it.”
“Dinner, and only dinner!”
“And dancing.”
“Dancing? Are you nuts? Where do you think I live? We don’t do dancing in Hicksville.”
“You do when I’m in town.”
I clench my teeth. “Dinner, Bennett. That’s it or no deal.”
“Dinner. My treat. Then you can buy me a drink when we’re dancing.”
Oh, I could kick him right now. “No dancing. I mean it Bennett.”
“Of course you do. I’ll see you Friday, pretty girl. Wear something nice.”
“Sure," I say picturing my worn black denim jeans, old boots and oversized Metallica t-shirt, I usually wear to bed. Childish I know, but he needs to learn a lesson.
He can’t boss me around.
Well maybe he can.
Friday night rolls round quicker than I thought it would. I haven’t had another session with Gerry. She’s been swamped with tourists flocking to their shop and I’ve been studying, so we said we’d meet up this weekend.
I decide since I ran from my job, and from my life in Chicago, that not all of it had to be a waste. I did finish a year at night school, and I discover I can continue by correspondence. I will have to go to a couple of weekend study groups in Chicago, but that’s not for months, and I hope I’m okay to return by then.
I put on my Metallica t-shirt ready to make a stance, but dad tells me to go change and to stop acting like a three year old. I haven’t been scolded like that in years. I'm so shocked Dad actually cares, that I do as he says and go put on a white blouse and a nicer pair of jeans.
I wonder if Bennett warned him I might be difficult.
I still have on my old boots though, I’m not changing them.
Bennett arrives just after six. He must have left work early. I wonder when his car drives up if the Double A knew where he was heading for the weekend. Like he’d care. I’m sure he breathed a sigh of relief when he read my resignation letter and hasn’t looked back since. I bite my lip hard and force all thoughts of him out of my head. It hurts when I picture him. And not in the heartbreaking, lovesick, painful way, more like it gives me a headache that stabs at my head and makes my stomach churn.
Bennett looks like he just stepped out of the shower and dressed. He’s got on a cr isp light green shirt, pulled tight enough, to show off his pecks, but not too tight, to make him look like he’s wanting attention. His dark blue denim jeans hang perfectly on his perfect body. He really should be photographed for the world to drool over. Not that he’d ever be into that. He hates me mentioning his hotness and certainly wouldn’t agree for someone to plaster his pretty face on billboards all over the city.
He looks me up and down, and I glare at him.
“Good, you dressed nice.”
“Like I had a choice, “I grumble, and he grins.
“Great boots. You’ll need those.”
I narrow my eyes. “What? What for?”
My boots meeting his approval was not the reaction I was hoping for.
“Boot scooting. You can stamp your feet as much as you want.” He laughs now and I put my hands on my hips and glare at him some more.
“Boot Scooting! Are you for real? I’m not doing that.”
“When in Rome.”
“Contrary to popular belief not all small towns are stuck back in time, or full of hillbillies.”
“I love that show. And yes you are. Here.” He hands me a leaflet.
It’s a promo from our local bar, and they're having a boot scooting night, tonight, for one night only, and guess what? The Wild Hillbillies are playing.
Oh give me a break.
I roll my eyes, then stare daggers at him. “No.”
He raises his eyes. “No?”
“I am not going to a local bar. I am not boot scooting. And I am not listening to some stupid band called the Wild Hillbillies.”
“Okay, but your dad’s going to be so disappointed. I told him you agreed to go out after dinner for a bit of fun. He was so happy, said he might meet us and have a drink and a dance as well.”
“He did not.”
Bennett reaches up and
“Dinner, and only dinner!”
“And dancing.”
“Dancing? Are you nuts? Where do you think I live? We don’t do dancing in Hicksville.”
“You do when I’m in town.”
I clench my teeth. “Dinner, Bennett. That’s it or no deal.”
“Dinner. My treat. Then you can buy me a drink when we’re dancing.”
Oh, I could kick him right now. “No dancing. I mean it Bennett.”
“Of course you do. I’ll see you Friday, pretty girl. Wear something nice.”
“Sure," I say picturing my worn black denim jeans, old boots and oversized Metallica t-shirt, I usually wear to bed. Childish I know, but he needs to learn a lesson.
He can’t boss me around.
Well maybe he can.
Friday night rolls round quicker than I thought it would. I haven’t had another session with Gerry. She’s been swamped with tourists flocking to their shop and I’ve been studying, so we said we’d meet up this weekend.
I decide since I ran from my job, and from my life in Chicago, that not all of it had to be a waste. I did finish a year at night school, and I discover I can continue by correspondence. I will have to go to a couple of weekend study groups in Chicago, but that’s not for months, and I hope I’m okay to return by then.
I put on my Metallica t-shirt ready to make a stance, but dad tells me to go change and to stop acting like a three year old. I haven’t been scolded like that in years. I'm so shocked Dad actually cares, that I do as he says and go put on a white blouse and a nicer pair of jeans.
I wonder if Bennett warned him I might be difficult.
I still have on my old boots though, I’m not changing them.
Bennett arrives just after six. He must have left work early. I wonder when his car drives up if the Double A knew where he was heading for the weekend. Like he’d care. I’m sure he breathed a sigh of relief when he read my resignation letter and hasn’t looked back since. I bite my lip hard and force all thoughts of him out of my head. It hurts when I picture him. And not in the heartbreaking, lovesick, painful way, more like it gives me a headache that stabs at my head and makes my stomach churn.
Bennett looks like he just stepped out of the shower and dressed. He’s got on a cr isp light green shirt, pulled tight enough, to show off his pecks, but not too tight, to make him look like he’s wanting attention. His dark blue denim jeans hang perfectly on his perfect body. He really should be photographed for the world to drool over. Not that he’d ever be into that. He hates me mentioning his hotness and certainly wouldn’t agree for someone to plaster his pretty face on billboards all over the city.
He looks me up and down, and I glare at him.
“Good, you dressed nice.”
“Like I had a choice, “I grumble, and he grins.
“Great boots. You’ll need those.”
I narrow my eyes. “What? What for?”
My boots meeting his approval was not the reaction I was hoping for.
“Boot scooting. You can stamp your feet as much as you want.” He laughs now and I put my hands on my hips and glare at him some more.
“Boot Scooting! Are you for real? I’m not doing that.”
“When in Rome.”
“Contrary to popular belief not all small towns are stuck back in time, or full of hillbillies.”
“I love that show. And yes you are. Here.” He hands me a leaflet.
It’s a promo from our local bar, and they're having a boot scooting night, tonight, for one night only, and guess what? The Wild Hillbillies are playing.
Oh give me a break.
I roll my eyes, then stare daggers at him. “No.”
He raises his eyes. “No?”
“I am not going to a local bar. I am not boot scooting. And I am not listening to some stupid band called the Wild Hillbillies.”
“Okay, but your dad’s going to be so disappointed. I told him you agreed to go out after dinner for a bit of fun. He was so happy, said he might meet us and have a drink and a dance as well.”
“He did not.”
Bennett reaches up and
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