Page 32 of Break Points and Face Offs

“I forgive you.”

He nods, his shoulders untensing.

“On one condition,” I add.

He lets out a big breath. “I knew it was too good to be true. Okay, what do you want? I’m not shining your shoes.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You wouldn’t know what you were doing.”

“Rosie, focus.”

“That—right there, that’s what I want. Stop calling me Rosie.”

“But it’s so fun,” he whines.

“William.”

“Fine. I’ll stop calling you Rosie, just for this weekend, if you stop calling me William.”

I pretend to think on it, but it’s an easy trade.

“Deal.”

I hold my hand out and we shake on it. His palm is a little rough, his fingers long and manly. When he lets go and grabs the wheel again, it takes me a moment to compose myself.

The silence is worse than the fighting.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask finally.

“Sure.”

“What made you change your mind about me coming with you?”

He blinks. “My ma wants to meet you.”

“She wants to meet me?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell her about me?”

He grins, that dimple popping again. “Only good stuff.”

“Like what?” I squint at him. “You don’t have good stuff to say about me.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

I cross my arms and look out of the passenger side window.

“Don’t sulk, Rosie.”

“Ah!”

“Sorry, Priestley.”

Why did he say my name like that? All … sultry. He’s trying to antagonize me. No, I’m imagining things. Stop it.

“That’s better,” I say, pulling myself together. “Tell me more about your family. What am I walking into here?”