Yee Haw Imagines

Outlaws Like Us - Riley Green

It's the CMT's tonight and your husband was nominated for album of the year for Different Round Here.

It shocked both of you considering how little buzz it's gotten.

You take the curlers out of your hair and run your fingers through them, gently tossing them over your shoulder, sighing softly at your reflection.

You're so not into this.

You'd so much rather be curled up in a lawn chair with Riley next to you and his guitar in his arms, his dog at your feet and a warm fire going in front of you but you're going to this dumb political event with him instead.

"You sure you wanna go? I know how much you'd rather not go."

"No, I'm going to support you whether you like it or not, Riley Green." You shoot back with a smile as you start unbuttoning the ATL Braves jersey you stole from him. "Now hush up and get dressed."

You lean up to kiss him cutely then sway your hips as you walk away to the closet for your dress.

Oh how you wish this deep green dress was a pair of sweats and one of his hoodies.

Ugh.

You step into the dress and pull it up, huffing when you realize you can't reach the damn zipper in the back.

"Are you havin' troubles, my dear?" Riley asks teasingly from the threshold, his belt in his hand.

"Pfft, no." You scoff playfully then look at your reflection. "Maybe, help." You whine, carefully moving your hair over your shoulder so he can zip your dress. "Up!" You snap when you feel your dress get looser.

He stops then zips it the right direction, you can't see it but you know there's a small smirk on his face.

After all you've been married for almost four years now- been dating for ten.

You turn with the hands on your hips and smile up at him, that smile fading then you see him in his unbuttoned white shirt tucked into his black pants and that goddamn gold chain around his neck.

You're all dolled up and he looks so casually dressed.

"I'm overdressed."

"You look fine." He reassures you, checking his watch. "We gotta get goin' in a couple minutes."

You nod, reaching over to button his shirt up.

His hands on yours stops you. "We can be fashionably late, right?" He asks, his eyes stuck on your chest in that dress you're wearing.

"Don't mess up my hair."