

I started to giggle and stopped myself when he rested his cheek against my head. Without even looking at Jack’s face, I could tell he was serious about this, but his fear was just plain ridiculous.
Doesn’t everyone know that flying is still statistically safer than driving?

“I’m sorry. I know you’re being serious,” I said but I started to giggle again. This time I did manage to pull back to see his expression. We stopped dancing. “So let me get this straight—you’ll ride a bucking bronco, a flailing bull, you’ll jump off God made cliffs into deep, cold river water, you’ll shoot a grizzly bear in the heart, and that’s if you can get close enough, but you won’t fly to see your good friend, Addy?” I asked.

“You got it. There are some things God intended for me and riding on an airplane isn’t one of them.” He paused for just a moment then asked, “So, what you just said—we’re good friends, huh?” He smiled and his eyes twinkled. We resumed our dancing position and our bodies moved in unison.

“Well, I’d like to think so…I mean, don’t tell anybody but,” I looked around like I was about to tell a huge secret. I lowered my voice and said, “But yeah, I really like you, Jack. You’re fun.” I smiled up at him, noticing that our height difference was just right. If I really wanted to, I could lay my cheek into the hollow of his neck. If I really wanted to, I could just tip-toe up to his lips.

It was as if once again, he read my mind and pulled me a tiny bit closer. I didn’t resist and put my head on his shoulder. It was a comfortable feeling as the band began a new, slower song. We slowed our dancing pace but not our hearts. We were so close I could feel his heart beating as fast as mine. In the background I heard the band singing lyrics perfect for the moment. They were singing about having feelings we’ve never felt before and being unable to take our eyes off of one another. This was a movie moment, even if it was country music.

I unintentionally let out a sigh of comfort.
I could stay right here all night long
. I looked up into Jack’s eyes and just then, we shared a look that told me he felt the same way, too.

As we rounded the other end of the street, I caught a glimpse of Claire. For some reason, seeing her caused me to abruptly pull away from Jack. I wasn’t sure why, after all, Claire and Jack were more like brother and sister and it wasn’t like she’d care. But seeing her forced me to realize we may have looked a little too cozy. In fact, I was downright enveloped in Jack’s arms and loving every minute.

He noticed her, too. “Hey! Claire!” he yelled. Claire’s head snapped in our direction. We both waved and she smiled and waved back. She was with the much heard-about, never-before-seen Ethan. He was an attractive guy with an athletic build, shorter than Jack, but taller than Claire, which wasn’t hard to do since she was only five foot, two inches tall. He had dark, curly hair, and dark brown eyes. We stopped our dance short to go greet them.

Claire began the introductions and I immediately disliked Ethan. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but he definitely exuded arrogance. Maybe it was the things I had already heard about him, but I had a feeling that it was his way or the highway. She had no say in the relationship. The idea of him running her life nauseated me. I also didn’t like that I caught him glancing at the backside of another girl as she passed by when Claire wasn’t looking. My skin prickled when his eyes met my stare.
This guy gives me the heebie-jeebies
. Claire was all gooey-eyed for him. I had a feeling she couldn’t see the real Ethan. He was the type of guy who poured on the charm while deep down, he was a control freak.

We made idle chit-chat until the band broke into a song and the crowd went wild. I didn’t know why there was such an immediate excitement, but every cowboy and cowgirl headed for the street and assembled into three straight rows. They shuffled their feet, kicked their boots, and danced in choreographed moves. A light bulb went off in my head.
They are line dancing!
It was like a train wreck I couldn’t look away from.

When the song ended, everyone clapped and some of the guys even high-fived each other—
is this really a high-five moment?
I was laughing as Jack was walking back over to me. He had a big grin on his face.