“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. Istraighten 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 theirfriends 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 witha 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.
The first thing you’re hit with when you walk in is the smell of animals. I have no idea how they get the smell out for theother fifty weekends a year. The next thing you’re hit with is how insane it is to get full-size hot tubs, mattresses, and trucks in here. There’re also booths boasting custom hats, belt buckles, dog treats, cowhide rugs, and new and used lassos. This isn’t even the stadium. This is the secondary building on the premise. That’s how big this place is. I never really appreciated it until now.
“I didn’t realize there was a market for used rope,” I say, bemused, and Nash laughs and grabs me by the hand to drag me to a sweet-smelling booth two stalls over. This one offers a truly exceptional variety of roasted and candied nuts.
“We’ll take one of the créme brûlée pecans, please.” The man hands Nash a bag of nuts, still warm from the pan. I get my wallet from my back pocket and hand a card to the gentleman.
Nash glances at me. “Why are you paying?”
“My girlfriend doesn’t pay when we go out.” I obviously haven’t been laying down the law enough with her. She should know I’d never let a lady pay unless we agreed to splitting the bill in some way that’s even. But this is a date.
The man gives her the nuts and she hands them right to me. I immediately open them and pop one in my mouth. “We just had dessert,” she scoffs.