Chasing the Eight

Ch.3

There was something about the easy nature, the way he walked, and the way his every move seemed effortless. I swear I had met this boy before, but where? The answer flies to the front of my cluttered mind as those brilliant jade greens cut into my blue ones. His cologne catches the soft summer breeze and I'm transported back to last night momentarily. I gotta give myself credit, drunk me still has pretty good taste in men. Sunlight plays off a faint outline of blonde stubble dotting his square-set jaw. His adorable dimples tug at his cheeks as he extends a warm calloused hand. I don't remember dimples last night. Do I? 

He's acting as if he knows me like an old friend, do I know him from rodeo camps maybe? That cologne was all too familiar. It had to be the same two left feet box stepper from last night. The same one that mocked me for ordering Jack and coke, himself ordering something pink with an umbrella. "Kayde isn't it?" Yep, that was cowboy alright, the smooth gravel to his voice brought butterflies to my stomach. Somethin' bout a drawlin' man; momma forgot to warn me bout them. He reaches his hand towards me and I smile. "Gotta hold this stretch for a couple more"

"Sure ya do, I'm almost certain your playing chicken"

"Fifteen seconds more than I'll shake your hand, you gonna survive that long of a wait pal?" I layer on the sarcasm really thick this time, he rolls his eyes and smiles. We girls get blamed for eye-rolling all the time, but I would go as far as to say that guys do it more. Our short interaction takes up the not-so-necessary fifteen seconds so I unfold from my stretch. I stand and shake his hand, he swiftly places a kiss on the back of my hand. One hundred percent a roughy move. He bought me a drink (several actually), we danced, went and watched some stars... not really at the hand-smooching stage in my opinion but maybe these deep south boys do it differently. "You wanna take a quick walk before your ride? You can do some of them lunge and twist walk things if ya want."

I giggle at his lack of knowledge and made-up name for a commonly used stretch. "Sure, what's it gonna hurt?"

"Ighty then" He spins on his heel and takes off, leaving me in a plume of dust. I try like hell to catch up to his long stride, but my knee prohibits this action so I shout instead "Hey! Hold up a wee minute now! My knees fucked from last night's pre-qualifier."

"Well sore knee and all you were a mighty fine dancer last night, not too many people can box step with these here two left feet."

"Left feet and all you did a pretty good job" I state "Not gonna lie I was fairly tipsy last night... and for the life of me I can't remember your name."

"Shane" I could listen to his voice for hours, it might as well have been more intoxicating than whiskey. I take a second to admire his muscles and an outline of a tattoo on his ribs through his white t-shirt. Judging by the swirls and swoops I presume it is some kind of writing. I watch as the faint letters contract, only to stretch forth when he inhales. Perhaps scripture? My mind races with possibilities of what his tattoos might be.

Catching my ogling stare he chuckles lightly under his breath, " I think my eyes are up here darlin' "