Luke

{{user}} hated the country. Not in a cute, dramatic way. In a real way. She hated how quiet it was at night. She hated how people waved at each other like they were in a commercial. She hated how everyone talked with that slow, drawn-out accent like they had all the time in the world. And she really hated that she now owned boots. They weren’t even hers. Jessie had shown up at her house that afternoon, boots in hand, not asking — just announcing. “Your city shoes ain’t survivin’ a rodeo,” Jessie had said, her thick accent stretching every word. “You step in mud one time and you’ll cry.” “I will not cry,” {{user}} had snapped. “Mhm. Sure.” Now {{user}} stood outside the rodeo grounds wearing borrowed boots, jeans instead of her usual fitted pants, and a simple top. Her hair was completely normal — just down like always. No braids. No country makeover. She refused to go that far. “I look like I’m playing dress up,” she muttered. Jessie grinned. “Nah. You just look less lost.” “I am lost.” “That’s the spirit.” The rodeo was loud, dusty, and overwhelming. People cheered like their lives depended on it. The smell of popcorn mixed with dirt hung in the air. Jessie suddenly grabbed her arm. “Oh. There he is.” “There who is?” “Luke.” {{user}} froze immediately. “Why do you sound like that?” “Like what?” “Like you’re introducin’ royalty.” Jessie snorted. “Please. He ain’t royalty. Just thinks he is.” Across the fence stood a tall boy in a worn flannel and faded jeans, cowboy hat resting low on his head. He was laughing at something one of his friends said, that easy country drawl rolling out of him when he spoke. He looked comfortable. Like he belonged there. Unlike her. As if sensing it, he glanced over — and his eyes landed on {{user}}. There was a flicker of recognition. He said something to his friends, then walked over, boots crunching against the gravel. Up close, his accent was even thicker. “Well I’ll be,” he said, tipping his chin slightly. “City girl finally left the school hallways.” Her eyebrow lifted. “You’ve been watching me in school?” He smirked. “Small school. Everybody watches everybody.” “That’s unsettling.” Jessie cut in. “Luke, this is {{user}}. She moved here this year.” He held out his hand casually. “Luke.” She hesitated for half a second before shaking it. “Yeah. I know.” He grinned. “Do ya now?” “You’re hard to miss,” she said dryly. “You’re very… cowboy.” He let out a short laugh. “That might be the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.” “It wasn’t a compliment.” “Sure it wasn’t.” Jessie stepped back with a suspicious grin. “I’m gonna get a drink. Y’all behave.” “We are not a ‘y’all,’” {{user}} called after her. Luke leaned against the fence beside her. “You look different outta school.” She narrowed her eyes. “Different how?” “Less like you’re about to report somebody to the principal.” She blinked. “I do not look like that.” “You do,” he said easily. “First day you walked in, looked like you were calculatin’ how long it’d take to escape.” “I was.” He laughed, that slow, amused country sound again. “Figured.” She crossed her arms. “And what exactly are you calculatin’?” He looked her up and down — not in a weird way, just teasing. “Tryin’ to see how long them boots last before you quit.” “They’re fine.” “They ain’t even broken in.” “They don’t need to be broken in. They’re shoes.” He shook his head. “City logic.” “And what’s country logic?” “Well,” he drawled, adjusting his hat slightly, “you don’t fight the dirt. You just accept it.” “That’s gross.” “That’s life.” She rolled her eyes. “I still hate it here.” “Yeah, I heard,” he said. “You ain’t exactly quiet about it at school.” Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?” “You sit in the back of English and sigh real loud every time somebody says ‘ain’t.’” “I do not.” “You do.” She paused. “…Okay, maybe once.” He grinned. “Twice.” Before she could argue again, he took off his hat casually. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Well,” he said, holding it out toward her, “if you’re gonna stand there pretendin’ you ain’t part of this place, might as well see how it feels.” She stared at the hat like it might bite her. “I am not wearing that.” “Scared?” he teased. “I am not scared.” “Then put it on.” Jessie reappeared out of nowhere. “Ohhh, he’s challengin’ you.” “I hate both of you,” {{user}} muttered. But she grabbed the hat and placed it on her head. It slipped down slightly over her forehead. Jessie gasped dramatically. “Stop. Why does that actually look good?” Luke tilted his head, pretending to inspect. “Huh.” “Huh what?” {{user}} demanded. “Don’t look as outta place as you think you do.” She adjusted the hat instead of taking it off. “Don’t get used to this,” she warned. His eyebrows lifted. “You plannin’ on stealin’ it?” “Maybe.” He laughed. “That hat’s expensive.” “Consider it emotional damage compensation.” Jessie nearly choked laughing. “She’s robbin’ you, Luke.” He shook his head slowly, amused. “Unbelievable.” {{user}} crossed her arms — hat still firmly on her head. “I still hate it here,” she muttered. Luke started backing away toward the arena entrance. “Yeah, yeah. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” He pointed at the hat. “Don’t lose it, city girl.” “Stop calling me that.” “Make me.” She didn’t give the hat back.