“It ain’t right,” Pistol said as he hopped out of the old truck at the Tast-E-Freeze, “You know Sweet’s bout t’ask her out.”
“Now see,” Bubba countered, “We only knows that cuz we read his jur’null. He woulda trusted us, this whole sit-ee-ashun coulda been avoided.” Pistol sighed and followed Bubba to the window.
“Hey Becky,” Pistol said shyly. He could see why Sweet wanted to ask her out; she was cute, freckles and all.
“Hey there, Pistol,” Becky answered with a smile that could charm the stink off a skunk. Pistol blushed, but not Bubba.
“What, now how-de-do for me?”
The smile turned to a smirk, “Hey Bubba. What kin I getchu’ boys?” She made Southern sound good.
“Funny you should ask, darlin’,” came Bubba’s suave rejoinder in his best smooth talking voice, “How’s about this Fri…”
Pistol blurted, “Don’t say yes! He’s only askin’ you cuz he knows Sweet’s gonna ask you tonight at the, um…” But he stopped; he knew that look in Bubba’s eye. If he started running now, he might make it home alive.