Page 39 of Break Points and Face Offs

“Is it because I mocked you for bringing your own bags into the grocery store?”

I’d forgotten about that. Asshole.

“No. Come on, let’s get back. My dad will be coming home soon.”

For some reason, that makes Priestley get his ass into gear.

He waits until we’re in the car to ask, “What’s your father like? What should I expect?”

I snort. “He’s just a regular guy. You don’t need to expect anything.”

“What teams does he support?”

“Teams?”

“Yes, sports teams, come on.”

I roll my eyes but decide to indulge him. Sports are a comfortable topic for me anyway.

“Hockey’s the Bruins—obviously.”

Priestley nods impatiently, like he’s taking mental notes.

“Baseball’s the Red Sox.”

“Red Sox, right.”

I side-eye him but go on. “Football, it’s the Patriots.”

“The Patriots, I knew that.”

“Priestley, this isn’t a test. My dad’s not gonna give a shit if you know what sports teams he supports. He’s gonna be hungry after work and wanna know how school’s going.”

“I know that. I just like to be prepared.”

“You could go in there and tell him you love the Habs and the Yankees and he’d just yank your chain for it and probably have a ball doing it. He’s not a monster and he isn’t gonna kick you out of the house for having a different opinion.”

He looks confused, like I just said something radical.

“I’d probably steer clear of politics, though. I don’t even wanna know where you lean on that one.”

The concern on his face switches to amusement. “I bet you think you have me pegged there, don’t you?”

“I already said, I don’t wanna know.”

“Would it surprise you to know my mother was one of the biggest donors and supporters of⁠—”

“Rosie, shut up.”

“—a certain female presidential candidate’s campaign.”

“Oh.”

“And my father doesn’t like tariffs.”

He grins. I want to slap the stupid grin off his face.

In the silence, he says, “And you owe me two Williams now.”