Page 62 of Break Points and Face Offs

“You got glasses?”

“No.”

“You don’t have glasses?”

“You mean champagne flutes, so no. I don’t make a habit of drinking … whatever that is … here.”

“You must have something to drink out of around here.”

I start rifling through cupboards, finding them depressingly empty. He does have jars of that expensive-looking food my mom goes into department stores looking at around Christmastime. Preserves with ornamental lids and fancy, stuffed olives.

“Is this really your diet, Rosie? Thought you were an athlete.”

He ignores me while I keep looking, finally finding a tumbler and a mug with the college logo on.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says when he sees me plop them onto the counter and start opening the bottle.

“What?”

“You can’t drink ‘champagne’ from a mug, or a tumbler.”

“Why not? Thought it wasn’t ‘champagne?’”

“That’s the wrong use of quotation marks. It really isn’t champagne, champagne is only considered champagne when it hails from the region….”

I roll my eyes. For some reason, Rosie’s constant niggling isn’t making me want to punch something. It’s making me kind of warm and fuzzy. Maybe I’ve got Stockholm Syndrome or something, because the way he needles me is becoming pleasantly familiar.

“Tumbler or mug?” I ask, holding the options out to him.

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You look like Chase right now, you know that right? You know he’s a little kid.”

“Yes, thank you, I’ve met your brother.”

“And you remembered his name.”

“I remember everyone’s name. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He keeps glaring at me and I try to hold in my smile. “Tumbler or mug?”

His shoulders come up with the weight of his sigh. “Tumbler … I suppose.”

It’s a small victory, but it lights me up. I have to hold in my grin as I hand it over.

He takes a sip before making a face. “This is disgusting.”

“Gracious as always, I see. Isn’t the protocol to thank someone when they bring you a gift?”

He stops making a face long enough to mutter a reluctant, “Thank you.”

Before he can kick me out, I make myself comfortable. Usually, I wouldn’t be this rude, but Priestley’s a special case.

“Did I invite you to sit?”

“Come join me. There’s a hockey game on, if you wanna watch. You do have all the sports channels, right?”

“Of course.”