“You are such an i***t,” he says very quietly.
I protest. Why would he think so? He starts counting reasons, which, I admit, sound plausible. She has stood me up before. Then I remember how I met Millie in the first place and I stop him to say that, regardless of whether she calls me, I have to be in town on Sunday afternoon for my father’s annual professor-student mixer at my parent’s house. That was where I first met Millie. And he knows that I enjoy going to my father’s party to get some chuckles from all the freshmen trying to impress the professors.
“Oh. Well, I can see that,” he says in a disappointed manner. “I just thought you could use a good time.”
He’s on his feet, suddenly, stretching his arms and back, and then he’s off to the bar with both of our glasses. When he returns,
