Her head pops up. “No.”
I push my plate away, leaning my elbows on the counter. “Where did you grow up?”
Millie comes around the side of the island, sitting on the stool next to me. She takes a bite of food, chews, then swallows. “Columbus.”
“Home of the Buckeyes.”
“Stand up and cheer,” she chants. “Cheer loud and long for old O-H-I-Ohhh.” Millie takes another breath, ready for the next line.
Despite my mood, I laugh. “Alright,” I cut her off. “I get it. You’re a Buckeye.”
She smiles, and just like at the lake, I’m drawn to her mouth. The way her lips split wide, making her straight white teeth visible.
I stare at the taco meat falling out of my half-eaten tortilla, uncomfortable with this strange sensation of wanting to keep looking when I haven’t noticed the opposite sex in years.
She makes a buzzing noise. “Wrong. I’m a Minuteman. My dad loves the Buckeyes. I know the songs from watching football games growing up.” She takes another generous bite of her taco.
“Are you not a football fan then?”
She chokes on her food, coughing.
Her eyes water and I panic. “Millie?”
She keeps coughing.
I pound on her back, my throat constricting. “Do you need a drink?”
She takes the glass I slide in front of her and gulps. Millie swallows, then lets out a few more lung-hacking coughs. Placing a hand on her chest, she chokes out, “Sorry. Food went down the wrong tube.”
“Are you okay?”
She swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her voice comes out scratchy and low. “I’ll be fine. And yes, I enjoy watching football, but I’m not a diehard fan like my dad or Evie.”
I’m a little surprised Evie hasn’t turned her into a raving fan. Our family gathers every weekend to watch football, grill steaks, and play flag football during halftime. Actually, why hasn’t Evie brought Millie to one of our family football weekends before? They’ve been roommates long enough. Maybe the two-hour drive has kept Millie away? Hmm. Something I’d have to ask Evie about later. “Bummer. I was looking forward to seeing you at our tailgate parties. We paint our chests and everything.” Okay, that’s a lie. I did it once and cried like a baby scrubbing the sticky crap off my chest hair.
Never again.
“Evie hasn’t shown me pictures, which means it never happened.”
Kids these days. I shake my head. “Whatever happened to blind faith?”
“Whatever happened to telling the truth?”
“I have gone to a football game with a painted chest before.”
Millie's gaze drifts to my chest. Her cheeks go pink again and she takes another bite.
A slow smile spreads across my lips. “Wishing I was still in my swim trunks?”
She spits out her food, half-chewed taco spraying everywhere.
Gross. But I also can’t stop the laugh bursting out of me. Maybe I cut Millie off too soon. Giving her a chance to become my friend might be the perfect solution for keeping me sane over the next few months.
“I’m so sorry!” She shoots off her stool, taking her plate with her. Dropping her dish in the sink, she grabs the rag draped over the faucet and wipes her splatters of food off the counter. Her face is as red as a bell pepper.
I shove the last bite of my now-cold taco into my mouth. I’m hiding my smirk by eating. Seeing her reaction gives my self-esteem a much-needed boost. With a smile, I take my empty plate to the sink, rinse off the drops of meat juice, then stack my dish, and Millie’s, into the dishwasher. “Did you still want a tour?” Unbelievably, I’m enjoying this conversation with Millie, and I’m not quite ready to go up to my room yet.
She slowly approaches the sink, washes out the cloth she used, then backs out of the room like she’s afraid I’ll attack her or something.