That earns me another smile and then she shakes her head, but the smile doesn’t fade completely. “I can’t tell if you’re being deliberately obtuse or if you’re actually this clueless.”
I pop another fry in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I prefer the term ‘selectively perceptive.’”
She smirks. “Is that what they call it these days?”
She doesn’t believe me, that much is obvious. Her posture, the slight tilt of her head, the way her fingers tap against her forearm. Everything about her screams skepticism.
“Look, I get it. You think I’m full of shit.”
“I didn’t say that,” she says.
“You didn’t have to. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I don’t understand what privilege is. I know exactly what I have and what I don’t have to worry about.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I catch a glimpse of a small silver earring before it disappears again beneath dark waves. “You know what’s interesting?” she says.
“I’m dying to find out.”
“You didn’t actually deny anything I said about athletes and privilege last night.”
I pop another fry into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “What would be the point? You weren’t wrong.”
“Most people defend themselves.”
“I’m not most people.”
She gives me a skeptical once over. “That’s what most people say.”
I laugh at that, genuine and unfiltered. She’s quick, this one. Sharp in ways that make me want to keep talking just to see what she’ll say next.
“So, what’s it like?” she asks, her tone deliberately casual as she watches me eat a fry. I push the plate toward her, offering her one and surprisingly, she takes one and pops it in her mouth.
“What’s what like?”
“Being rich enough to tip a hundred dollars without blinking. Having people know who you are before you introduce yourself. Walking into a room knowing most people would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”
I chew thoughtfully, considering my answer. “There’s no right response to this,” I explain. “If I say it’s great, I’m flaunting my privilege. If I say it’s hard, I’m playing the poor-little-rich-boy card, so I hope you’ll understand if I simply say it’s complicated. And I’m not going to pretend it’s not mostly good because I’d be lying, and you’d see right through it.”
She nods slowly, like she’s surprised by my honesty.
“But?” she prompts.
“But people see what they want to see. They create a version of me, or many people like me, that fits whatever story they’re telling themselves.” I pop another fry in my mouth. “But spoiler alert, and don’t be too shocked by this…” I whisper for dramatic flair, “Some of us can walk and chew gum at the same time.”
She snorts, and this time she doesn’t try to hide it. “Okay. So maybe you do understand privilege a little more than I gave you credit for.”
“Thank you very much.” I wink at her. “Apology accepted.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you’re really here.”
I consider my answer carefully. The truth is complicated,and I’m not sure she’s ready for it. Hell, I’m not sure I’m ready for it.
“Maybe I just like places that feel real,” I say finally. “Where people talk to me like I’m a person, not a jersey number.” She blinks at my answer and doesn’t fire back with a sarcastic comment. “And if I’m being one hundred percent honest, because you deserve that, I kind of like the view.”
I say it in the nicest way possible so she doesn’t think I’m being a creep and am pleased when the slightest blush crawl across her cheeks. She doesn’t respond right away, which is a first. The blush fades quickly though, replaced by something more guarded.
“The view,” she repeats. “How original.”
“I wasn’t talking about your looks,” I say, “though I’m not going to pretend I haven’t noticed how pretty you are. But I meant watching you work. You’re good at what you do.”
