Page 34 of Campus Crush
BigBear88:
You’ll see me every day.
In the mines. In the field. In theco-op barn.
PeachyKeen:
Don’t forget the greenhouse. I’ve got ancient fruit to harvest.
BigBear88:
Ancient fruit? Damn. You really are wife material.
PeachyKeen:
Don’t push your luck, Bear.
BigBear88:
Don’t worry, Peach. I’ve got a plan.
I’ll win your heart eventually.
PeachyKeen:
Well, looks like someone’s been eating Spicy Eel.
TWENTY-ONE
Sam claimed this indie music festival was a personality test. So far, mine was “socially anxious with a popcorn addiction.”
She had begged me for weeks, claiming I was wasting my summer working instead of experiencing the few months a year Montana was hot enough to justify shorts and sunburns. I’d resisted at first—because of crowds, noise, and the fact I preferred A/C over the eighty- to ninety-degree dry heat we had this time of year—but I caved when she bribed me with kettle corn, root beer floats, and the promise of uninterrupted indie music under the stars.
I was a sucker for good food and music.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Sam said, slipping her arm around mine as we wove through the food truck area. “Abby Walker, willingly at a festival. This is character growth.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” I said, putting on my sunglasses. “I came for the music and snacks. Not the socializing.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” Her grin grew as she focused onsomething to my side. “Tell that to the guy checking you out by the kettle corn stand.”
I frowned and followed her gaze.
My heart felt like it slammed against my chest as my eyes landed on the guy in question.
Foster.
He was wearing a fitted navy blue T-shirt that clung in all the right places and a backward baseball hat that I knew had the Clark Fork Hockey logo on it because he’d worn it to tutoring a few times. I’d nearly gone into cardiac arrest the first time he lifted it, ran his fingers through his hair, and then twisted it around so he was wearing it backward. I don’t know why the move was so hot, but I was sure I was going to melt into a puddle when he did it.
The reaction my body had to him now wasn’t far off from that first response.
His aviators were hanging from his shirt collar since he was standing in the shadow of the food stand, and he had a long bag of popcorn in hand.
He was staring straight at me, and the corners of his lips lifted up as we made eye contact.
I froze. Sam squeezed my arm reassuringly as she whispered, “Stay cool.”
Foster walked toward us, a guy with pitch-black hair walking next to him.
