Your rob fic is so yummy!!! have many parts do you plan for?
thank you nonnie!!! ❤️❤️
honestly, i have no idea! i work full time and i just started a new slate of grad classes so a third part will probably be a bit slower coming out - i definitely plan on at LEAST doing a third part, but i have no clue where the inspiration will lead after that 💫 im kinda just writing as i go!
i am LOVING your rob fics, u could literally write 800 parts and i would read every single one. you’re such a good author, i feel like you’re capturing rob so well and i can tell you’ve done ur RESEARCH not just on rob but on every little detail you add to the story. anyway please keep them coming im eating up every word 🫶🫶🫶
THIS IS HOW YOUR MESSAGE FINDS ME
anon..... you are my first ever anon since rejoining tumblr in a decade. this means the world to me GENUINELY THANK YOU SO MUCH!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ i seriously cant express how happy i feel that you went out of your way to tell me you like my writing!
i was deadass on yelp looking at pictures of the inside of the florence public library 😭😭 i am enjoying it and i definitely plan on having AT LEAST one more part of snake charmer but hopefully more than that! im gonna have to research snakes for the next part.... wish me luck yall
author's note: not me on google street view in florence alabama trying to figure out where the FUCK you’re going lmaooo sorry for stalking the town of florence its for RESEARCH. i have no idea if rob has ever been to these places and i have no intention of finding out. i literally just googled library in florence and looked around the area. don't be weird to people on the internet!
reader is so quirked up which is funny because rob is lowkey highkey quirked up as an actual person. i don’t know how to put that in writing but i consulted my expert who is watching his love island season. i honestly hope rob appreciates how much pr im doing with him being cool in this because i know hes actually goofy as fuckkk (ive seen the neglected baddies chat on instagram you cant fool me)
warnings: minor similarities to the quinn script were unintentional (i just googled snake crossword clues and the copperhead one came up so we rolled with that) and this is a work of fiction, this is not intended to represent rob’s real personal views in any way. honestly at this point it aint even about rob. i’m just having fun writing creatively because i haven’t done so in a really long time!! maybe you can tell that i’m just all about the story because like 50% of this is just fran being the cutest ever. i think the only reader warning is she eats meat ? and swears. and listens to shania twain. good for her.
i believe in set it up supremacy
wc: 6.2k
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Your first weekend in Florence passed by in a blur. Between grocery shopping, a quick drugstore trip to stock up on all the full-size toiletries you had to forgo for the sake of packing reasonably, teasing about Rob From The Bar, and watching your favorite rom-coms to maintain a healthy ratio of romantically-induced depression to hyena-esque laughter, you barely had time to think about how you were going to keep yourself busy while Fran went to work during the week. While you may have had three weeks of PTO, she did not. You swore up and down to Fran that you would be fine, but she also made you promise to make an effort to leave the apartment. She even offered to pay for some Uber rides since she would be leaving you without transportation into town, to which you vehemently told her to shut it.
“Need I remind you that I’m basically staying in another state for free for three weeks? Case closed. Not to mention the boots,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes in jest. Fran rolled her own eyes in response. You were, however, able to agree upon a drop-off arrangement to the public library for Monday. That Sunday evening, Fran provided you with her library card and a Google Maps tour of the nearby sights she was willing to recommend. There was a decent amount to see just within walking distance of the library: a Civil War museum, a small art gallery, plenty of grub options, and several cute neighborhoods with suitable sidewalks. You could certainly find a few hours worth of stuff to do while Fran pored over spreadsheets. Tuesday was a future-you problem, and for now, Monday was covered.
The next morning, you slammed your alarm off at 6:30 a.m., groaning in frustration at yourself for letting Fran convince you to watch Set It Up for the third time.
“But it has Glen Powell, and he’s so hot,” she cried, her last ditch effort to provide enough evidence as to why you should stay up until 1 AM. You sighed, hitting the play button on the remote with resignation.
“You know, your momma would never let you be with Glen Powell,” you supplied unhelpfully, munching on a handful of popcorn as the opening scene played out. “He sports the burnt orange. As if you would be kept in the will if you married anyone who doesn’t Roll Tide.”
Fran had shoved your arm in response, sending popcorn kernels flying over the couch cushions.
As good as the movie was, 6:30-AM-you was not as impressed. Fran had to leave the house by 7:15, so you needed to get ready for the day if you were hoping for a ride into town. Tossing aside the thin sheets of the queen-sized guest bed, you grunted as you thrust yourself up from the mattress. Despite the God you found in Fran’s air conditioning, you could tell the swelter of the sun was starting to set in as early morning light trickled past the curtains. You tossed a withered glance toward your suitcase and quickly decided that you would be wearing something that allowed you to sweat as little as possible today. Bending down and rustling through the rumpled mess, you pulled out a passable top, shorts, and undergarments to tug on after a brief shower. Making quick work of your daily routine, you walked into the kitchen at 7:10 sharp, saluting Fran from across the kitchen island as she sipped on a travel coffee cup.
“Sorry about Set It Up,” she grimaced through a smile, conveying her own exhaustion from your late-night shenanigans. You laughed and shook your head, dismissing her apology as unnecessary.
“So, I was thinking I would grab a bite to eat, hit up the library for entertainment, then maybe go on a walk through the neighborhoods. Anything I should know?” you asked your built-in tour guide. Fran shrugged in response.
“Sounds like a good plan to me. I think you should have let me quit my job to hang out with you, then let me go back in to work three weeks later crying about what a mistake I made.” She joked, then added passively, “Just like my ex.”
In the middle of tugging your shoes on, you froze at the implication, looking up at Fran.
“Did he contact you?”
Fran shook her head and waved her hand in their air, laughing with a solemn wistfulness.
“Oh, of course. I blocked him after the sixteenth text this weekend, don’t worry. I know better this time. It just sucks,” she sighed. Fran grabbed her purse off the counter, symbolically putting a period at the end of that conversation. You knew better than to pry further.
“Could we play off the lie that I’m your long-lost daughter and you wanted to participate in Take Your Kid To Work Day?” you asked in jest, pouting at the fact that you had to be separated. Fran’s sadness disappeared into her laughter.
“Probably not. I’m not ready to be a MILF. And I definitely don’t look old enough to be your momma.” At that, Fran grabbed her keys and gestured for you to follow her to the car. You trailed after her, smiling in earnest.
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The easiest spot for Fran to drop you off was at the public library. As much as you would have liked to check out a few books as your first stop, the library didn’t open until 10 AM, and your grumbling stomach certainly was not willing to wait any longer for sustenance. You had skimmed Google Maps once again on the drive over, so you knew there were a few restaurants just a block away. Walking toward the heart of town, your feet didn’t have to guide you far before the smell of coffee and maple syrup wafted along the humid air. Looking to your left, large glass windows glistened as you took in the sign:
BIG BAD BREAKFAST.
Ok, I could go for one of those, you thought as you reached for the door handle. Your stomach seemed to concur as it growled again at the delightful aromas. Walking into the restaurant, you smiled at the hostess, informing her that you would be dining for one today. She gathered a menu and silverware in her arms and led you to a booth along the side of the restaurant. Taking care to not let your sweaty skin skid across the seat, you settled in and picked up the laminated menu as the hostess returned to her post. Glancing over the options, nothing seemed more apt to order than biscuits and gravy.
When your server approached, you placed your order for the biscuits and a glass of water, filing away the tantalizing option of fresh-squeezed orange juice for later. As you returned your singular menu to the server, it occurred to you that you couldn’t remember the last time you ate at a restaurant by yourself.
Now feeling a bit awkward as you sat at the booth alone, you shifted your weight on the hardwood seat, thighs sticking in protest as you adjusted. While there weren’t many patrons in the diner given the early hour on a weekday, you couldn’t shake the feeling of slight insecurity. After all, you weren’t from this town, and you were certain they could smell the tourist radiating off of you. A bar on Friday night is one thing, but a restaurant in broad daylight on a Monday is another.
I’m gonna look more ridiculous if I just sit here and do nothing. I don’t even have a plate of food yet.
Momentarily drumming your fingers on the countertop as you debated how to make yourself busy, you were suddenly struck with an epiphany. As you dug into the bottom of your purse, you communicated a silent ‘thank you’ to the you of drugstore’s past. Against all odds, the paperback crossword puzzle book you paid a couple dollars for while out with Fran ended up being worth its weight in gold, providing the exact focal point you needed while you relaxed into the background of gentle diner clinking. Also retrieving a pen, you opened to the first page and started with the clues in order as much as you could, skipping over clues you didn’t feel certain about the answer to.
Made into law: “enacted”.
Noisy summer insect: “cicada”.
Blacken, as a steak: “char”.
California wine valley: “Napa”.
Your brows furrowed as you looked at one of the longer words not yet filled out, searching for the matching clue on the side of the page. You knew the long words were typically harder, but you were truly stumped on this one, even with a few letters filled in.
Venomous snake. Starts with C, second letter P, ten letters.
The mental labyrinth you had built to address the crossword’s riddles came crumbling down at the sound of boisterous laughter. Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance, now unable to focus on the convoluted clues in front of you due to the interruption. On instinct, you glanced up to note the rude patrons who seemed to have no awareness of their surroundings. However, if you could go back in time, you would have aggressively kept your head down, nose-to-page, to avoid the sight in front of you:
Rob From The Bar.
Rob From The Bar and two of his friends, all three in the bunch wearing camo to some degree, cackling about something the blond friend had said prior to opening the glass doors.
Your hopes to remain out of his eyeline lessened in likelihood as Rob scanned the room for seating. In that moment, you felt like prey standing completely still, hoping that the lack of movement would blend you in with your surroundings. Unfortunately for you, Rob’s sense of sight was superior to that of most predators who fall for that biological trick. His eyes locked on yours. Him, standing across the restaurant mid-smile, and you, hunched over a fucking crossword puzzle, alone in a booth.
God damn it.
As his friends were directed by the hostess to their seats, Rob seemed to say something to them, holding up a hand to imply that he would catch up with them momentarily. They glanced in your direction, smirking to themselves at the sight of what had caught Rob’s attention—you—and followed the hostess dutifully. Instead of walking to the opposite side of the restaurant like he was supposed to, Rob started in your direction. In a moment of clarity, you sat up straighter, hoping to not look like you had just hobbled out of a cave to live amongst the normal folk.
“(y/n),” he nodded, a smile on his face as he saddled up to your booth. He leaned on the side of the booth politely, not daring to assume you wanted company. You smiled back.
“Hi, Rob. It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” he responded, then gestured to the empty side of the booth. “You mind if I join you, just for a bit, actually?”
You looked down at the crossword puzzle in your hands, then glanced back up at him teasingly with a smirk.
“Sure. But only if you can help me with this clue. If you don’t know it, you’re out of luck,” you offered. Rob laughed and jutted his chin up, challenging you to present the clue.
“Hit me.”
You turned the book in his direction, pointing at the space the ten letters needed to be inserted.
“Venomous snake. Starts with C.”
Rob slid into the booth with ease.
“Copperhead,” he drawled, “and if you didn’t actually want me to join you, I would’a hoped you knew to pick a more difficult clue.”
You laughed, responding in kind with a playful lilt.
“Oh, so ‘Title for New Zealand golfer Lydia Ko’ would have been a better way to ward you off? I’ll remember that,” you nodded, putting your pen into the page of your book and closing the cover. Rob chuckled and put a hand to his chest, wincing like you had wounded his heart.
“So, you’re keepin’ tabs on how to get rid of me now? I suppose I should take offense to that.”
You couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across your face; trying to resist Rob’s charm appeared more futile by the second. Thankfully, to break you out of your stupor, your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching your booth from behind. Your server leaned over to place the steaming plate of biscuits and gravy in front of you, the comforting aroma like heaven to your nostrils.
“Is there anything else I can get you? Can I get you something to drink, sir?” The server asked, redirecting his attention from you to look at your new companion expectantly. Rob’s eyes shifted from the server to glance at you for permission. You raised an eyebrow coyly, not clearly indicating any preference and allowing Rob to independently decide whether or not to linger.
“I’ll just take a glass of water. Thanks,” Rob replied. Your heart thumped nervously against your ribcage.
Ok. Be normal. Be cool. You’re so cool! You’re like, the coolest person alive. You got this.
As the server walked away to fetch Rob a fresh glass, your newfound booth buddy pointed authoritatively at your plate.
“Good choice,” he offered, nodding approvingly.
“Oh, yeah? It’s always hard to order food from a place you’ve never been before, but I hoped a restaurant in Alabama wouldn’t fuck up biscuits and gravy,” you replied, picking up your fork and cutting into the soft, pillowy biscuit. If Rob weren’t in front of you now, you probably would have devoured the whole plate in record time if the smell was anything to go by. You sent a silent prayer to God that Rob hadn’t noticed your rumbling stomach from across the table as you lifted the fork to your mouth, careful not to drip any of the gravy onto your shirt.
“You’d be surprised, honestly. But if you were currently at a restaurant with bad biscuits and gravy, we wouldn’t’ve run into each other. I don’t make it a habit to frequent those places,” Rob shook his head, making a contorted face of disgust. You hummed agreeably around your bite of biscuit, finishing your food before replying in earnest.
“Well, I think we’ve both made a good choice today. These are fantastic.”
At your approval, Rob smiled, seemingly pleased that you were enjoying yourself. It was then that he seemed to take note of something, his smile shifting to a look of slight confusion.
“Are you here all by yourself? Your friend didn’t come with you?” He asked, nodding at the waiter in thanks as he returned to the table with a glass of water. Lifting the glass to his lips, you tried not to stare at the mesmerizing sight of the condensation trailing down the cup behind his fingers. Finishing your chewing, you cleared your throat—whether you were freeing crumbs from your esophagus or the thoughts from your head was debatable.
“Well, I am visiting her for three weeks, but it was kind of a spontaneous decision. She couldn’t get the same amount of time off work, and honestly, I didn’t expect her to. So now I’m clomping around Alabama all on my lonesome until she’s ready for my company again,” you teased lightheartedly. While you didn’t love being in a strange place by yourself, you really didn’t mind Fran having to work while you were here. If anything, you were happy she had another means of distraction after her breakup. Florence was peaceful and you knew how to entertain yourself—it was really no problem.
Rob, however, seemed to find it to be a very serious problem, judging by the look of concentration on his face.
“So you’re telling me that you have to find somethin’ to do in a place you’ve never been for the better part of three weeks? Is that right?”
You nodded affirmatively, unsure of what he was implying. He tsked in response.
“Well, that just won’t do. I certainly can’t let you waste away three weeks in my hometown without seeing the best of the best. You would start telling everyone back in the city that you just couldn’t stand Florence and it wasn’t worth the trip. How could anyone forgive me for letting you slander our name? I’ll be evicted from the town!”
“Rob, I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s too late. I’m the most recent negative Yelp review for the bar we went to this weekend,” you bantered back, ignoring the jackhammering in your chest. Rob barked out a laugh, then gasped dramatically in response, bracing his hands on the wooden table.
“Oh my god, I have to get all hands on deck for damage control immediately. If nobody comes to that bar, then I don’t get free entertainment on the weekend when out-of-towners show up and try to line dance despite the fact that, you know, no one else is line dancing.” Rob held out his hand expectantly.
“Quick, give me your phone. I have to delete this Yelp review,” he demanded, but there was no real edge to his voice, only playfulness. You let out a surprised laugh, easily picking up on his true intentions.
It’s fine. We’ll just talk as friends. And hang out as friends. Fran is going to be busy anyway, and Rob has a point about being here with not much to do. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
You were slightly appalled by the fact that you didn’t even resist when you dug your cellphone out of your purse, unlocked it, and placed it into his open palm.
“Rob, I hope that the potential for your phone number in my contacts is worth my integrity as a notable Yelp reviewer. The people rely on me for the truth,” you joked, giving him the weakest glare imaginable. Rob glanced up at you as he typed away on your phone, a crooked grin spreading across his face.
“I think the people will be pleased knowing you’ll be in good hands for the rest of your Alabama trip. Only good reviews from here on out. I wouldn’t dare take you to a place that is worth less than four stars,” he quipped, locking your phone and sliding it back across the table. You looked him in the eye and raised a brow as you reached for your cellphone back.
“Ok, maybe three and a half stars, depending on how much you like the snakes I’m gonna show you,” he admitted bashfully. You breathed out a soft laugh.
“Seriously though, if you don’t wanna see snakes, I won’t force you. I have plenty of other activities I bet you’d enjoy. But if you do wanna see them, I promise I’ll keep ya safe. No venomous snakes like the ones in your crossword puzzle.”
You considered his offer thoughtfully for a moment, thinking back to the realization you had regarding this same topic at the bar.
I guess that’s all fear is, really. Just not understanding things properly.
…
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go see some snakes with you, Rob. I think that sounds fun,” you confessed. His face lit up with a soft glow of enthusiasm, causing your heart to feel like it was going through a hydraulic press. You gingerly picked up your phone and unlocked it, seeing that Rob had left his saved contact on the screen.
Rob Rausch.
You tapped the button featuring a text bubble, deciding to be oh-so-polite by texting Rob so that he would have your phone number, too.
(from: you) Hey, it’s (y/n)! :)
His phone lit up on the table, eliciting another smile from him when he saw your message. It was at this time that he finally noticed a few other texts on his phone, too. He grabbed the device, skimming the texts quickly before looking up at you as he slowly shuffled out of the booth.
“Alright, my friends have officially threatened to order food for the whole restaurant and leave me to pay for it if I don’t join them. I’ll text you tonight to work out the details for our first tour stop,” he promised, pointing in your direction at the word “you” for emphasis. You smiled and nodded.
“Sounds good, Rob. Thanks for offering to be my guide. I’m looking forward to it,” you admitted earnestly. He responded with a toothy grin as he rose completely from his seat.
“Me too. Don’t go looking for any snakes without me tonight, ya hear?” He wagged a finger as he backed away from the table, inciting another laugh from you. You nodded again to convey that you would keep that promise. Finally, as his back turned fully to you and he started to disappear toward the other end of the restaurant, you let out a sigh of relief.
And you immediately grabbed your phone to text Fran.
(from: you) If I agreed to go on a snake tour with Rob From The Bar, I’m probably not going to get murdered, right?
Ever-so characteristic of Fran, you received a text right away, despite her fully-employed status.
(from: frannie marie 🩷) IF YOU WHAT??!??!?!?
(from: you) Just as friends. He offered to show me around while you were at work. Do you know anyone who might know him so I know I won’t end up dead on the side of the road or trapped in a cage somewhere? I’ll share my location with you just in case.
(from: you) I found out his last name by the way. Rausch.
You switched the tab to Find My Friends, opting to give Fran your coordinates for an indeterminate amount of time. As you were in the process of turning it on, another text popped up on the top of your screen from Fran. Several texts, actually.
(from: frannie marie 🩷) OOHH GIRL IF YOU DON’T GET YOU SOME
(from: frannie marie 🩷) IM GONNA BE SO MAD AT YOU IF YOU DON’T GET A PIECE OF THAT
(from: frannie marie 🩷) I’ll ask around. My guess is you’ll be fine, but I’m sure I know someone who knows him.
(from: frannie marie 🩷) But seriously, go girlllllll!!!
You laughed, shaking your head affectionately, amused at her texts and feeling a slight pit in your stomach all the same. She seemed happy for you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were somehow rubbing men in her face after her breakup. Your wall of determination, having been momentarily disarmed by Rob and his charms, rebuilt itself brick-by-brick. You weren’t going to reject Rob’s offer of sightseeing now, but you were going to try to keep it light and casual.
Try.
You took your time finishing your breakfast, eventually ordering yourself a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice as a treat for handling your conversation with Rob so well. You thought it might be awkward to toast to yourself in public for not behaving like a total freak, so you just savored the refreshing, tart beverage in contented silence. With an hour more to kill, you returned to your crossword puzzle with renewed vigor. Now that you had the answer for copperhead, the rest of the clues fell much more easily into place.
Admits, with up: “fesses”.
Stone fruit’s stone: “pit”.
Young horses: “foals”.
Get under control: …
If anyone asked, you would deny that you became distracted every time you heard rowdy laughter from across the restaurant, knowing exactly whose lips it came from.
After a few more crossword puzzles, a couple scrolls on your phone, and paying your tab, you flashed your screen to check the time. With a satisfied smile, you noted that the library had just opened a few minutes ago, meaning that it was time for your next stop. Unsticking your thighs from the booth seat and grabbing your belongings, you stood up and braced for the heat awaiting you outdoors.
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As the automatic doors quickly parted, authorizing you to enter the library, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the air conditioning. It was less than a five minute walk away from BIG BAD BREAKFAST, but this state truly seemed to have some BIG BAD THERMOMETER READINGS. Mentally, you made a note to ask Rob what would be appropriate clothing for your outing tomorrow when he texted you later. Then you also mentally reminded yourself to not get too caught up in waiting for Rob’s text later.
After returning a greeting to the two kind librarians currently stationed at the circulation desk, you decided that a morning designed for wasting time was the perfect opportunity to wander the stacks and pick up anything that slightly interested you. Given that you didn’t know how often Rob was going to want to show you around or how many days off Fran could afford, you figured that you would need several books to keep you busy for the next few weeks. You walked deeper into the library and found yourself amongst the hardwood tables, white painted columns, and of course, several different reading materials. You spotted the first row of books and noted the sign screwed into the deep mahogany of the shelf:
Nonfiction 000 - Computer science, general works
Sure, why the hell not, you thought passively, starting to skim the titles along each spine. It didn’t take long for you to bore of the individual section, considering you had no use for JavaScript during an Alabama summer. Attempting to redirect, you returned to the front of each shelving unit and looked at the different categories by Dewey Decimal classification, adjusting the placement of your purse on your shoulder to prepare yourself for a long while of looking at paperbacks and hardcovers.
Nonfiction 100 - Philosophy and Psychology
Nonfiction 200 - Religion
Nonfiction 300 - Social Sciences
Just for kicks, you strolled down the philosophy and psychology aisle, figuring that Fran would get a laugh out of seeing you with a book she probably used Sparknotes to read in college. Bending down to a lower shelf, you spotted a book on Plato’s allegory of the cave and gingerly removed it from its place. Flipping over to the back cover, you jutted out your lip in approval as you deemed the material worth carrying around the library. At that, your stack had begun, one single book to weight on the crook of your arm.
You also took a gander down the religion section, spotting a book on the underlying impact of Christianity on modern culture that seemed intriguing. Adding the book to your growing pile, you wandered further into the nonfiction wing, eventually making your way toward Nonfiction 500 - Pure Science. Despite your efforts to appear nonchalant, there had been a nagging thought poking at your brain since your walk over from the restaurant. Spotting the subsection you were looking for, you scrutinized the various titles and authors, doing your best to make a blind judgment on which book would be the most helpful and all-encompassing.
The Book of Snakes: A Life-Size Guide to Six Hundred Species from Around the World by Mark O’Shea
Alright, yeah, I think that’ll do, you mused, pulling at the spine to access the full book. The soft cover was a gorgeous, deep teal with various coiled snakes dotting the surface, each featuring a different color or pattern. Even just by looking at the design, you started to feel a greater sense of appreciation for the creatures, surprised by your own intrigue to learn more. Maybe Rob’s onto something… but I’ll save my judgement for when I’m face-to-face with one. Placing the book on the very top of your stack, you gave yourself a satisfied nod and dismissed yourself to the fiction section.
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“Ok. Tell me everything that happened today. Start from when you got out of my car.”
At around 3:30 PM, your chariot had finally arrived at the library, ready to escort you back to Casa de Fran. You knew it was naive to think that Fran wouldn’t immediately want a debrief the second you opened the passenger-side door, but you didn’t expect that she would want such an excruciating level of detail.
“Hold on. What was Rob wearing? What did his friends look like? Were any of them cute? What did he order to drink?”
“Ok, Nancy Drew. The culprit ordered a glass of water. Do you want to go back to the scene of the crime and dust for prints?”
“You didn’t answer the rest of my questions,” she responded with deathly seriousness. You laughed incredulously.
“Alright, alright. He was wearing a camo t-shirt and some grey sweatshorts. He was wearing a baseball hat, too. One of the friends was blond and the other one had a buzzcut with a nicely trimmed beard. Yes, they were cute; no, I did not ask if either of them had girlfriends,” you relayed, glancing at Fran out of the corner of your eye as she focused on the road. She thrummed her fingers on the steering wheel, humming as she digested the information you provided.
“You’re not getting murdered tomorrow, by the way. Old sorority sister went to high school with him. Said he’s sweeter than pie, albeit peculiar with his taste for critters. Can’t imagine that’s turnin’ you off, though,” she commented, giving her own sidelong glance at the new snake almanac in your lap. You insecurely slid it off your thigh and tucked it between the seat and the door.
“Oh, I’m just teasin’ ya. I’d be happy to trace my tongue over those tattoos, snake or not, so I get it. You’d better be the one to act on it so I can live vicariously through you. Maybe you’ll even be able to identify the species when he takes his shirt off,” Fran retorted casually. You choked on air in response, jerking your head away from the window view to look at her.
“Fran!”
“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” she teased innocently. At that, you smacked her arm, drawing a false wince from your friend.
“Ok, in all seriousness, you didn’t tell me how he managed to get his number in your phone—I know you gave him a hard time somehow. Stop withholding from me. I need to know how it all went down!” Fran cried. You laughed, shaking your head at her absurdity.
“Um… We were doing a bit about Yelp reviews.”
Stopped at a red light, Fran turned her head to look at you dead-on, her expression a mix of confusion and slight repulsion. She leaned forward to twist the knob down on the stereo.
“Sorry, what? I’m not sure I heard that right. It sounded like you said something about Yelp reviews.”
You shrugged, nodding to indicate that she heard you correctly. She groaned in disgust.
“If you guys are this sickenin’ now, I really don’t know how I’m gonna handle three weeks of this, bare minimum.”
Her comment, while made in jest, made your stomach drop. You let out a hollow laugh, hoping to mask your sudden shift in mood.
God, I knew it. I knew this wasn’t good for Fran. I’m being a horrible friend right now.
You changed the subject to ask about how Fran’s day at work was, desperately hoping to atone for your mistake. Fran narrowed her eyes at you, but allowed you to remove yourself from the center of attention.
The rest of the ride was spent doing one of two things: listening to Fran intermittently complain about her coworker who was meant to be helping her on a project but spent the whole day, according to Fran, “piddlin’ about”, and tossing around ideas about what to do in the apartment for the evening. By the time you arrived at her doorstep, you had firmly declared that Fran’s coworker was a certified dumbass and that you would make taco salad for dinner. After the taco salad, you would rewatch part of the first season of Sex and the City. Truthfully, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect evening, causing you to reminisce on how lovely it was to be able to spend your days with Fran back in college. It made you feel like you could really enjoy spending more time here in Alabama.
Entering the apartment, the two of you began your work in the kitchen, dancing around each other to switch places when you needed a new cooking utensil or more counter space. Fran had set up a speaker that, ultimately, made you unintentionally less productive. Many would attest to the fact that you can’t really use a spatula to stir ground beef if it is actively being used as a microphone. While Shania Twain led the two of you in explaining to men how that don’t impress you much, you chopped tomatoes along to the beat, swaying your hips while Fran swore off rocket scientists and Brad Pitt into her spatu-phone.
Ding.
The two of you stopped, eyes wide as saucers, Shania still echoing over the speaker.
Fran was faster than you.
She dove for your phone and, despite the fact that it was on the opposite end of the granite countertop, she reached it in record time. You huddled next to her, anxiously awaiting what it said.
“Fran, it’s really not a big deal. He’s just some guy. I only said yes because I figured it would give me something to do when I couldn’t hang out with you. No guy will ever be as interesting as us, remember!” you laughed nervously, lying through your teeth and trying to minimize how fast your heart was racing.
“Shut the hell up,” she murmured, holding up her hand to silence you, eyes skimming over the text.
“Hey, (y/n), it’s Rob. Do you wanna go on a creek walk tomorrow? Just let me know what you’re feeling and I can pick you up.”
Fran rose her eyes to you after reading the text aloud, mouth agape.
Ding.
Like a laser, her eyes were back on the screen. You clamored for the phone, snatching it out of her hands while she screeched out in laughter, doubling over. You ignored her and read the next text message.
(from: Rob Rausch) I should probably explain what that is. My fault. It’s something I do with my sisters all the time. We’ll go to the creek, but you’ll get to sit in a kayak while I pull you around and show you cool stuff. You don’t even have to get in the water if you don’t want to.
Holding your breath, you read the texts again, then looked at Fran as she attempted (and failed) to contain her fits of laughter.
“I—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he’s just—HAH! This is so cringe. He’s so cute. Oh man,” she sighed, wiping her eyes. “This is too good.” Fran reached for the phone to see the next text that came in.
“Nuh-uh! You don’t get to see them if you’re gonna make fun!” You cried, holding the phone out of her reach.
“Oh, come on, (y/n), I just can’t help it. You know damn well I would get the ick so bad if a man invited me on a creek walk, and I’m from Alabama. You would be the person to find it all attractive. I know you’re shittin’ your pants right now at the thought of that Adonis glistenin’ in a creek. And he doesn’t even know you brought home a book to do homework before your date tomorrow! Two dorks in love!” she exclaimed pointedly, leaning on the counter to catch her breath and softly slapping her hand on the granite. You pressed your mouth into a thin line, trying to will any expression of bashfulness off of your face at the thought of being in love. You looked back at your phone, realizing a few minutes had passed since Rob’s last text. Out of the kindness of your heart, you read the message out loud to Fran, receiving an exaggerated “aww!” in response.
Considering your words carefully, you typed out a reply while Fran watched you like a hawk.
(from: you) Hey, Rob! That sounds like fun! I’m not so sure I’ll be jumping in the water to hunt with you, but we’ll see. It will take an awful lot of convincing. For now, I’m happy to be chaperoned around the creek. Do I need to bring anything specific?
You held a bated breath.
Ding.
(from: Rob Rausch) Awesome. I asked my sister what you need to know. She said your butt might get a little wet in the kayak even if you don’t get in the water. She usually wears shorts and a t-shirt with a swimsuit under? And she said you’ll need to borrow some boots from our house. Probs want a hat for the sun. Bring sunscreen
Thinking back to what you had shoved into your suitcase, you realized you didn’t have a hat.
(from: you): Thanks! The only thing I don’t have is a hat. Got one to spare? If not, I’ll ask Fran. She just normally isn’t one to tamp down her hair.
You followed up the text with your shoe size to make sure that they had a pair of boots that would at least cover your feet. A moment later, you received a thumbs up reaction to your message and a follow-up text.
(from: Rob Rausch) Got you covered. Pick you up at 9?
(from: you) Sounds like a plan.
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a/n: imagine i made his first text “what up baddie”. sorry for timeskipping legit like 5 hours in the library i just didnt wanna deal with all that.
i gotta be honest like. its just not even about rob at this point for me! he seems like a great guy im kinda just having fun writing creatively! im finishing grad school so i write a ton of academic stuff and it gets BORINGGG
summary: in the wake of a breakup between your college best friend and her high school sweetheart, you hightail it to Alabama to be by her side. your intentions to stay for three weeks, fully dedicating yourself to comforting her, are dashed by handsome locals who love creatures that live under rocks. he really, really wasn't part of the plan.
author’s note: oh, the rob of it all. i haven’t written fanfiction since middle school. this means i am well and truly dickmatized. why he got alabama looking sexy though. disclaimer: i only know rob from traitors and i hope i did his personality justice thus far!
this is literally my first tumblr post in years after lurking with a new blog. that is how much this man has taken hold of me.
warnings: reader uses the lord’s name in vain several times, sorry to philosophy as a subject, reader is obviously all up in everybody’s business without worrying about herself, reader’s background is as nondescript as possible but she is not from alabama and she does not know shit about being in alabama. me neither girl. rob is also not famous from tv in this fic.
rob i know there is no chance that you know how to find fanfiction of yourself and you definitely do not know what tumblr is but please never read this. if you do not like rpf please keep scrolling, all respect to robert as a private citizen.
also fuck ai for bastardizing the em dash. I DO WHAT I WANT!!!
wc: 6.9k - PART 2 IS IMMINENT. i cannot rest with this man on my mind.
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“He did what?”
Your bed creaked violently as you sat up. The book you had been reading prior to Fran’s call lay discarded on the sheets, left hanging mid-sentence with no conclusion, that sudden stop feeling somewhat representative of the breath you had been holding since you heard her choked sobs after hitting “answer call”.
“No—I, you know, I guess I should have seen this coming, right? It was silly of me to come back. Everyone told me it was a bad idea. I should have listened. I never should have—”
“Fran. This is not on you.”
You propped your phone up with your shoulder, fearing missing out on any details in the half second it would take to switch to speakerphone. You reached over to your nightstand for your laptop, unable to shake the feeling that you were going to need to make a very important purchase soon. As Fran continued her story in between hiccups, you were absolutely certain that you had never been more well-positioned to kill a man with your bare hands. That fucking bastard. How sick would someone have to be to crush this beautiful girl?
Sweet, sweet Frannie Marie. She was the epitome of southern charm with the spirit of a bull. It was a chance meeting between the two of you in your second year of college that brought you such a dear friend. You had needed a general education credit in the humanities and, after a recommendation from an acquaintance who swore up and down that the professor was stellar, decided to take Introduction to Philosophy. Fran had just transferred from The University of Alabama, her freshman year having been enough evidence that she needed to experience life away from her home state. As a late transfer, Fran had little choice when it came to classes that actually satisfied any curricular requirements. Her advisor placed her in the same philosophy course. On the first day of classes, you watched Fran walk into the large lecture hall in her floral minidress and white cowboy boots. While not totally absurd for an outfit choice, she certainly looked out of place at your university. Despite her unusual getup, you remember noting that there was nothing in her demeanor that displayed a lack of confidence. She scanned the room deliberately, spotted the empty space next to you, marched up the stairs with determination, and plopped directly to your right. Her blue eyes glimmered when you turned to take her in. With her wide smile and thick southern drawl, you never could have expected what came next:
“Hi! My name’s Frannie Marie, but everyone calls me Fran. There is no class I would like to be in less than this one. Wanna be friends to make this experience more bearable?”
Her bluntness startled a laugh out of you. At the same time, you found her honesty and candor refreshing. You saw no reason to decline her request.
“Fran, I would love to be your friend.”
That was years ago. Now, you’re both in your mid-20s, working in your respective careers and finally achieving full independence. As a result, you found yourselves travelling down separate paths, but the bond that remained between you and Fran was inseparable since that day. Sometimes you joked that the class gave you an existential crisis not because of the content, but because you weren’t sure how you lived without Fran in your life for so long. You would have loved to stay living close to her, but once she finished her Bachelor’s degree, Fran realized that her years away from home brought back her love for Alabama. As they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder. That, and her high school sweetheart slid into her Instagram DMs the day after graduation. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder, apparently. It wasn’t long before she was signing a lease for a studio apartment in Florence, Alabama. You remember the moment she told you she was moving home with excruciating clarity. When she first told you about her upcoming trip to Florence, you gasped and exclaimed, “Oh my god, Italy? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? How long are you going to be gone for?”
The crestfallen look on her face at your reaction was all you needed to know. She wasn’t going to Italy. And she wasn’t planning on coming back.
Her move left you momentarily distraught, but not forlorn. If anyone asked you what your favorite thing about Fran was, your answer would be her heart and how willingly she gave it away. Even from miles away, you knew you would be able to feel the warmth of Fran’s love. You liked to think that you were a pretty friendly and upbeat person, but truly, you had nothing on Fran. While you loved her sunny disposition, there were multiple occasions over the years where you witnessed the abuse of her trusting nature, leaving Fran fragile and discarded like an old, used tissue. It broke your heart every time. She, despite it all, never stopped wearing her heart on her sleeve. This time, you were worried it would be different.
“I keep replaying it over in my head, (y/n). I can see him in the kitchen with her. He had his hand up her shirt. His lips on her neck. She was wearing a red bra. Her glass of wine—in my glass, with my wine in it—sitting on the kitchen island. The stupid fucking oven timer kept fucking beeping over and fucking over while I had to stand there and watch…”
Fran’s heightened anger descended into quiet sobs. Your brow creased with concern at the details she agonized over. This time couldn’t be different. You couldn’t let Fran face this on her own. You couldn’t let her stupid fucking idiot high school boyfriend be the one to shrivel her heart up all because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.
If anything should shrivel up, it should be his dick, you thought absentmindedly.
You lifted your laptop screen. Checking the timestamp on your phone call, you realized it took less than half an hour for you to start looking up flights to Alabama. God, you had never even been to Alabama in all the time you had known Fran, and now you were booking a flight after one thirty-minute conversation. After basking in a brief moment of shame, you pushed aside the guilty thought in favor of focusing on your friend. Yes, you hadn’t been to see her in the years since you had graduated, but you were coming to see her now. And you were going to make it count.
“Fran, do you still have a guest room in the apartment you’re in now?”
“...Yeah? Listen, (y/n), I don’t want to inconvenience you, that’s not why I called, I know you’re so busy with work and—”
You clicked a button. Your phone lit up with the credit card transaction notification.
“My flight is Friday. I have three weeks of PTO that expire at the end of the year and you’re at the top of my list. There is no one I’d rather see than you, especially right now. You’re never an inconvenience to me, as long as I’m not an inconvenience by staying with you. I can get a hotel room, if you prefer.”
Even though she was still sniffling, you could tell she was smiling by the tone of her voice when she whispered,
“You always have a place to stay with me. I can’t wait to show you Alabama”.
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The first thing you felt when de-boarding the plane was a wall of heat.
Ok, this is probably why you hadn’t come to Alabama before.
Shrugging off your discomfort in your cozy but way-too-warm flight attire, you lugged your suitcase through the terminal up to the closest map. As you approached the display, you took out your phone to call Fran and let her know that you were ready to be picked up. The phone rung only once before you heard her voice through the speaker,
“I’m already here. Get your ass outside. I’ve waited far too long to see you.”
You laughed giddily, struck with a newfound exhilaration in the midst of your heat exhaustion. With how busy your life had been since graduation, you really, really needed this time with your best friend, regardless of the unfortunate circumstances that brought you here with her. As instructed, you picked up a brisk pace toward the parking loop labeled for arrivals. Your speed walk turned into a generous jog once you spotted her blue SUV on the side of the road. As soon as you walked through the automatic doors, Fran hastily rounded her car to scoop you into a bone-crushing hug. You responded in kind, dropping your luggage next to you on the curb.
“Frannie, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”
“Oh, you have no idea, darlin’,” she whispered into your hair. After you both gained awareness that you may be creating some unnecessary traffic by sitting in the pick-up loop at the airport, you separated from your hug and loaded your suitcases into the trunk of her car. Quickly, you hopped into the passenger’s seat, sighing in relief at the blast of air conditioning.
“Yeah, maybe I should’ve given you better advice on appropriate attire for Alabama at the end of August. We can always do a bit of shopping if necessary,” Fran paused and laughed, “But of course, shopping is always necessary.”
You laughed in agreement, a warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. Yeah, this was a good idea. A few weeks with Fran would not only patch her up, but you, too. Guitar strums and Toby Keith filtered through the radio, mixed in with the hum of the air conditioning pumping away and your incessant chatter, giving you a distinct impression that yes, you had finally made it to Alabama. The drive from the airport to Fran’s apartment went by in a blur—two hours had nothing on the years of catching up you had to do. You mostly discussed the pleasantries of life since graduation, deciding to wait for some privacy within the walls of Fran’s apartment to broach the subject of her breakup. While Fran showed extreme interest in your love life, you were sorry to disappoint her by telling her that it had been a bit of a dry spell lately. By lately, you meant the last few years.
“Fran, let’s just be real for a second. No man will ever be as interesting as us.”
Fran laughed joyously, “Truer words have never been spoken. I knew that philosophy class would pay off.”
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Gravel crunched underneath tires as you and Fran pulled up the road to her apartment complex. As she made the turn into a parking spot near her front door, you noticed her shoulders had begun to sag. She had spent the last few nights here alone, stuck replaying visions of her cheating boyfriend. Naturally, coming home left her with a less-than-cheerful demeanor. You leaned across the armrest to rub her shoulder comfortingly.
“Let’s get inside so we can catch up,” You suggested. If there was anything Fran hated more than cheating boyfriends, it was showing the world that she could feel sorrow.
You opened the door, stepped out of the car, and opened the trunk, reaching inside for the handle of your luggage. As Fran shut off the engine, you became acutely aware of the background noise in Alabama. Critters you couldn’t even begin to name echoed chirps, hums, and chatters. You peeked around the trunk to look Fran in the eye.
“I’m not gonna find a snake in my bed one night, am I?”
Fran laughed.
“Oh, come on. Probably not. But I promise you, it’s not that bad down here. Besides, we’ve got lots of cute animals, too. Even cute snakes!”
You raised an eyebrow skeptically, but chose to roll your luggage behind Fran as she sorted through her keys on the walk to her front door. With a final metallic rattle, she stuck the key into the lock, turned the knob, and gave a grand gesture to allow you in.
“Welcome to Casa de Fran!” she exclaimed in an exaggerated southern accent, butchering every possible Spanish-accurate pronunciation you know she could have attempted. You cackled at her amplified hospitality, rolling past her into the space. It was quite spacious and airy, white walls with white furniture, but the accents made it truly Fran. Floral pillowcases and a gallery wall featuring knick-knacks from her lifetime gave the apartment a lived-in feel. You kicked off your shoes and progressed into the apartment, Fran locking the door behind you. As much as you wanted to explore the space, you let go of your luggage halfway into the hallway and turned toward Fran. In just a few strides, you engulfed her in another hug, this one more gentle than the greeting you shared at the airport. Fran tucked her head into your shoulder, sighing.
“It means the world to me that you’re here. I don’t know if I could’ve handled one more night in this apartment alone. I thought about looking for ways to break my lease so that I could leave behind any memories of him here,” Fran sniffled. You held her tighter.
“I’m sorry that it took me so long to be here with you. I promise I won’t wait for disaster to strike before I visit you again,” you asserted. Taking a look around, you added,
“Fran, leaving this place just because of him would be a mistake. You should stay if you love it here. I remember how excited you were to come home to Florence, even though you were so worried about leaving me behind. I think that making new memories in this apartment would be a lot more fun than mourning old ones, don’t you?”
Fran looked up at you and smiled. She nodded softly. You took in her expression, then guided her to the couch.
“How are you feeling? Obviously, not great, I’m sure, but I’m here to talk about it all if you want. You guys were together for a long time. Are you feeling okay about leaving him?” you questioned. Fran scoffed in response.
“God, yeah. I probably should have left him a lot sooner. The cheating was just the last straw.”
Fran dove into her stories, explaining that her ex fell short of her expectations ever since the day she moved home, but that she was attached to the idealization of high school sweethearts. Plus, she had already sacrificed so many new opportunities in favor of moving back to Florence. While her relocation wasn’t entirely for him, he definitely played a role in her return. Despite her efforts, he didn’t take her out, didn’t show her off, and certainly didn’t seem to care about what she had to say. You held your tongue at that revelation, resisting the urge to suggest slashing his tires in the dead of night. He, too, seemed a bit obsessed with the concept of a high school sweetheart, choosing to brandish the title rather than cherish the girl herself. They clung together mostly out of familiarity, and she knew she hadn’t been in love with him for months. Witnessing him cheating was heartbreaking because she had to see it with her own eyes, but she was actually able to get out of bed and go about her life only a few days after the breakup. She had already mentally checked out of the relationship. You nodded along as she explained, pressing your lips in a thin line. How had you missed all of this in your periodic phone calls over the last few years? If someone had asked you, you would have said that things were going decently well between the couple. At that realization, you swore that this trip would be solely focused on Fran and enjoying your friendship. You didn’t want any distractions from taking care of your friend when she needed you most.
“I know you’re worried about me, but I promise that I’m probably better than I seem. Like I said, I probably should have left months ago, and I knew it. The momentum kept me going, but my heart wasn’t in it. Truly, I’m just ready to have fun with my girls,” Fran explained, grin forming at the end of her sentence. You smiled back and nodded in agreement.
“With that being said, I think you’re overdue for the grand tour of Casa de Fran,” She winked, grabbing your wrist and walking you into the kitchen on the first stop of her tour.
After a jaunt around her two bedroom apartment, coupled with colorful narration explaining all of the decor choices, Fran looked at you with a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she reached into her closet.
“I got you something.”
At that, you gave Fran your best disappointed-but-I-still-love-you frown.
“Fran, this trip was about you. You absolutely should not have gotten me something.”
“I know, but you’ll thank me when you’re not traipsing around Alabama in whatever poor excuse for sneakers you wore for comfort on the plane.”
You scoffed, but it held no real weight behind it. She was right; your beat-up New Balances probably wouldn’t stand a chance against Alabama muck. All you could hope was that she didn’t spend a fortune on whatever was in the box she removed from her closet. Fran turned around, and when you saw the bolded TECOVAS across the top of the box, your heart sank. Yeah, okay, all hopes of something affordable were immediately dashed. Fran handed you the shoebox with her most innocent smile. You, in return, stared at her agape.
“Fran,” you started sternly.
“I won’t hear it. I threw away the receipt. Or maybe I didn’t, just in case they don’t fit you and we have to exchange them for a different size. You’ll never know.”
You hesitantly lifted the lid, the smell of tooled leather immediately filling your nose. A gorgeous, pristine pair of classic brown cowboy boots sat nestled amongst the tissue paper. You looked back up at Fran.
“I can’t believe you.”
“I know, I’m amazing. It comes naturally.”
You gave a good-natured scoff and shook your head. Knowing that Fran would rather you fly all the way back home than not accept her gift, you removed the boots from the box and slipped one onto your foot to test the sizing. They were a perfect fit. At the sight, Fran clasped her hands together in satisfaction.
“As if this day couldn’t get any better! Now, you’re an honorary Alabamian. The last thing left to do is to take these boots out to the bar for a little wear-and-tear!”
Your eyes crinkled with laughter. She certainly knew how to be persuasive.
“Alright, Fran, let’s do it. What does a girl wear to the bar in Alabama, anyway?”
Fran’s eyes shimmered. You made a mental note to not let her dress you in anything too far out of your comfort zone, at least for the first few nights here. You held out a hand to pause her ravenous desire to redo your entire wardrobe and suggested,
“How about we start with something basic?”
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In the process of getting ready for the bar, Fran contacted her friend Jeanne and asked her to go out with you two. You were thrilled at the prospect of meeting Fran’s friends from home, especially the potential for hearing juicy childhood stories that Fran was too embarrassed to tell.
Knowing that your friend would appreciate the ability to let loose tonight (and, once again, hoping to hear some good stories without forgetting them the next day), you offered to be the designated driver so that the two of them could enjoy a few drinks with no worries. Fran had suggested your new boots, jeans, and a fitted white tee for your first Alabama outing, but she promised grand plans for the future of your western-inspired wardrobe. Her determination to turn you into a darling from down South made you chuckle. You expressed some concern about “fitting in” with the Alabama bar scene, but Fran promised that you couldn’t go wrong with denim in this town. Her and Jeanne had picked a dive bar they frequented pre-Thanksgiving when they returned home from college on break. You, with no prior knowledge of the place, were immediately convinced to go by the lure of a foosball table and good music. Jeanne arrived at 7:30 PM and, now all together, you drove Fran’s car into town. Tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the music, you eagerly anticipated the fun night ahead with nothing to worry about but your friend.
As the three of you pushed open the double doors to the dive bar, you made note of two things: a foosball table and a jukebox, just as promised. You gasped, quickly determining which item was of greater importance in that moment. You promptly made a beeline to the jukebox, deciding that you would queue up some music behind whoever else had already put their quarters in the machine. As you scrolled through the selection options, most of them country by genre, you spotted the perfect song.
When in Alabama, I guess, you thought to yourself as you hit the button on the digital display.
You turned away from the jukebox to see Fran and Jeanne watching amusedly from the bar, having already placed their orders. You let out an unabashed laugh, stalking back toward them with a twinkle in your eye. It had been a while since you travelled away from home, and you forgot the joyous feeling of not caring what anyone else in the room thought about you. The bar was decently occupied, but not nearly as crowded as you would expect a bar to be on a Friday night. Surprisingly, you found the number of patrons to be a great comfort. An overbearing crowd would be far too difficult to navigate the room freely, but there was enough chatter to keep your conversations private from most of the other bargoers. Reaching the counter, you politely asked the bartender for a glass of water before he walked away to help other customers. Taking gentle hold of your drink, you turned your attention to the empty foosball table, then back to your companions.
“Alright, who’s game?”
The three of you rushed over to the table, laughing the entire way. You immediately planted your glass on the small table occupying the space in the corner, exaggerating your stance over the foosball table like you were about to challenge your friends to a gunfight. You pretended to hover your hand over your imaginary gun holster, wiggling your fingers in anticipation of some gunslinging. As Fran and Jeanne mimicked your pose on the other side of the foosball table, you graciously provided some “waow waowww waow” vocals characteristic of classic western movie standoffs. The game was afoot. You leaned forward, taking grip of the foosball controls and playing against Jeanne with all of your might. The winner would face Fran, the reigning foosball champion. It was a solid ten minutes of back-and-forth before you finally had to admit defeat. Fran held up Jeanne’s closed fist like she had just won a WWE match. For you, at least, that was basically what it was, given your grueling effort. You all decided to take a break before Jeanne and Fran played, plopping down into the seats at the corner table you left your drinks on. You took the opportunity to ask Jeanne about her life, her career, and her experience growing up in Alabama. With not quite enough drinks in her to release any crazy stories about Fran, you decided to share a few of your own embarrassing high school stories in solidarity of what was to come later. The three of you laughed comfortably, feeling like a close group of friends, despite you and Jeanne having met only an hour ago. As your chuckles subsided, you noticed Fran wasn’t looking at you, but rather past you. A wicked grin spread slowly across her face.
“Don’t look now, but the guy with the white shirt and tattoos beneath the neon Pabst sign has been making eyes at you for the last fifteen minutes.”
You tried to subtly glance over your shoulder, ignoring her advice about waiting to peek. As soon as you saw the guy she was referring to, you reeled back like you had been struck across the face. You slapped a hand over your mouth to retain your gasp.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Fran!” You hissed, “That is a Greek god. I can’t even look at him, it’s like looking directly into the sun,” You took a quick look back over your shoulder to see if he was still looking at you. He smirked. You gripped Fran’s bicep tightly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not looking at me like that. He’s just looking at me because we were being loud. What the hell are they putting in the water here? Oh my god.” You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. He was looking right at you when you had such a visceral reaction to his gorgeous face. He probably thought you were a total weirdo now, regardless of whatever attractiveness he thought of you before. You dragged your hands down your face in exasperation, then turned your body to the full attention of Fran.
“Besides, Fran, what if he’s looking at you?” you pitched nervously, hoping to take the attention off yourself. “You have that post-breakup glow about you!”
She barked out a laugh with startling suddenness, implying that there was no way in hell he was looking at her. You raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, smiling.
“Nevermind. Would you mind grabbing us a few more drinks from the bar? Jeanne owes me a foosball match. She’s been eggin’ me on since she won, and you know I won’t back down from a challenge.”
Without waiting for your answer, Fran and Jeanne hustled over to the foosball table, snickering all the way about something or other. You watched on with some confusion, but disregarded it, thinking that it was best to attend to your friend in her time of need. You approached the bar, flagged down the bartender, and placed an order for two bottles of Miller Light and another glass of water. While the bartender popped the bottlecaps off the beer, you reached for your cup, seeking to cool off what remained of the day’s heat and the exhaustion of your foosball loss.
“We’re matching.”
You coughed slightly on your sip. Turning, you saw the very handsome man that Fran swore was giving you eyes earlier. Oh, sweet Jesus. Send lightning down and strike me now.
“What?”
“We’re matching. White tee, jeans, and boots,” He gestured to your outfit and his as a means of explanation.
You furrowed your brow and let out a genuine laugh. Out of all the things you would expect a man to say when approaching you at a bar, that might have been on the bottom of the list. Regardless of the absurdity, you were glad it wasn’t some sleazy pickup line. It had been a while since you were able to give a man at a bar a real laugh, not a fake one.
“Probably hard not to match with someone with an outfit like this around here,” you replied. He smirked, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity. He took a seat on the stool next to where you were standing and leaned his elbow on the bar, body language conveying that he had no intention of leaving that spot any time soon.
“Where’re you from? I haven’t seen you here before, and, besides the complications of matching boots with fellow Alabamians, it’s also hard not to run into people who’re from this area. That accent of yours definitely doesn’t scream Alabama.” He looked over to the bartender and casually raised a hand with a comfortable familiarity. You took the opportunity to note (okay, marvel) at his tattoos. Snakes, critters, skulls… huh. Your eye traced the line of a snake that went up his bicep and disappeared underneath his shirt sleeve. It was only natural that your mind wandered to what the tattoo looked like in full.
“Joe, I’ll get another beer and I’ll cover the glass of whatever she’s having.”
You laughed.
“You’ll be pleasantly surprised when you see the tab, then. Just water for tonight. I’m the DD.”
The stranger smiled at your jest and turned back to Bartender Joe. “Two waters, then,” He corrected, holding two fingers up.
At that, you raised a brow, but said nothing. Rather than comment on how flattering it was that he wanted to be sober with you in a bar, you answered his previous question about where you’re from instead. He nodded in understanding and opened his mouth to ask another question. Just then, you realized that the two bottles of Miller Light were starting to create rings of condensation on the bartop. Your thoughts shifted to the task of getting the beers back to your friends before they turn lukewarm.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I should probably run these over to—”
“(y/n), thank you! Don’t worry about us, we’ve got our beers. I’m on a hot streak in foosball and Jeanne had the audacity to challenge me in a rematch! We’ll catch up in a bit,” Fran smirked as she strode up to the bar, taking the two bottles by the neck and tossing you a wink. You looked over your shoulder at her and widened your eyes in a desperate cry for help. She simply turned her back on you and walked back to the dim corner with the foosball table. At the moment, it looked mostly untouched.
Curse you, Fran. Curse you for leaving me with this incredibly handsome stranger. Curse you for creating a ploy so I have to put myself out there.
Just then, the song you requested on the jukebox played its opening notes. Cowboy Take Me Away by The Chicks. You cringed at the insinuation. The stranger laughed, immediately detecting the reaction.
“Is this what you queued up when you came in?”
You froze, unsure of how to respond, not even registering that he just implied he was watching you when you walked in. You knew how this looked. Some city girl wanders into a bar in Alabama just to satisfy her cowboy fetish. God, you could see the headlines now. Would they crucify you for that in a town like this?
“Well—I mean, yes, but also I just felt like it was fitting, and I love The Chicks, and I—”
The stranger’s laugh cut off your rambling, thankfully. He spun his glass of water around the bartop, looking at you intently.
“Well, my next question was going to be, ‘what brings you to Alabama?’. So, you’re not here looking to find a cowboy to take you away?” he grinned. You felt like a shriveled raisin in the sun of his smile. Taking a moment to gather yourself in hopes that you wouldn’t embarrass yourself further, you answered his question honestly, deciding that the real answer was likely better than any flirtatious response you could construct in your flustered state.
“My friend who picked up the beers went through a bad breakup. I thought it was the perfect time to finally come visit her hometown and keep her company,” Then, without thinking better of it, you added cheekily, “But, if a cowboy just so happens to want to take me away, then who am I to question the advice of The Almighty Chicks?”
At your response, his eyes twinkled. His grin turned into a smirk. You smiled back, pleased that your teasing was taken well.
“I’m Rob,” he stuck out the hand that wasn’t resting on the bar for you to shake. You took it with as much confidence as you could muster in his gaze.
“(y/n). It’s nice to meet you, Rob.”
“Likewise.”
You suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that this stranger had just asked you two questions and you had asked him none. Your parents hadn’t raised you to be so impolite. You decided that now would be the best time to rectify the situation and ask him some questions in return. After all, you were just making polite conversation with absolutely no ulterior motives at all. You were here for Fran, of course. No other reason. Certainly not to fall in love with handsome guys who sport snake tattoos.
“So, Rob, you seem awfully familiar with this place. Are you from here?”
“I am. Born and raised. Lived here through high school, left for a while in search of a great something, then came back when I realized the great somethings were already here.”
You smiled at his obvious adoration for his hometown.
“You remind me of my friend Fran. Maybe you know her? She went to high school here, too.” You jerked a thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the foosball table, looking over to make sure Fran was still there. She was, albeit looking at you deviously. You turned back to tune into Rob’s response. He looked past you at Fran and opened his mouth to speak. What you didn’t see, then, was the slight shake of her head, signaling that he answer in the negative to whatever question you just asked. Rob finally answered, coughing slightly at the start of his response.
“Uh, I don’t think so. Fairly big school, despite what people think about Alabama. Maybe we ran into each other at some point.”
You nodded in understanding. You hoped that you didn’t insult him by implying he lived in some podunk town. He didn’t seem too concerned by your comment, so you let it slide.
“Well, tell me something that people don’t think about Alabama, then. I’d hate to be walking around here in ignorance,” you requested, now resting your elbow on the bartop, putting your chin in your palm. Rob seemed a bit taken aback at your inquiry, but also pleased. He smiled and chuckled when he responded,
“Walking around in the creek with water filling your boots is actually the best damn feeling in the world. Could be made better if you find a few snakes and other critters along the way.”
Your eyes widened, a surprised laugh escaping you. You nodded your head in acquiescence, deciding to take his word for it.
“I’ve never walked in a creek before. I’ve certainly never hunted for ‘snakes and other critters’. Don’t assume that means I’m opposed to trying, though,” you held out a hand to pause any presumptions he might make about your personality. You don’t want to be made out as some unyielding city-slicker. “I’m sure people always ask you about your tattoos, and you’re probably sick of answering because the tattoo question is way overused, but now I have to inquire about the snake situation. Just remember that you’re the one who brought it up,” you warned, pointing your finger in his direction. His eyes lit up, and you felt like your bones were melting. This is not good.
“You’re right, the tattoo question is a bit well-worn, but I can’t complain when it gives me an excuse to talk about stuff I love,” he admitted. He sat up straighter, no longer leaning onto the counter, seeming refreshed by the topic of conversation. He explained that he mostly made a living by working with his family on their land, but that he held a passion for all the scaly, slimy creatures Alabama had to offer. He had a social media page dedicated to hunting for snakes and educating people about them. Rob swore up and down that snakes got a bad rap and, while some were certainly dangerous, that didn’t mean they weren’t “deservin’ of a little love” (his words, not yours). The comment made you wonder if you might be deservin’ of a little love, too. You were definitely softer than a snake, and you didn’t bite nearly as hard. You mentally shook yourself out of your thoughts.
Don’t objectify this man who’s pouring his heart out about his passions. And certainly, don’t you dare ditch your friends for a man you just met at a bar. That’s a horrible thing to do. You always hate the characters on TV who do that. It is a horrible thing to do, right? Even though your friends encouraged it?
“Well, Rob, I have to admit that I trend on the side of fear when it comes to things with no legs or far too many legs,” you started, “but, you’ve piqued my curiosity. I honestly just haven’t really taken the time to learn much about stuff like that,” you finished with a shrug. He hummed in acknowledgement, seeming to have expected that answer, but he didn’t show any signs of real disappointment. In the quiet lull of conversation, you added, “I guess that’s all fear is, really. Just not understanding things properly… maybe I’ll learn more about that stuff,” you trailed off quietly, a little lost in thought. Ok, there was either something radiating off this guy that was making you start to go crazy, or you really were just contemplating how safely you’ve been living your life while in the middle of a dive bar in Alabama. After a conversation about snakes. He gave a soft smile at your thoughtful comment. He looked like he had wanted to ask you something else, but your conscience got the better of you.
“Rob, it was really, really nice to meet you. I’ll be in town for a few weeks, so maybe I’ll see you around. I promise I’m not ditching you for any particular reason, but I really should be getting back to my friends,” you supplied guiltily, lifting yourself off the stool and grabbing your drink. He got up in turn, looking a bit reluctant to let you go, but nodded in understanding. You smiled at him as you turned on your heel, adamant to force your feet back to the corner table without looking back at him.
This is not what this trip is about. You cannot go developing little crushes while your friend is putting her own heart back together, you chided yourself mentally. As you neared the table occupied by Jeanne and Fran, you certainly didn’t expect to be greeted with a dirty look.
“Um, hi to you, too?” you questioned. Fran narrowed her glare.
“What are you doing back here? You were hittin’ it off with that hottie!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air incredulously and smacking you on the arm. You snorted.
“Come on, Fran. We were just chatting. Besides, I’m here with the girls! I’m certainly not bringing a one-night stand back to your apartment,” you remarked with an eyeroll. Fran threw her hands up once again, clearly exhausted by your actions.
“Who said anything about a one-night stand! God, I love you, but you can be so ridiculous sometimes,” she bemoaned. You shook your head at her antics, standing firmly in your belief that your responsibility tonight was her, not a man.
“If you’re really adamant about me seeing him, I can probably find him online. He was talking about how he has an Instagram page dedicated to his creature-hunting.”
Fran rose an eyebrow doubtfully.
“Ok, so what’s his name?”
“Rob.”
“Rob what?”
Your eyes widened slightly. Ok, maybe you weren’t as vigilant about asking questions as you thought. A last name probably would have been helpful in your quest to find this man again. Could you really find him online with just the name “Rob” and the word “snake”? As soon as Fran pointed out your dire mistake, Jeanne started to hiccup and clutch the edge of the table.
“Guys, I think I’m ready to head back. I’m not feeling too well,” she murmured, half hunched over.
Fearing the worst, you grabbed your purse and started to usher the girls out the door, hoping to not get vomit on your new Tecovas or in Fran’s car. You didn’t even have time to spare another glance at the man wearing a white shirt, jeans, and boots standing underneath the neon Pabst sign, clearly watching you walk away.
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a/n: fran clocked your ass loll. whadda hell is fran up to... i know what YOU'RE up to. always worrying about everyone but your damn self. smh. hope the end wasn't too corny. i love a corny plotline. <3
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