thundered with the footsteps of homecoming fans rushing to get out of the torrents of a heavy late November rain. Car horns honked, and revelers shouted a drunken chorus of, “BMU BEAT YOU! WILDCATS RULE!”
Levisa Harris and her best friend, Claire, crowded under the eaves, pressed back against the closed concession stands with what seemed like hundreds of other fans who peered glumly out at the rain. A post-game ambiance of hot dogs and beer, mixed with the smell of wet wool, swirled around them.
Hair soaked, Levisa attempted to push her flattened copper-colored curls out of her eyes and noted Claire’s short blonde hair hadn’t fared any better. “We look like drowned Wildcats.” Levisa glanced at the unending rain and hoped it would stop soon.
Claire looked at her friend and laughed. “Thank God, for hair dryers and flat irons.” A young man jostled up against the petite blonde. “Hello, I’m standing here!” Claire shouted.
“I know,” a man wearing a nautical windbreaker retorted with a soft southern drawl. “We came over to offer ya’ll a lift.”
Levisa spoke without thinking. “Richmond, Virginia.”
“Beg your pardon?” A look of surprise crossed his clean-shaven face.
“You’re from Richmond, right?” Levisa noted he was attractive in an old money, preppy kind of way, but he didn’t appeal to her at all.
“Yes, but how’d you know?” He leaned in a tad too close, expelling beery breath as he spoke.
Levisa leaned away, seeking fresh air as Claire spoke up. “She’s an expert on accents.”
“Parlor tricks! Oh, this is fun!” the Virginian said. “Sam, say something.”
“Chip, we need ta go.” Sam’s deep voice held a note of irritation. “I have ta study fer my CPA exam.”
“Baltimore—Pigtown.” Levisa looked at Sam with interest, and not just because of his accent. High forehead, half-covered with a shock of black-brown hair, he possessed long straight nose and full lips. A small scar curved around his strong chin.
She touched the scar on her own chin and wondered if he had fallen off his bicycle as a child, too. She pulled herself up short. Stop thinking about how adorable he is. Focus on the brass ring: finish the research project, graduate, and get a good job. “You’d be perfect for my Speech-Language Pathology Master’s research project.”
“I ain’t no guinea pig.” Sam pulled at Chip’s arm.
“One quick question—Sam, is it?”
He turned and faced Levisa directly, towering over her, his broad shoulders and wide chest straining at his ratty sweatshirt.
An image of him without his shirt, all rippling muscles, flashed into her mind. She forced herself to look directly into his deep-set eyes the color of dark chocolate. She swallowed hard, and asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “How far do you think you’ll get with that accent in an accounting firm?”
Sam’s face flushed. “I’m really good at numbers. That’s what matters in bidness.”
He was so good-looking, but he wouldn’t be hired, much less promoted, with that accent. Why didn’t he get it? Frustrated, she heard herself blurt out, “What company wants a CEO who sounds like a hick?”
He glowered at her. “Yew callin’ me a hick?”
Claire stepped between Sam and Levisa. “Please don’t be offended. She’s saying she can help you get a better job—if you reduce that Bawlamer accent, Hon!”
“It’s not nice ta make fun of people,” Sam snapped and grabbed Chip’s arm. “Let’s go.”
She felt short of breath, as if she’d run up a flight of stairs, instead of standing here, arguing with this hardheaded man. “If you change your mind,” Levisa shouted after him, “come to the Speech, Language, and Hearing Clinic. It’s in the middle of campus.”
As the two men walked off, collars pulled up against the wind, Claire turned to her friend. “You know, he’s not half-bad looking.”
“Chip? The preppy? Not my type,” Levisa watched the two men
Levisa Harris and her best friend, Claire, crowded under the eaves, pressed back against the closed concession stands with what seemed like hundreds of other fans who peered glumly out at the rain. A post-game ambiance of hot dogs and beer, mixed with the smell of wet wool, swirled around them.
Hair soaked, Levisa attempted to push her flattened copper-colored curls out of her eyes and noted Claire’s short blonde hair hadn’t fared any better. “We look like drowned Wildcats.” Levisa glanced at the unending rain and hoped it would stop soon.
Claire looked at her friend and laughed. “Thank God, for hair dryers and flat irons.” A young man jostled up against the petite blonde. “Hello, I’m standing here!” Claire shouted.
“I know,” a man wearing a nautical windbreaker retorted with a soft southern drawl. “We came over to offer ya’ll a lift.”
Levisa spoke without thinking. “Richmond, Virginia.”
“Beg your pardon?” A look of surprise crossed his clean-shaven face.
“You’re from Richmond, right?” Levisa noted he was attractive in an old money, preppy kind of way, but he didn’t appeal to her at all.
“Yes, but how’d you know?” He leaned in a tad too close, expelling beery breath as he spoke.
Levisa leaned away, seeking fresh air as Claire spoke up. “She’s an expert on accents.”
“Parlor tricks! Oh, this is fun!” the Virginian said. “Sam, say something.”
“Chip, we need ta go.” Sam’s deep voice held a note of irritation. “I have ta study fer my CPA exam.”
“Baltimore—Pigtown.” Levisa looked at Sam with interest, and not just because of his accent. High forehead, half-covered with a shock of black-brown hair, he possessed long straight nose and full lips. A small scar curved around his strong chin.
She touched the scar on her own chin and wondered if he had fallen off his bicycle as a child, too. She pulled herself up short. Stop thinking about how adorable he is. Focus on the brass ring: finish the research project, graduate, and get a good job. “You’d be perfect for my Speech-Language Pathology Master’s research project.”
“I ain’t no guinea pig.” Sam pulled at Chip’s arm.
“One quick question—Sam, is it?”
He turned and faced Levisa directly, towering over her, his broad shoulders and wide chest straining at his ratty sweatshirt.
An image of him without his shirt, all rippling muscles, flashed into her mind. She forced herself to look directly into his deep-set eyes the color of dark chocolate. She swallowed hard, and asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “How far do you think you’ll get with that accent in an accounting firm?”
Sam’s face flushed. “I’m really good at numbers. That’s what matters in bidness.”
He was so good-looking, but he wouldn’t be hired, much less promoted, with that accent. Why didn’t he get it? Frustrated, she heard herself blurt out, “What company wants a CEO who sounds like a hick?”
He glowered at her. “Yew callin’ me a hick?”
Claire stepped between Sam and Levisa. “Please don’t be offended. She’s saying she can help you get a better job—if you reduce that Bawlamer accent, Hon!”
“It’s not nice ta make fun of people,” Sam snapped and grabbed Chip’s arm. “Let’s go.”
She felt short of breath, as if she’d run up a flight of stairs, instead of standing here, arguing with this hardheaded man. “If you change your mind,” Levisa shouted after him, “come to the Speech, Language, and Hearing Clinic. It’s in the middle of campus.”
As the two men walked off, collars pulled up against the wind, Claire turned to her friend. “You know, he’s not half-bad looking.”
“Chip? The preppy? Not my type,” Levisa watched the two men
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