Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
WYATT
MARCH
“What is that?” Nash asks me as we meet at the front door to get picked up by Chrissy and Colin.
“It’s…my hat?” I put my hand on the offending object. “What’s wrong with this hat?” I’ve had it since college. It fits perfectly, and it’s soft in the worn kind of way.
“It’s so ugly. You’re supposed to dress nice for this.” She picks up a tiny purse and puts tiny things in it.
I look down at my button-up shirt and the shiny new boots she took me to get earlier this week.
“I am dressed nicely.” She looks up from stuffing her minuscule purse and gives me a once over that I’m sure is meant to be discerning, but all I can feel is the weight of her gaze.
I feel like a male peacock, like I should start an interpretive dance just to earn the privilege of being seen with her tonight.
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll pick you one out when we get there.” She nods as if she’s agreeing with only herself because I haven’t said anything. “Then your outfit will be complete.”
The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo is two weeks of carnival rides, food, and concerts, all headlined by a rodeo with huge cash prizes that’s held at the end of March every year.
I remember when the lineup was announced in January, and it was the talk of the locker room.
Everyone critiquing the big names headlining the nightly shows, who they were disappointed wasn’t coming, and who they wanted to see.
It’s prefaced by a cook-off you can’t buy tickets to—you have to know someone.
There’s also a wine competition, a livestock auction, and lots of scholarship opportunities for rising students interested in this industry.
I’ve been to my fair share of rodeos in small towns scattered throughout Wisconsin, but I’ve never seen anything on this grand a scale. Did I mention it’s at the Houston Hurricanes’ stadium? And it’s standing room only every night for two weeks straight.
We park in a secret parking garage on the backside of the stadium that Chrissy knows about and walk in through the back gate of the compound.
Nash and I are dressed up, but it’s got nothing on Chrissy.
She’s covered head to toe in denim and rhinestones.
Beside her, Colin looks like a depressed cowboy in black jeans, black button down, black hat, and black boots.
I don’t even recognize the stadium. Normally, the whole place is empty when I arrive for a game and is empty when I leave.
Today it’s absolutely swarming with people.
There are people dressed up like us, but others walk around in t-shirts, regular jeans, and Vans, holding some sort of fried food on a stick.
It’s a welcoming atmosphere, like a party where the whole city’s been invited to come as they are and enjoy good food and entertainment.
I’m too busy taking in the sheer amount of people swarming around us.
There must be a hundred-thousand people here.
I’ve never seen the Hurricanes grounds like this.
It’s been completely transformed. There’s a carnival complete with a Ferris wheel in the parking lot.
The convention center is within walking distance of the stadium and full of booths selling belt buckles and a bunch of other stuff.
“Where to first?” Chrissy asks. We all look at each other waiting for someone to make a suggestion.
Mouthwatering scents waft from a long row of food stands all lined up side by side under a tent. My stomach rumbles. “How about food first?”
“No carnival rides?” Chrissy asks.
“I’m not about to lose my head on one of those traveling metal contraptions,” says Nash with a laugh.
“Food it is.” We all head in the direction of the white tops between the stadium and the convention center.
Nash bumps me as we walk, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking BBQ baked potato.” I point to a stand claiming to have award-winning pulled pork. “And we share a funnel cake.”
“I meant about this being your first event of our deal.”
“These are just my friends, though.” I think I’m going to lay it on extra thick. The guys are in the know, so they won’t think twice when I go overboard with flirting. They’ll probably be pleased, actually.
“Maybe those are the people we need to convince the most. Plus, you’re a Hurricane wherever you go.” I glance over to where Chrissy and Colin are in line for a foot-long corn dog.
“You’re right.” I hold my hand out for her, and she takes it, but it hurts a little knowing that this show of affection is only because of my status and not because of what I mean to her.
I straighten my shoulders. It doesn’t matter that she needs my name as a Hurricane.
I can enjoy being with her just the same.
We cram ourselves at the end of a picnic table otherwise occupied by a family trying to enjoy their meal. Colin sets three beers in front of us. Chrissy has one of those huge plastic frozen margarita tubes. Nash points to her. “That better last you all night.”
She takes a long pull. “What’s it to ya?”
It feels good to sit after all that walking. The parking lot to the main building must be a half-mile long. These cowboy boots are nice, and they cost a pretty penny, but I find myself missing the ones I brought from home that are perfectly molded to my feet.
Jaden sits down next to us and puts a plate with a burrito the size of his head on the table. Colin’s eyes go wide. “What is that?”
“It’s called the lineman,” he looks at me playfully. The size difference between us is easily seven inches and close to one-hundred pounds. “It’s got brisket, mac ’n cheese, and BBQ sauce, all wrapped up in a warm tortilla.”
“Disgustingly gluttonous,” mutters Chrissy.
“Amazing,” whispers Noah, who is now eyeing his grilled chicken quesadilla like it’s disappointed him greatly by simply being basic.
Jaden takes a massive bite out of his burrito, and the rest of us dive into our food as well.
The sounds of my group eating and drinking, passing chips and queso around, Colin trying to get Chrissy to share a bottle of water that Chrissy doesn’t seem to have much interest in mixes with the sounds of the thousands of people milling around us.
Some glance at our table as they walk down the aisle between the food stands and the rows and rows of picnic tables, looking for their friends or family who hopefully saved them a seat.
Most rove right over us, but a few get an eyeful of Colin and end up doing a double-take.
I stare at them as they move from one face to the next, three pro football players crammed into the little table.
Then when they meet my gaze, it’s hard. It says don’t even think about it, pal.
They look quickly away and move on, back to searching for a spot.
It’s so packed right now that people are sitting on the curb with plates of food in their laps.
Someone walks by us with a confection so crazy looking, it makes me do the double-take this time. Nash sees me looking at this triangular sweet on a stick and answers my unspoken question. “Fried pie on a stick. I’ve had the key lime before. It’s to die for.”
“Should we get one of those?”
“The stand is out by the carnival, or at least it used to be. I don’t know if we have time.” She taps her phone to check the time. “We’ve still got to head to the shops.”
“Funnel cake is fine.” I know that’s what she really wants anyway.
“That’s right there.” She points behind my shoulder to a stall that says Junkfood Junction over it. “I’ll go stand in line.”
Nash comes back with our funnel cake piled high with powdered sugar.
She has forks in her hand, but we both forgo them for our fingers.
I break off the first piece and offer the steaming treat for her to take from my hand, my eyes daring.
She does. Leaning in to take it gently from me, her tongue brushes the pad of my finger, and it takes every ounce of me not to pull her to me for another life-altering kiss.
She groans at the sweetness of the cake, and now I am truly suffering.
My other hand grips the table for dear life.
Between mouthfuls of fried heaven, Nash looks at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “It’s time for your next Texas lesson.”
I look around us. “In front of everyone?”
“Yes,” she says emphatically, “because for this one I’m going to need some help.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Every Texan is trained to respond to a call. Do you want to hear it?”
A smile splits my lips as I lift my beer to take a swig. “You know I do.”
She looks at Audrey and Noah, who I know are native Texans.
“Deep in the heart, okay?” They nod and she clears her throat.
Then she absolutely belts, “The stars at night are big and bright–” Everyone around us pounds on the table four times in quick succession.
A small chorus of, “deep in the heart of Texas,” breaks out around people’s eating.
“What sorcery is this,” I say to Nash as the crowd around us is all smiling and elbowing each other. Some of them are still carrying on the tune.
“It’s the call and response of the state. Everyone knows it.” She smiles at me, and I can barely stand the warmth in her eyes, the pride she has in showing me all of her favorite things about living here when I’m secretly planning to dip at the first sign of Jared Clark’s retirement announcement.
I don’t want her to see the doubt in my eyes, the way that I still have one foot out the door. Luckily, Chrissy saves me. “Time to shop?” We all nod in agreement and set off from the food tents to the convention center.