Page 57 of Break Points and Face Offs

At one point, I think he might actually be asleep because he makes a sound that is very not Priestley. Something between a whine and a sob. Like he’s having a bad dream.

When I glance over at him, that snarky expression his face seems to be perpetually in has been smoothed out and all that’s left is the coolly beautiful exterior. He flinches, like he knows he’s being watched, and the second he opens his eyes and looks at me, the snark is back.

“We’re here,” I say, pushing my words out through gritted teeth.

He clears his throat, rubs his eyes. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in class.”

“Yeah.” Asshole. “See you in class.”

15

WILL

We manage to get into a routine that suits the group. Our sniping takes a backseat for the good of the project. And if I’m honest, those flames of anger have been dampened by Priestley’s reaction to me kissing him. Obviously, I’m not mad at the guy for turning me down. It’s his choice, it doesn’t matter what his reasoning for that is. It was the mind game accusations that really pissed me off. If Priestley knew me at all he’d know I don’t play mind games and I hate that shit.

I put it out of my head for the project and we stay focused. I talk to my family every day on the phone and remind myself that they’re okay without me. I listen to my parents’ encouragement and try to push down how much I miss them.

I’m sure people have noticed the truce. Professor Moreno looks at us sometimes like she’s wondering what the story is.

Priestley relaxes after I let him take the lead. It all just seems to slot into place, but something tells me we’re in the calm before the storm.

We’re the last two in the group when we come out of the library and run into a man in an expensive-looking suit. Priestley’s whole demeanor changes instantly. He stiffens, squaring his shoulders as if getting ready for a fight. When he speaks, his voice is clipped and his tone colder than usual.

“Hello, Father,” he says. Father? That’s how he greets his dad?

“Priestley,” his dad nods. They shake hands. They shake hands? No hug?

“I thought I might find you here,” Priestley’s dad says, straightening his tie. “I met an old fraternity brother for coffee. Thought I’d come and check how things are going with your classes.”

I watch Priestley as he speaks to his dad. He looks like he’s being tested. His eye is about one second away from twitching. What’s he so scared of?

“Have you had lunch?” Priestley’s dad asks. He glances at me before quickly looking away again. “Your friend can come along, if he likes.”

“Oh.” I’m about to say thanks but no thanks when a warning glance from Priestley makes me change my mind.

Shit, this is Edward Rosenthal. This guy will be my boss if I win the internship.

“Thank you, sir.”

He nods before heading off toward his car.

Fuck, I am not prepared for this. I remind myself how hard I’ve worked up to this point. There’s no reason why I can’t be prepared for a lunch with this guy. It’s not like it’s gonna turn into an impromptu job interview, right?

I’m just glad I didn’t wear sweatpants to the library. Actually, I haven’t worn sweatpants to the library since that day Priestley chewed me out over them. He must have been a pretty effective fraternity president if he managed to influence me without my even realizing it.

The lunch place Edward Rosenthal takes us to is just one step down from a fancy Michelin star restaurant. I definitely stand out. No wonder Priestley dresses like he expects something like this to happen at every second, always in a stuffy blazer, button-down shirt and carefully pressed pants. He never wears sneakers except for that day on the tennis court. I’m wearing fucking Converse with my jeans, but despite a few quick glances, no one pays too much attention to me.

We’re shown to a table by a waitress who seems to recognize Priestley and his dad. They’re given the VIP treatment: chairs pulled out, drinks poured, waiters fussing over us from the second we sit down.

I don’t recognize anything on the menu. It’s in English—I think—I’ve just never seen the meals written on it.

I order whatever Priestley’s having and hope it’s not something weird only rich people eat—like the placentas of some endangered animal.

Priestley’s dad clears his throat. They haven’t looked at each other since the moment they met outside the library. The car ride was awkward as fuck as I sat in the back and tried not to drown in their silence.

“So, how’s school?” he asks.

Priestley is sipping his water. He puts the glass down with a practiced movement. His hands look so delicate on the tablecloth. The way he’s smoothing down the fabric looks like a soothing gesture. The way I rub behind the dog’s ears when I’m stressed.