The B.I.

Seven years ago today, I reluctantly accompanied my then best friend to the Brandin' Iron (more affectionately referred to as The B.I *must have strong southern twang when you say that) for her birthday.
"Seriously? That's where you want to go?! Why? All they have there are "cowboys" and Marines."
Friend, "Yep, that's where we're going."
Me: "Damn."
My other friend and I sat at our little table and scoured the place for any decent looking guys.
"That one, there. He's mine," I say.
"Fine, I'll take his friend," she concedes.
Total hottie. Blue sweater that hugged his ripped up body, blue eyes and a killer smile. I totally threw THE LOOK at him for what seemed like forever. He wasn't making a move. What the crap?!
So, I took matters into my own hands. Another friend was gonna ride the bull (yeah, it was THAT kind of place), which was directly behind The Dude's table. I "accidently" shoulder-checked The Dude as I walk by, flash a smile and a wink and perch myself in front of the mechanical bull.
A few minutes later he comes over and rattles off some lame pick up line...crickets...
"Good Morning Beautiful," by Steve Holy comes on. I LOVE that song. I told him I was going to dance and he could come too, if he wanted. So that is "our song" now.
At the end of the night he asked for my number. I gave it to him. You should have seen the looks on my friends faces. I didn't give out my number, ever. He was convinced it was a fake. I assured him it wasn't. He gave me the sweetest kiss on the cheek and the rest is history.

I love you Dude.