Page 13 of Holiday Power Play
And I may or may not have developed a really defensive way of approaching the world because of it. I don't take kindly to people assessing me. And so far, not even twenty minutes into this trip, that's all my brother's "downtrodden" friend seems to be doing.
Assessing me.
I choose not to further engage with my mom at the moment. She always looks at the glass half full and I have a problem with that. Because of course she would. People take one good look at Janie MacDonald and they want to help her. They want to make life easy for her. Mom doesn't know a world where people see her as a threat just by merely existing.
I feel the prickle of awareness on the back of my neck that tells me I'm being watched and I look up from my phone to see those light brown eyes on me again. The color in them is soft like amber.
At the sight of him I drop my phone and he reaches down at the same time that I do.
"Can you not invade the air I breathe?" I say to him.
He looks at me, smirking as he hands me the phone."Jeez. I was just trying to help. You texting Santa to make sure he adds me to the naughty list?"
"Oh, trust me. You're already at the top of that list."
"Good to know I make such an impression."
I can already tell this trip is going to be hell.
"You make an impression the same way a small rock inside my shoe would," I say back.
"Impossible to ignore?" he offers, with a small pull in the corner of his lips.
"Annoying," I say, turning away from him again.
Somehow that seems to please him, because from my peripheral I can see him still staring at me with that stupidly handsome grin.
"What?" I bark out.
"I'm ready to hear all the reasons why I'm the actual worst whenever you're ready," he says.
Vance gives him a glance. "Are you a masochist? Just leave well enough alone man," he says.
"No, your sister decided after one look at me that I'm the human equivalent of a vending machine that takes your money and never gives you what you pay for so I want to know why."
I internally applaud him for his creativity in the realm of analogies. That's exactly how I see him.
Vance just shakes his head. "Your funeral."
Trevor turns his attention back to me. "So? Let me have it."
I glare at him. "Well, should we start with the fact that you rose to the top because your daddy has more money than he knows what to do with so securing deals for his precious kids to get everything they want has become his own personal sport?"
He tilts his head but waits for me to say more.
"Or should we start with the fact that the only reason you're with the Heatwave is because you used your ex to help you get a spot on the team and then left her once you got what you wanted?"
He opens his mouth like he's about to say something then shuts it immediately, motioning for me to go on.
"Or," I say, "should we talk about how athletes like you are the very reason that I wake up everyday to teach a sport to young girls who all they want is to be taken seriously when their male counterparts just take their shirts off and get deals without ever having to prove their worth?"
"Is that what you think?” Trevor finally speaks up. "That I didn't get here on my own merits?"
"You're everything that's wrong in professional sports—flashy male athletes that dominate headlines while women who are far more talented constantly get overlooked. Never to be taken seriously. If we were to do half the things guys like you do, we'd be dropped from the sport without a second thought."
His body is now fully twisted toward me, "Careful little grinch, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were jealous."
"Jealous?!" I scoff. "Please I'm stating facts, Sincaid. If you're too dense to realize it, then that sounds like a personal problem. And the name's Lana MacDonald."