Page 48 of Break Points and Face Offs

He shrugs. “Be my guest.”

My backhand shot isn’t my best, but I have hit targets with it plenty of times before. I’ve got seven pucks left if I’m playing by the same rules as Priestley. So far, we’re tied with one target each. I go for the easier bottom right side and miss on my first two tries. Five pucks left.

I graze it with my next shot and finally hit it with three pucks remaining.

Two more to sweep the board. It’s not gonna happen, but I line one of my two remaining pucks up and shoot into the right top corner, missing by a mile.

Priestley snorts, but I ignore it. I still got one more target than he did.

My last puck is closer, but I still miss.

“Better luck next time,” he says.

“Yeah, well, you got one target, which means I have to return your serve twice.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Good luck returning it once.”

Shit, did I make a mistake agreeing to this competition?

“You wanna eat?” I ask as we head out to the parking lot after saying our goodbyes to Jimmy and putting the equipment we used away.

“I could eat.”

For a second I can forget about the stupid rivalry. Even when we’re supposed to be working together, we somehow find a way to make it into a competition. I know Ma would tell me to put my pride aside and just let Priestley take the lead on this one project. But I can’t. I don’t trust him not to screw me over like he tried to with that country club stunt. And it may be petty, but I don’t like that he always finds a way to win. It doesn’t seem fair.

“What’s going on in that scheming little head of yours?” he asks.

“Huh? Oh, very funny. I’m not scheming, just hungry.”

“You’re not trying to delay being humiliated on the tennis court are you?”

Maybe. “Nope.”

“Okay, good. Because we really need to get this over with fast if we’re going to get any work done. Otherwise this weekend will have all been for nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say it was for nothing.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me.

“I got to see the impeccable Priestley Rosenthal in his pajamas.”

He rolls his eyes. “You and a house full of fraternity brothers.”

And who else? Who else has seen him undone? Anyone? Would Priestley ever allow someone to see him vulnerable enough to let go for more than five seconds?

I put the thought out of my head as we pull up to eat before hitting the sport’s center. Dad sends me a text while we’re finishing up our lunch, saying,

Court’s all yours kid, just spoke to the owner

I text him a quick thanks and get back in the car to drive over.

When we get to the center, we have to rent a couple of rackets. Priestley looks at his like I just gave him a plastic kid’s toy.

“Does it live up to your lofty standards, Ros … enthal?”

“It’ll do.”

I can’t wait to start calling him Rosie again. It doesn’t suit him—at all—but that’s the best thing about it.