Amy Vastine - What a Girl Wants

He found her talking to a young man in a black cowboy hat a little while later. His jeans and flannel shirt were a dead giveaway that he didn’t work for the station. Unfortunately, he had a nephew who played for the local high school, and he wanted to know what Travis thought about the competition in 4A. Summer moved on pretty quickly.

Travis ordered one more drink from the bartender, who was quick to admit he had been a big Travis Lockwood fan. The old man kindly offered up his condolences regarding the shoulder injury. The pity was always hard to swallow. Travis could see it in people’s eyes before it even came out of their mouths. Everyone was sorry his dream hadn’t been fully realized. Sometimes Travis wanted to ask them how they knew what his dreams were. Maybe football had nothing to do with his dreams.

After enduring one more conversation about UT’s prospects for a championship, Travis decided to call it a night. He slipped out, only to find the Weather Girl standing outside the door, digging through her enormous red bag.

“Here I’ve been waiting all evening to find out what the Babylonians had genetically that we don’t and you’re out here trying to sneak away without saying good-night,” he said.

“Good night, Travis.” She pulled her keys out and held them up, victorious.

“You hate me so much you won’t even tell me, huh?”

Summer exhaled loudly. “I don’t hate you. My grandma taught me hating someone is nothing but a big waste of time. Time that could be spent planting a garden or cleaning my room.”

“I think your grandma was trying to get you to do your chores.”

One side of her mouth quirked up as she headed for the parking lot. “Probably. She’s tricky like that.”

Travis followed. “You’re killing me here. Why won’t you tell me?”

“What do you want from me, exactly?”

Travis sighed and decided to be totally honest with her. “Someone to talk to who doesn’t want to rehash every play I ever made on the football field. Someone who won’t sit across from me hoping I’m going to take her home or kiss her good-night.”

“Don’t ever try to kiss me.” The fierceness in her voice left no room for doubt. “That will get you a slap across the face, mister.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “No kissing. Yes, ma’am. But I really do want to know about the Babylonians.”

She clicked the button to unlock her car and pulled the door open. “I think the Babylonians could feel the rain coming like I do. My dad told me once that humans probably evolved so that we didn’t need to be that sensitive to certain things. We had better shelter, tracked seasons formally, developed tools like barometers and Doppler radar. We didn’t need to feel it anymore. Maybe I’m the last of the supersensitive humans.”

When she talked about the weather, she came to life. There was something about the look in her eye when she shared that kind of information. It was a spark that flashed inside her, a light that he wanted to make brighter. “I think I get it. I might need you to be my date to the next Rotary meeting to explain it to them, though.”

Summer flushed. “Did you know that we’ve been experiencing above-average temps for the last forty days in a row?”

“It’s definitely hot around here. Not as hot as that place in Libya you were talking about, but still very hot.”

She stared at him for a minute and he worried he hadn’t gotten the country right. He could have sworn she said Libya.

Climbing into her car, she gave him one more curious look. “Good night, Travis.”

“Good night, Summer.” He watched her drive away. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t like him, either, but maybe she was coming close to tolerating him.

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