Page 69 of Regretting Youu

Chapter Eighteen

Clara

Miller slides his tray onto the table next to me. “Your mother hates me.” He casually opens a can of soda and takes a drink.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell him he’s wrong. “That makes two of us.”

He swings his head in my direction. “You both hate me?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No. My mother hates both of us.” I mindlessly spin my water bottle on the table. “We got into an argument after you walked away. Not about you. Just about . . . stuff. She kind of hurt my feelings.”

Miller isn’t so casual now. He can see I’m bothered by it, so he turns toward me, ignoring the food in front of him. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. We’re just in a rut.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead to the side of my head. “I’m sorry this year sucks for you.” He plants a quick kiss on the side of my head and then pulls back, grabbing the pickle spear from his plate and putting it on mine. “You can have my pickle. Maybe that’ll help?”

“How do you know I like pickles?”

Miller smiles a little. “I’ve spent three years trying not to stare at you while you eat lunch. Creepy, I know.”

“But also sweet.”

He grins. “That’s me in a nutshell. A sweet creep.”

“Such a sweet creep.”

Lexie drops her tray onto the table across from us. “I want a sweet creep. Found me a boyfriend yet?”

“Not yet,” Miller says. “It’s only been four hours since you put in a request.”

Lexie rolls her eyes. “Listen to you, talking about time like it matters. You’re the one kissing my best friend within minutes of dumping a girl you dated for a year.”

I groan. “Be nice, Lexie. Miller doesn’t know you well enough yet to be the butt of your sarcasm.”

“It’s not sarcasm. He literally dumped his girlfriend and jumped right into a relationship with you.” She looks at Miller. “Is that inaccurate?”

Miller doesn’t look like she’s pushing any of his buttons. He pops a chip into his mouth. “It is quite accurate,” he says. He looks at me and winks. “Clara knows what’s up, though.”

“Well, I don’t,” Lexie says. “I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know your middle name. Is it also a brand of beer?”

I turn to Miller when her question sinks in. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize your first and last name are brands of beer.”

“It wasn’t intentional. Miller was my mother’s maiden name.” He faces Lexie. “It’s Jeremiah.”

“So normal,” Lexie says, seemingly disappointed. She eats a spoonful of pudding and sucks on the spoon for a second. She pops it out of her mouth and points at Miller. “Who’s your best friend, Miller Jeremiah Adams? Is he hot? Single?”

“They’re all hot and single,” Miller says. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Lexie shrugs. “I’m not picky. I prefer blond men with blue eyes. Someone with a dry sense of humor. A little rude. Hates spending time with people. Doesn’t mind a girlfriend who has a shopping addiction and likes to be right about everything. Athletic. Taller than six foot. And Catholic.”

I laugh. “You aren’t even Catholic.”

“Yeah, but Catholics are strict and have to confess a lot, so he might sin less than, say, a Baptist.”

“Your reasoning is so, so flawed,” I say.

“I know just the guy,” Miller says, standing up. “Want me to go get him?”