The Junior (College Years 3) - Page 89
It’s windy. Cold as fuck. Our hot dogs will probably be seasoned with ash and sand, but I don’t care.
I’m fucking thrilled to be out here, enjoying the sunset with my lady.
Oh fuck, I sound like a complete cornball, but it’s true.
She looks happy too. Despite the lack of protection from the elements beyond the tent we just put up, despite the wind and the chilly temperature and the dog that keeps trotting over from the family camped out not too far from us, Gracie is smiling. She’s having a great time, I can tell. She keeps laughing every time the dog nuzz
les her legs.
“He wants our hot dogs,” I tell her.
“I don’t blame him. But you can’t eat your own kind,” she croons to the dog as she rubs under his chin. He watches her with adoring eyes.
I feel you, bro, is what I want to tell the dog, but I keep my mouth shut.
“You do know that hot dogs aren’t actual…dog,” I tell her. She has to know this. She’s going to be teaching the youth of our future for the love of God.
“Of course I do. But why would a dog want to eat a hot dog?” She pets him as she stares into his eyes. “It should freak you out, puppy. Yes, it should.”
I turn the dogs over, glad to see they’re not too black. Dad would call burnt hot dogs Cajun style and Mom always thought that was so funny.
“Hot dogs are disgusting,” I tell Gracie.
“Yeah, they are,” she agrees.
“I don’t think about it too much though, when I eat them.”
“You can’t, or you won’t eat them ever again.” She grimaces.
“True that.” I pull them away from the fire and Gracie, at the ready, thrusts a paper plate toward me. I pluck the hot dogs from the spears and drop them on her paper plate, blowing on my fingers because those dogs are mega hot. “They’re done.”
“Yay.” We’re sitting on low beach chairs that make it easy for us to grab everything on the ground. She picks up the bag of hot dog buns and opens them. “You’re really going to eat three?”
“Nah, I thought I’d make you an extra one just in case. If we don’t eat it, I’ll give it to our new friend.” I wave at the dog, who is currently trotting back over to his family’s campsite. He’ll be back though, once he sees us actually eating.
“Someday I want a dog,” she says, her gaze wistful as she watches him. “My mom is allergic so we could never have them growing up. She’d always sneeze.”
“Dogs are cool,” I say, trying to ignore the pang in my chest that’s making me feel sad for her. I loved growing up with pets. Dogs are the best, though cats are okay too. I don’t love them as much as Tony, who currently owns one, but I can appreciate them.
“They are.” Gracie’s made a makeshift kitchen area for us at our campsite, and she grabs a plastic fork and sticks it in one of the hot dogs, dropping it into a bun. She does the same for the second one before handing me the plate. “Ketchup and mustard are right here for you, sir.”
Smiling, I take the plate, liking how light and easy she’s keeping everything right now. The entire day has been pretty great, minus seeing Baylee.
Not that it was a bad experience, but it filled Gracie with insecurities, and she’s not what I would consider an insecure person at all. For me, seeing Baylee for the first time in a while made me realize I don’t feel anything for her beyond fondness. With a little bit of a friendship connection. I treated her badly, and I’m grateful she doesn’t hate me for it.
We’ve known each other a long time, Baylee and me. But what we shared is done and firmly in the past. I’m over her.
Completely.
Who I’m not currently over is the gorgeous woman sitting right next to me who’s squirting a thick layer of mustard on her hot dog with intense concentration. Her eyes are practically crossed and her tongue is sticking out between her lips.
She’s adorable.
“You like mustard?” I ask, just before I shove a third of my hot dog into my mouth.
“Love it,” she says, setting the mustard down before she takes a dainty bite. “It’s delicious.”
She says this with her mouth full. Again, adorable.
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