Brendan chuckles. “Yeah, it’s a jukebox. It’s great because it takes credit cards, and the list of songs on there is three million miles long!”
I grab Andrew’s hand and pull him over to the jukebox, eager to scroll through the songs and queue one up.
Brendan was right about the list of songs being extremely long. First, the songs are organized by genre, ranging from pop to classic to country. There’s even a genre called techno, which I quickly avoid.
I select the country genre and continue scrolling, but I’m quickly overwhelmed with all of the choices. “Andrew! I don’t know which song to play. There are too many to pick from.”
He sidles up next to me and begins scrolling. “Oh, here’s a classic,” he says, sliding his card into the machine and hitting the select button.
I look at the machine and see the name “Don’t Rock the Jukebox”by Alan Jackson. I crinkle my nose. “Way to be original.”
“At least I made a decision.” He winks then presses a kiss to my forehead and grabs both of my hands to swing me around to the upbeat melody. Brendan doesn’t miss a beat, whipping out his phone and yelling, “Gross!” as he takes a video of the two of us, a bright smile on his face.
I’m so relieved this evening hasn’t felt weird after the events of last summer. I think it helps that Brendan’s attraction waslikely more physical than anything, and his friendship with Andrew is much more important than any girl.
Once the song ends, we head outside to check out the back patio. Since the live music hasn’t started inside yet, it seems like that’s where most of the people are currently gathered. There are string lights overhead, a cornhole in the back corner, a hot dog stand right next to the door, and in the very center of it all, Benji, the giant mechanical bull.
Andrew and I take a moment to absorb the scene while Brendan rushes over to two girls to say hi. I can only assume he knows them from college. They both greet him with excitement. I watch him gesture over to Andrew and me, beaming with pride.
My attention is pulled away from him and toward shouting coming from the direction of Benji the Bull as a short, stocky male clings on to the bull for dear life. A group of five or six people, who I can only assume are his friends, rowdily cheer him on. He actually looks like he knows what he’s doing! Until he doesn’t, and he’s thrown off Benji to the black mats below.
The guy leaps up to standing and gives a masculine cheer as he flexes his biceps and grabs his beer from one of his buddies.
I turn to Andrew with raised eyebrows, trying to hold back my laughter. “You want to do that?”
“Well, I might not do it with such a dramatic appearance,” he defends.
“Alright, I’ll believe you,” I say, turning to look for Brendan. “What happens now?”
Andrew points out Brendan at the bar. “Whatever you want. We can just hang out and play a game of pool first. You can get a drink if you’d like, or you can even go get in line for Benji if you’re feeling ready.”
“Uh-huh.” I pin him with a look, unamused. “I’ll be ready after I see you and Brendan up there.”
“Done!” Andrew says. “I’ll signus up right now.”
“There’s a sign-up?”
“More or less,” Andrew squints his eyes and shakes his hand from side to side. “Brendan said they have one for when it gets crazy busy, but if there’s no one there, you can just hop right on sometimes.”
I fall into a daze as I watch a girl on Benji now. She’s getting thrown around like a rag doll, but she’s staying on.Good for her. Maybe she can teach me her ways.
Andrew interrupts my thoughts by waving a hand in front of my line of sight. “Earth to Emma. Are you still with me?”
“I need a drink,” I state firmly, heading toward Brendan at the bar.
He looks over at us with a smile. “Hey! Do either of you want a drink? We can just put it on my tab and settle later.”
“Tell me more about those trough drinks,” I respond.
He raises his eyebrows. “Wow, I didn’t think you had it in you! They usually recommend splitting it between two to three people. I think it’s about five shots. It used to be more, but they had to cut it down a year or two ago.”
“What’s in it?”
He squirms and offers, “Tasty alcohol?”
“Is it tequila?”
“Oh God no! I won’t touch that stuff.”
