It's a love story, part trois {why yes, I did take French in college}

In case you've missed the earlier posts, you can find them here:

Part One
Part Two

So, where were we? Ah, yes, the football game. The one out of town that Tim just happened to be at. And he hadn't returned my calls. And he was either playing hard-to-get, just not that into me, or really shy.

I plead the latter, but truth be told, I've never actually asked him why he didn't return my calls. Hm, if he weren't asleep (at 9:00 at night on our in-home date night!) then I'd ask him right now.

ANYWAY.

Red-headed friend calls John, who announces that he, Tim and Bob are at the game, too! And wouldn't it just be awesome to all get together. And we should come meet them at such-and-such location in half an hour.

I knew I should have dressed up, I thought. But my oversized KU hoodie and jeans were going to have to do, because it's all I had.

We met 'em, we laughed, we drank, we listened to the boys tell raunchy jokes. The usual. Then we headed to the epicenter of that college town - the bar district! It turned into a long night. And at some point, really without even noticing, Tim had grabbed my hand.

He'd grabbed my hand! He'd grabbed my hand!

Then he got a little more cuddly, a little more aggressive (in the good way), a little more take charge.

That night is mostly a blur, but I do remember the long walk back to someone's house where we crashed for the night on probably the most uncomfortable floral couch with rips in the cushions and springs (literally) poking me in the back. But somehow, that was exactly where I wanted to be. Curled up together, we slept soundly for two whole hours until red-headed friend woke us up.

She'd managed to lose her purse and her car. However that happens. We raced through town to find it because we were both working a double shift at the bar & grill and we were two hours from home. She couldn't find her car, so we batted our lashes at Tim and he "offered" to take us home (as in he got roped into it and really had no other choice).

The only memory I have from that drive home is the frappuccino we picked up from the gas station. It's memorable and funny because I had no idea at that time what an obsession Tim had with gas station Starbucks frappuccinos. That obsession is almost as endearing as his Chapstick obsession.

The double-shift flew by, but I had to drive red-headed friend all the way back to Manhattan (Kansas!) to get her car that we couldn't find earlier that day.

And then, on the way home, I got a phone call. The kind of phone call that leaves you mostly breathless with a racing heart and a lump in your throat the size of Texas. A phone call from Tim!

To be continued...