I let the door to our room slam shut behind me. "Good morning Vietnam!" I yell, even though the sun has been high in the sky for hours now. Alyssa threatens to burn me alive as she dives further under the covers. It's not my fault she drank a quart of cheap tequila last night that she then chased with more tequila.

She and Anderson somehow made it back into our room without waking me. I was shocked to see his extra large frame hanging haphazardly off of the futon when I climbed out of my bed this morning. I was extra shocked to see him still sporting his Toga made from a sheet, giving me a view of his penis that I wanted. 

It did, however, answer my question about if Taylor was in fact naked under his pool floats. Unless he owns a skin toned speedo, he had to be. My cheeks involuntarily flush at the thought of his man hood barely hidden beneath cheap green colored plastic. The same way they did the first time my mind drifted there. 

I take a deep breath to try and regulate myself before setting down the coffee and breakfast sandwiches I brought back for the us.

"I come bearing gifts," I say. Alyssa has both feet flat on the floor before I can even announce what said gift is.

"I could smell it from the hallway," she says with a piece of bacon hanging out of her mouth. She finishes off the bagel sandwich in a few huge bites and chugs half a bottle of water before giving me a second thought. 

"What are you doing up and moving this morning?" she asks, wrapping her blanket around herself and cocooning onto the futon. She just shrugs when I mention she's in the exact same spot that Anderson's ass cheeks were a mere two hours ago.

"I didn't drink my weight in a toxic substance last night." I take a seat on the floor and lean against the couch before biting into my own sandwich. "So I've been doing laundry while the rest of our dorm fiends off the shakes." Alyssa shrugs again and then reaches for the coffee sitting on the floor next to me.

"But what time did you get home?" she asks. She covers the rest of her head with her blanket to hide the embarrassment as I inform her that I was in fact already home and in bed when she got back.

"At least you were too drunk to try to have sex," I point out. "I'm already tempted to file a sexual harresment charge againt Anderson for his indecent exposure. I think frisky sex noises coming from him would have be enough to add psycological harrasment to the docket."

"Maybe I should take a page from you and Taylor and never drink again. Ever ever ever." She melts further onto the couch until she's laying down with her face level with mine.

"You will be drunk again tonight," I add. The bye weekend means that Anderson and his group of friends, including Taylor, have their first and only Saturday off the entire season. Alyssa doesn't deny the truth, but instead claims she will only drink half as much tonight.

"It's okay to drink Alyssa, just be smart about it," I say, taking the stance of a concerned roommate that Alyssa then compares to her mom.

"Don't complain if you don't want my comments. You're talking to someone who practically completed the twelve steps. If anything I should be asking you to hide that shit from me." I quickly add, "I'm joking, but seriously be smart." Just in case she can't tell by now that my sarcasm can sometimes be laced with the truth.

"Fine. For every shot I take, I will take a shot of water," she offers. I nod at the compromise and take another bite of my sandwich.

We both fell asleep in our respective places— her on the futon, me on the floor—while watching the latest "Watch What Happens Live" with the Bravo Queen herself, Lisa Vanderpump. Alyssa kicks me awake on accident as she rolls off the futon to finally shower off the night before. She returns looking brand new wrapped up in a pink towel with clear eyes and slicked back hair. She begins rummaging through her closet in search of an outfit for the night. When she doesn't find anything she likes, she continues her search in my closet.

"Any idea what Taylor has planned for us today?" Her choice of attire hasn't tipped me off, not the way a duct tape dress did. Hell, I can't even say that tipped me off. When she began to fasten the tape to my gauze wrapped body, I kind of thought it was all a joke. I thought for sure Taylor was lurking in the hallway to see just how far they could push me before I spazzed.

"He didn't tell you yet?" She turns on her vanity mirror and begins moving through her skincare routine.

"All he told me is that I get to choose my outfit," I say. Alyssa's smirk travels back to me through her reflection.

"You sure can, but sorry Ryn, it's just you two tonight." I don't like the way she says you two. Insinuation burns in her voice as if two is more than a number or pair of something.

"What does that mean?" I challenge.

"Nothing! Just that Taylor wanted to handle this one on his own, and that the rest of us will meet you later tonight." 

My palms begin to sweat beneath the cup of coffee newly heated from the microwave. I swallow back the thoughts dancing in my mind. Alyssa rolls her eyes in her mirror and then stands, telling me to sit. Taylor and I spend plenty of time just the two of us, but my stomachs never quite felt like this walking into the Success Center. I push the thoughts away by picturing Anderson's average looking penis. I'm not proud of it, but it's enough to make my stomach quesy for another reason, one that doesn't involve thinking about being alone with Taylor or now much I wouldn't mind seeing his undoubtably above average penis.

For the next hour Alyssa attempts to tame the coils of my hair. She runs a straightener through the  curls until they let go of their sprial and are laying flat against my head. When she's finished with that step I watch as she applies hot rollers to the front pieces, leaving me with volume and subtly curled ends. I would have never styled my hair like this myself, but that's a recurring pattern between us. With Taylor, too. Just take what Camryn would normally do and then do the opposite.

"Much more fitting for tonight," Alyssa says as she gives me one final spray of a hair product before she begins to prep herself.

The sun is now setting outside, a soft afterglow floating in through the large window in our room. I'm taking one last look at myself in the mirror when I hear a knock at the door. I open it to find Taylor on the other side in front of me in another variation of his usual outfit, except it's one I haven't seen before. This particular one includes a sage green button down that mimics the color of his eyes. It would complement them perfectly if it weren't for the brown flake that lives in his left iris.

My heart begins to race again when I see his smile. Just the two of you.

 I search for any reprieve in his apperance. He is dressed up more than he was for karaoke and isn't wearing a costume that follows the code of some house party. I don't think he would repeat a list item, but nothing about the way he looks tonight is going to help me crack the case. 

Taylor gives me a once over, slowly scanning me from head to toe and back up again. I want to shrivel inside of myself to escape his gaze.

"Evening, Capt.," he finally says with the same smile still playing off his lips. 

"Am I dressed okay?" It's all I can manage after his extended full body examination. I rock back and forth on my heels as he once again takes in the flared jeans and cropped purple cardigan that I carefully tied in the front. The sliver of exposed skin on my stomach suddenly feels miles wide. I move my arms and cross them in front of my stomach but it only draws his attention there again. I don't miss the way he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up then back down as he nods. 

Just the two of us.

🏈🏈🏈

Taylor's truck is waiting outside the building where he quickly shuffles me inside, before driving us across the small river that splits the campus in two. It's a part of town I've never spent much time in except for a thrift store that used to exist around the corner. It housed the perfect collection of gently used band t-shirts. A collection someone had obviously carefully curated over years, until at some point they felt the need to part with them. I was a very happy girl the day I finally found a Black Keys shirt in perfectly worn condition.

Taylor pulls into a space in the lot of a strip mall. Each storefront is painted black. Newspaper covers most of the windows and none of the awnings above them hold name signs. All except for one, a single space is inhabited by an orange and red sign reading Buzzard Billy's.

It doesn't stand out amongst the other vacant windows, but I can now see a few poorly lit neon lights hanging in the tinted spaces along the front of the establishment. Taylor steps out and runs around to my side to open the door for me. With a hand on the small of my back, Taylor leads me straight for the building.

The bouncer at the door greets Taylor by name as they exchange a handshake. It happens again with half a dozen other people as we make our way through the double doors. They obviously know him here. Now that I'm fully submerged inside, I can see why. Dim lights hang throughout the room and overtop a bar that looks handcrafted from dark wood into the shape of a horseshoe. It sits in the middle of the room but isn't the focal point. Even though the left side of the bar is packed with too many booths and tables, it's the right side of the bar that surprises me.

The space is wide open and covered in a wood flooring that doesn't match the rest of the room. Its area is occupied by more than a dozen people all wearing the same type of cowboy gear I give Taylor shit for. I've never seen such a collection of boots, hats, and jeans so worn they might rip with one wrong move. The entire crowd is filed into three different lines, each one mimicking the next. All dancing to the country music that rages through the speakers. It doesn't register with me, but everyone here seems to be empathetic to some guy drinking beer on his tailgate, wanting to raise a little hell.

I can't move, I'm frozen as I watch them. They shuffle their feet and spin in time with one another, all with claps and stomps synchronized perfectly to the music. It's as if I've stepped into a parallel universe designed to look and sound like Footloose, but instead of a barn it's just a bar made specifically for Taylor and others just like him.

"Is this your home? You secretly live here?" I ask as he nudges me forward towards a tall table at the edge of the dance floor.

"It does remind me of Texas, but with a lot less people open carrying." Taylor forms a handgun and blows off invisible smoke before re-holstering the weapon. "After seeing your moves last night Capt., I figured you would be a pro at this." I take another look at the dance floor as the song changes. Without missing a beat the crowd glides into another dance with ease. It's completely different from the last, but they all move in unison still, never missing a step.

"What is this place? Because in the five minutes I've been here, it seems like a cult where the leader makes you learn the dances as a form of entertainment for the elders," I say without pulling my eyes off the group dancing. I'm mesmerized by the choreography as I imagine my body moving like that. My eyes lock in on one girl in particular who was obviously born dancing with the way her hips dip and curve with her own flair. A real life Ariel Moore just waiting for her own Ren McCormick to roll through, to sweep her off her feet. Much better than this Ryn ever would.

I would have forgotten Taylor was next to me if I couldn't smell his pine and patchouli soap wafting towards me with each person who passes us. "It's line dancing. I try to come here once a month. Gives me a little bit of home in Ohio," he says.

"That explains the welcome parade." I pause, "You can do that?" The dance has now switched to partners, twirling and dipping each other with each cord change.

"That's Emily and Rick, they own this place. No one can dance like them, but it's fun to try," Taylor says. Emily and Rick, close enough to Ariel and Wren.

"Well go on then, I can't wait to see what you've got." I nudge Taylor with my hand, but of course it doesn't budge. Why would he let me have one little bit of dramatic effect? Instead, he grabs my arm and pulls. I try to resist, digging my heels into the floor to cement me into place.

"I can't go out there!" I cry.

"Sure you can," he says. "As long as you can follow my lead you'll get it." He doesn't let go of my arm until our toes edge the dancefloor. We're close, but not so close that we're in the action. Although, one misstep and I would go tumbling into another dancer. I have a feeling that messing with their rhythm wouldn't bode well for me.

Taylor moves us forward until we've crossed the threshold. He goes undetected, blending in seamlessly with our surroundings. I, however, feel as if I'm a witch standing trial. Everyone here knows I'm not one of them, they are just waiting for me to move to get their proof.

The song switches again to one I actually recognize. The room hoots and hollers as the opening chord progression for "Sweet Home Alabama" fills the room. I watch hesitantly for a second. Tap your toe, tap your heel and step to the left. Tap your toe, tap your heel and step to the right. Step forward. Toe, heel, step. Toe, heel, step. The crowd performs a criss cross hop to the left and then back again to the right. After a ninety degree turn to the left the sequence begins all over again, but this time facing the bar. I watch Taylor's feet again, his boots quickly moving in time with the music and others. I timidly begin to move my own. Toe, heel, step left. Toe, heel, step right. Step forward.

I manage to only stumble on my feet twice. Taylor reaches out to steady me, never missing a beat himself. When the chorus rolls around I'm better. I don't have it down, but I don't not have it down either. Regardless of my growing balance, Taylor doesn't drop my hand once.

By the end of the song, I don't completely hate it anymore. That is until the song switches over, bringing a female voice crying about a cowboy breaking her heart with it. I don't stop though. The process starts all over again. Me studying their foot movements, timidly putting a toe in the water before actually attempting to submerge myself. Taylor eyes me closely, a smile permanently etched on his face. I could watch him do this all night. Every time I try to scurry off the floor to do just that, his hand is there ready to catch me. A fishing line reeling me back in.

By the end of the third song, he mouths to me "Having fun?" I'm so out of breath from this new style of cardio that I have to opt for sticking my tongue out at him. He immediately falls into a steady laughter that lasts until the next song is over.

When I do make a break for it, he quickly finds me back at our table with my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath. He places water in front of me instructing me to hydrate.

"How–the–hell–" I gasp. "That?" I ask, pointing to the dance floor in hopes that my question is conveyed through my limited words and gestures.

Taylor chuckles and bites his lip, obviously finding my current state amusing. "Growing up my mom and grandparents would go line dancing once a week. A family friend owned a place similar to this," Taylor says, drumming his fingers on the table. "When they came for Family Weekend my first year here my mom found it almost immediately. There used to be a tavern next door. We went there for dinner and next thing I knew we were in here learning all the dances."

I finally catch my breath and down my cup of water. Only then am I able to stand up straight and look him in his eyes. His face is neutral, but his eyes tell a different story. He's reliving the memory. The light behind them dances with the moves he and his family do together. When the light shifts, his eyes are back on me. Being here and talking about his family has to make him miss them even more. I know he feels guilty being here, and away from them.

"Is your grandma a better dancer than me?" I ask, changing the subject. Taylor's features soften as his smile reappears.

"I think they modeled the girl from Footloose after her," He says. I curse and Taylor teases me, calling me, and the fact that I'm upset that his sixty year old grandma could out dance me, cute. If only he knew that part of my bitterness stems, not from his poise grandmother, but because he can easily depict the images in my head as his own. The more time we spend together the easier it is for him to peer into my mind. I've found myself questioning when he had the time to build a window there. He knows my reactions and anticipates my moves before I even make them like the carbon copy is filed away into his mind.

It's an undisclosed truth between us, the fact that it's my new favorite attribute of his. He can call my plays before I do; a football analogy he would love. Equally confidential is the fact that I can do the same for him. I've created a Taylor catalog in my brain. It contains all the truths he has confessed to me as well as his facial expressions, his body language, likes and dislikes. Each category slowly fills up until I have enough puzzle pieces to form a clear image of who he is. It's different from the one promised on the box, but somehow it's better. The finished product is one to cherish, a collectors item. I'd never admit that to him, though, because admitting that top secret truth would also force me to confess that I've thought about how to keep my prize locked up forever. That I've thought about what it would be like to be able to keep him next to me. It's a line with blurry grayed edges that we can't cross.

I shut my eyes hard to reset my system before rushing off to find more water. I'm sure he already saw the heat in my cheeks, but I don't need to stick around and have him try to make me feel better by reminding me that this is just how friends look at one another, how they feel about each other. The interval of relief only lasts for another glass of water though, before Taylor finds my hand and is pulling me back onto the dance floor. This time for a couple dance.
My hands find a place inside of his, my hip locking into a groove against his thigh. Our size difference is more evident now than ever before. His frame is towering over mine as he begins to move us as one. I try to follow his steps as he leads us through each move. At one point I surrender, and allow him to continue to pull me with him, step by step. He shuffles my body with his until we find our rhythm again. I have to push back my thoughts as his grip on me grows tighter the further we travel to beat. His eyes lock onto mine but he makes no comments, not even about how he has to hold me up each time I step on his foot and nearly fall. The only indicator that he's enjoying himself is the smirk present on his lips. A sole dimple is showing and it's enough to keep me going. I center all of my energy away from him and pour it into moving my body, and attempting to learn the lyrics to the song. I won't begin to fit in until I can at least mouth the words.

By the next song I'm able to really let loose after vowing to give myself over to the line dancer way of life. Only then was I able to see that no one cared if I moved left instead of right or stepped on their feet causing them to mess up. Any reservations that I held when we entered the building are nowhere to be found. Men and women are high fiving me as they call me a real cowgirl. One kind gentleman even gifted me his prized cowboy hat. I proudly place it on my head and tip it to anyone who smiles at me as we leave.

Taylor leads me back to his truck the same as when we left it earlier, his hand resting on my lower back guiding me as we walk. When we reach the passenger door I don't let him open it, instead I lean against it with the back of my head resting on the glass. I tilt my face up and find Taylor's looking down at me.

"What?" he asks as his lips curve into a smile.

"Nothing," I mutter. I bite my lip to stop my own smile from taking over.
"You know, you've really got some moves Capt. and two days in a row," he teases.

"Well the student became the teacher, I suppose." Only now do I let one side of my mouth tug up.

"I'm glad I could bring you here—I mean, it was nice to share it with somebody else for once."

"You mean the guys from the team aren't dying to come drink some beers and kick up some dust?" I poke at him, teasing him.
"The guys are cool, but they all have this image in their heads of what we're entitled to on campus because of football. A lot of them get caught up in it, all the honor and recognition that comes with it. But I— sometimes I just need to be the Texas boy who just wants to play football." Taylor shrinks in front of me, not physically, but emotionally, letting himself turn into that boy who came here after wishing on a shooting star, just wanting to live out a dream.

"I don't think you are anything but that guy. In the best way, though, Cowboy...I know your family would love to see you here, not just playing football, but doing things that make you think of them. Things that make you smile. I like that. That you have that with them. You guys are lucky." I reach out and rest a hand on his collar, tugging slightly. It's meant to be a sincere gesture, to let him know that I'm here for him. Taylor shifts in his spot, raising a hand and bringing it to a rest on the door frame above me. He lets gravity pull him slightly, bringing his face a few inches closer to mine.

"They would love you," He says, his breath hot on my face.

My hand is still resting on his shirt, still tugging him closer to me. He lets me. I pull him until our mouths are so close I would just need to push up on my toes and they would connect. I don't. Instead I pause, because no matter how strong the urge to kiss Taylor is, it would change us. It's as if he can sense my lack of strength in this moment because he pulls away first.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding and let Taylor open the door for me and help me in. He hesitates before closing it and I think he's going to say something, anything to reassure me. Instead he reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips, caressing a kiss to the back of it. The gesture is small, but it's sweltering. Even as he drops it and returns to his side. As he puts the truck in drive to take us back to campus I continue to squirm. He pulls into the front of my dorm and moves to open my door for me, but I don't give him a chance to, or to say anything to me. I'm out of the door and halfway up the stairs to the entrance before I turn and thank him. He only nods as he watches me go.