Page 87 of The Wild Card
“I’m not obsessed with either one,” Collin says.
Well,Imight be. At least with the cow.
It’s black and white, which seem like standard cow colors, but it’s not spotted. Instead, it’s black in front and back with a broad white band circling its considerable girth. Like an Oreo. Before the other day when Collin drove me out here, I’d never seen one like it. The whole herd has the same coloring—a full sleeve of Oreo cows.
But this cow is pretty special because he’s social. The field is just … a field. One Collin keeps bringing me to for reasons I don’t quite understand.
After we left the restaurant, Collin asked if I wanted to go for a drive. Returning back to the loft after the moment we shared in the bathroom had me all kinds of nervous. It suddenly felt like way too much, so I happily agreed to put that off for a little bit.
I just didn’t expect to end up out here at this field. Again.
But as the cow—I’m assuming the same nosy one from the last time we were here—sticks its head through the fence demanding more pets, I’m not exactly complaining. As long as he doesn’t lick me again. I’ve never really touched a cow before this week. Certainly never scratched one behind the ears. Its coat is slightly coarse, but it's basically acting like an oversized dog. A few of its friends stand a little ways off, watching us but not coming any closer.
“If you can pause your cow-stroking for a minute, I need to spray you,” Collin says.
“Sprayme?” When I turn, I see Collin holding up a bottle of insect repellent. “Trust me.”
I do. And I would even if I hadn’t found a few mosquito bites on my legs and arms after the last time we came out here.
I take a few big steps away from my cow friend, who pulls its head back through the fence in clear protest.
“Close your eyes,” Collin says, and it almost sounds sexy—until I do close my eyes, and he adds, “And your mouth,” then starts to spray me with the insect repellent, which immediately goes into my nostrils and makes me sneeze.
“Spin,” Collin says, then chuckles when I do exactly what he asked. “Not like a ballerina, darlin’. Just turn around so I can get your back.”
I knew what he meant and was honestly just trying to get a laugh out of him. Lighten his mood. Lift whatever burden he seems to be silently shouldering.
“I think you’re done,” he says. “Completely bug proof.”
I turn back to him, tasting the chemicals on my tongue despite doing my best to keep my mouth closed. “Your turn.” I hold out a hand for the can.
But Collin steps back and starts to spray himself. “This isn’t like sunscreen where you need a partner. See?” Holding the bottle up, he sprays downward, turning so a fine mist settles over his back and shoulders before he bends and gets his legs.
I cross my arms as he tosses the bug spray into the bed of his truck. “Then why didn’t you let me do it myself?”
Grinning, he says, “It was fun.” Before I can protest, he ducks back into the truck. “Give me a minute.”
I don’t know what he needs a minute for, but I could use one. Even when all I can taste or smell is bug spray—with the faint odor of cows in a field—I’m having a hard time taming the fluttery feelings not only in my belly but everywhere.
I am the living, breathing embodiment of that Colbie Caillat song, “Bubbly.” Though the bubbly feelings don’t start in my toes like in her lyrics. More like my stomach, then effervescing out in a fizzy cascade until no part of me is untouched.
The cow has returned and thrusts its head back through the fence, nudging my hand until I scratch the wide area below its eye. Its cheek, I guess?
“You’re pretty shameless, you know that?” It closes its eyes, making a sound that sounds like a very human sigh. I scratch harder, with both hands now. Tired of referring to it even in my head as anit, I lean down to see if I can determine if I’m talking to a he or she.Definitelya boy.
A bull, then? I like thinking of him just as a cow. Bull sounds so … bullish.
“So, what do you think?” I lower my voice, though I doubt Collin can hear me from where he is over at the truck, humming. “This fake dating thing is pretty dumb, yeah?”
The cow nudges my hand as though agreeing. Or just wanting me to scratch more vigorously.
“I mean, I actuallylikehim. Which makes the faking part easier, I guess. Since I don’t need topretendto feel things. More like I’m pretending to feel things I’m actually feeling while pretending not to really feel them. But it’s going to really suck when I feel like he likes me back, and it turns out he’s just faking. Unless he’s not?”
Jo’s words from earlier this week echo in my mind.It’s obvious you like each other.
I’m not surprised if everyone can tell how much I like Collin, but does he have feelings for me? If it’s obvious to a seven-year-old, how am I missing it?
“I mean, he did bring up kissing earlier tonight. And sure, he said it under the guise of pretending, but it must mean something. Right? Maybe we should just talk about it,” I tell my new cow bestie. “Collin and I are both adults.”
