Kiernan and Montana aren't looking for complicated in their Chicago summer, but somehow complicated has found them.
[co-written with @w1ldflow3r]
[extended summary inside]
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I'd only ever attended the annual Harvard-Yale football game.
I didn't derive any entertainment from watching guys tackle each other, do some standing around, and tackle each other again. I also didn't particularly like people who were obsessive about doing just that, but I always made an exception for the Harvard-Yale game. That game was more about rivalry and fueling Ivy League egos, so of course I had to take part in the shenanigans that unfolded as a result.
I'd assumed Harvard-Yale was the only football game I'd ever consider attending after I graduated, and yet I'd proved myself wrong by accepting Emelia's invitation to attend Notre Dame this weekend.
I credited the spiteful side of my personality for my decision. The comment Callie had made to me last week played on my mind a little more than I would've liked, and I decided that the best resolution was to be an active participant in what Emelia had promised would be a fun weekend activity.
Montana had also pitched my attendance as a necessary part of my Chicago experience, even though that experience was in South Bend, Indiana. He wasn't as persuasive as my spite was, but I appreciated him wanting me to come. He'd also offered to drive, which simplified the logistics.
The only difficulty I'd encountered so far was hauling myself out of bed at 7:00 on a Saturday morning to glam up for the day. After changing into my white tennis skirt and the cropped navy Notre Dame t-shirt that Emelia had lent to me, I swiped on a light amount of makeup that I wouldn't sweat off. Even so, I probably still looked like a sleep deprived zombie when Montana picked me up outside of my apartment building in his BMW 3 Series.
Despite having texted pretty regularly since exchanging numbers last weekend, it was then that I realized he fulfilled more of the stereotypes about guys our age who worked in the financial sector than he let on. He was, as my sister would say, a finance bro.
He also confirmed to me first-hand he was not a morning person.
"I'm not stopping again," he stated, gripping the steering wheel.
Jed shifted in his seat, ready to plead his case. "But Montana-"
"No," Montana snapped, sounding impressively father-like. "You should have gone when Em insisted on stopping for coffee 20 minutes ago."
"You wanted your precious Americano too, Montana," Emelia said, leaning forward to flick the back of his head.
"That's necessary life blood." Montana gestured to Jed's monstrous frappuccino in the center console. "But that is a gateway drug."
"Are you always this hostile in the morning?" I asked, balancing an elbow on the inside of the car door. I knew he couldn't see me in the rearview mirror.
Montana huffed out a breath. "Yes."
Emelia nudged my shin with the toe of her navy Converse. "Be grateful you never saw him at our 8:00 AM lecture for PO 210 State and Local Government and Politics."
