Ashton rolled his eyes again. “M-kay. You still fart and blame the dog, just like the rest of us.” I snorted at his Sophie-ism.
“You just keep telling yourself that.” Ford smirked. Then he checked his fancy watch. “We better git.” He tipped his head toward his beast of a shiny red truck. The thing was so tall it looked like he’d need a ladder to climb in and out. “Anna, why don’t you ride with me?”
I glanced back at my girls who were waving for me to come on. “But Stella.”
“You ride with Anna.” Ashton held out his hand. “I’ll drive your truck. I can’t ride by Tally for another second anyway.”
“Yeah. Okay.” While Ford pulled the key out of his pocket, I motioned to Brooklyn and Tally that Ford was riding with us.
Brooklyn opened her door and hopped out. “You can ride shotgun, Ford,” she said sweetly. I swear her eyelashes were batting.
“Are you kidding me?” Ashton snapped. “I just rode four and a half hours jammed into the back seat of that sardine can and the second you find out he’s riding with you, you pop up like a daisy without being asked.”
Brooklyn shrugged, unapologetic. “He’s Ford Dupree of Whiskey and Women. Who are you?”
“Ouch,” Ford said.
“Shut it,” Ashton muttered as he walked away.
Ford watched him go, hands on his hips. “Tell the truth. He enjoyed every second in that back seat with Tally. Didn’t he?”
“Shhh. She doesn’t know he likes her.”
His lips pursed. “I’m not sure he knows.”
“Oh, he knows. Trust me.” I was pretty sure there wasn’t one cell in his body that didn’t know.
Just then a stranger hopped out of a car and took a picture of Ford. “Are you?—”
“Nope.” I grabbed him by the elbow. “Let’s get out of here before you have to sign autographs.”
“But—” He turned for the woman.
I yanked him toward Stella. “No time. I do not want to be all over TikTok with you.”
As soon as we pulled out of the lot and back onto the freeway, Ford had his hands all over Brooklyn’s phone. “We need to practice ‘Rocky Top.’ I think Dolly Parton’s singing it today.”
My forehead crunched. “What are you talking about?”
“You know. Every college has its opening song. Virginia Tech does ‘Enter Sandman.’ Well, Knoxville does ‘Rocky Top.’” He punched play on the song. “Top of the lungs, ladies.”
So for the next forty-five minutes, we belted,
Rocky Top Tennessee, home sweet home, to me. Good Ole Rocky Top. Rocky Top Tenneeeseeeeee. Rocky top Tennesseee.” By the time we pulled into the parking lot at Smoky Mountain Stadium, we had that sucker down by heart.
The tailgating was well underway and we drove around for at least fifteen minutes before we found two spots together.
As I shifted into park, Ford held up a finger. “Wait here.”
Then he hopped out, leaving his door open, and walked to his truck where Ashton had parked in the next space. He pulled a duffel out of the back seat and walked back over, setting it in my passenger seat. Then he unzipped it and started handing out Knoxville jerseys.
My jaw dropped. “You bought us all shirts?”
“’Course. You can’t go up in here in your ordinary clothes. You gotta do it right.”
“What?” Brooklyn squealed. Then she put her palms together in a prayer pose and squinted up at the beautiful blue sky. “Thank you, God, for blessing Anna with an uncle who’s rich, fun, and really, really nice to look at.”
“You forgot about his voice,” Tally hissed.
