Country Love Song. Pt. 2
Part Two of Colt and Stacy's story.
I see him first.
Six foot of pure muscle. His legs are wrapped in blue jeans that had to have been made for him. With every move, I see his thunderous thighs stretch the fabric to almost their breaking point. His shirt is barely containing his upper body. His biceps are fighting to breath under the constriction of the shirt, his abdominal muscles are flexing in a wonderful yet mysterious dance that I only hope I can see.
He is currently on the guitar that we bought the summer before our freshman year. He named that one ol’ Bessy. I’m surprised to see she is still alive and strong. I’m more surprised to see he is using her when he has several electric guitars lined up just to his left.
I finally allow myself to look at his face. It has matured since I last saw him. A strong jaw peppered with a beautifully shaped beard hides his brilliant smile. His nose is a little cricked, from the incident in fifth grade when he tried to take down the mean bully that was picking on me (the bully’s fist met Colt’s face). Then I see his eyes. I’m falling into pools of stunning baby blue. Eyes so striking I feel it in my bones.
He’s aiming those bright baby blues right at me and I know I’ve been spotted. Suddenly I can’t breath, my feet forget how to move. So much emotion is shining through those eyes of his; hurt, confusion, happiness, wariness, and finally relief. I give him a shy smile, and he rewards me with one of his megawatt smiles.
Oh lord, I’m in trouble.
Millie brings me back from my Colt induced fixation. She tugs me towards our table, right to the left of the brilliant boy I grew up with. Once seated, a waitress asks if we would like a drink. As easily as a scotch would go down right now, I decline. I want to be in a clear mindset when the boy of my childhood dreams sings.
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When Colt finally brings the houses attention to the band, I’m a nervous wreck. I haven’t seen the boy in four years; you’d think that I’d have this under control. No, I don’t. I’m all over the place, I’m happy for him yet nervous also. What if Three Hours Intoxicated isn’t as good as the hype? What if they bomb? Oh lord.
But Colts smooth timbre voice brings me out of my frantic state, “Evening ladies. Howdy fellas. How are y’all doing tonight?” The main floor breaks out in cheer. “We are Three Hours Intoxicated, at least, that’s what our band’s name is…” That gets a chuckle here and there. “Over on the bass we have Tim Bolton. On the drums we have our very own Ben Harley. And I’m Colt Harrison,” the noise level reaches dangerously high levels when Colt says his own name, “and we are Three Hours Intoxicated.” Then Tim’s bass starts strumming the opening lines from Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire.
I’m transfixed. How could that man on the stage be my Colt Harrison? My little booger eating, four eyed, brace face, best friend is actually a God on the stage. He is nailing the vocals and slaying Ol’ Bessy all while making the crowd fall in love with him. I’m speechless.
I’ve decided to marry Colt Harrison. One day I will. And I will tell y’all I told you so.
After ring of fire, 3HI breaks into a couple newer country songs by Brett Eldredge, Tim McGraw, and Sam Hunt.
My heart is swelling with pride, my boy is killing this performance.
When the final cord is strummed, Colt tells everyone the band is taking a fifteen-minute break and to stay right where they are.
Colt jumps off the stage with eyes focused on me. I search frantically for Millie, but she is no longer at our table. Where the hell is she when I need her? Before I have too much time to freak out, Colt is right in front of me looking like the shy five year old he was in kindergarten.
“Hey darlin’, how’ve you been?” He looks at me with those baby blues and I’m sunk. I jump forward into his embrace and its like I’m home. I tuck my head into the crook of his neck while he squeezes me like his life depends on it. We stay like that, in our little hug cocoon for a while before I feel him mumbling. Reluctantly I pull away.
“What was that?” I want to pay attention to what he's saying, but Colt Freaking Harrison is standing in front of me again.
He chuckled then looked at me with a firm stare, "Stacy Lynn Johnson, don’t you ever go that long without talking to me ever again.”
I laugh and look at him, “Colt Andrew Harrison, don’t you dare put this all on me. It was mostly your fault anyway! How do you get off blaming me?” I smack him in the chest (which is very firm and muscular).
“Oh Stace, I missed you so much! I can’t believe you are here! What are you doing here anyway?” He’s looking at me like a kid in a candy store.
“I heard you were in town to play and I had to come support you. Old habits die hard and all that…” its hard to joke around with him, its been so long since I had someone to joke around with.
“Darlin’, I can’t believe you came to support me after all this time. I’m just, I … I’m just so flipping happy right now. I just…” Then he picked me up and spun me around.
I missed this crazy goon so much, too. I just can’t show it as much, not yet.
“Colt, when did you become a rock star? No seriously, don’t give me that face. You are killing it out there. Everyone loves you!”
“Everyone?”
Whoa, were did that come from? He’s looking at me with something in his eyes, but I can’t read it.
“Yes everyone, you are amazing up there. Did you go to rock star camp recently?”
He smiles at me and I swear I feel it in my bones. This man can sure rock me off center.
“No I didn’t go to rock star camp, darling’. It just comes naturally to me I suppose. I got to get back up there, but don’t you leave anytime soon. Okay? I mean it Stacy, don’t you leave this building.” And with that he’s off to be a rock God again.
To Be Continued....
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age 20
