Page 27 of Break Points and Face Offs

I could say this. I could bite back. But I’m not in the mood to argue with him. I’m tired and hungry and thinking about my ma being sick has me feeling like I want to curl up in a ball and for someone to tell me everything’s going to be alright. There’s nothing scarier than watching the person who usually makes everything better become the person you’re worried about the most.

He pulls up outside the diner. We’ve only been in the car for about ten minutes, but it feels like a lot longer.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I’m surprised by how basic it is. Small and dated, with a tacky Americana vibe.

“I didn’t think this would be your style,” I joke as we get out of the car.

“What? You expected Michelin stars?”

“Well … yeah.”

Priestley scoffs.

We enter the diner and find a booth. The menu is full of burgers, onion rings, and chili cheese fries.

“I thought you were on a strict diet?”

He shrugs. “They have nice salads here.”

A waitress brings us some water while we’re studying the menus.

“Why don’t you play competitive tennis anymore?”

Preistley frowns over his menu. For a second, I think he isn’t going to answer. “Why don’t you play competitive hockey?”

“Why is every question answered with a question with you?”

“Why is it with you?” His lips quirk up on one side. I groan.

“You first.”

He sighs, putting his menu down. If he comes here a lot, he probably already knows what he wants.

“I don’t have the time. I wanted to focus on my studies.”

“Well, same. I wanted to focus on my studies, as much as my jobs allow.”

“If you had a sport’s scholarship for undergrad and you don’t have tuition to pay or any crippling student debt, why do you need to work so much? Did you have to pay tuition for your Masters?”

I have to bite my lip to stop from telling him to mind his own business. He doesn’t need to hear about how crippled with debt my family are after my ma’s illness because health insurance in this country is a fucking joke.

“I thought rich people know that it’s tacky to talk about money,” I say, keeping my tone light.

He laughs, running a hand through his smooth, black hair. He fixes me with his dark eyes and something gnaws in my stomach. Must be the hunger.

The waitress comes back. I order a cheeseburger with a side salad and Priestley orders a chicken Caesar salad with dressing on the side. I raise my eyebrows.

“Thought you don’t play competitively anymore?”

He shrugs. “I still want to look good.”

He lets me eat half of my burger before annoying me again.

“I think we should have clear roles in our group project,” he says. He spears a lettuce leaf and keeps his eyes calmly trained on his plate.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Seeing as I have experience in a leadership role, I think that I should take the lead on this one. You can be my second in command.”