17. Priestley #2
“I’m not driving anywhere until you agree.” I cross my arms over my chest to show him how serious I am.
“Fine. No ‘Rosie,’ just while we’re in Atlantic City.”
I allow myself to gloat from my small victory.
“It’s a shame though,” he says as I start the car. “It’s really starting to suit you better than Priestley.”
The entire drive to Atlantic City, Will’s been annoying me by reading aloud all the options for Atlantic City attractions he’s been able to find on his phone.
After shooting down his ideas of a tiki boat ride, rolling chairs, and an escape room—not a good idea—we settle on a walk on the boardwalk, an arcade, and I tentatively agree to consider mini golf and the aquarium.
“Don’t you have all this in Boston?”
“No tiki boat rides that I know of. The rest? Sure, but not all in one place.”
I roll my eyes, hoping he can see, and park the car as close to the boardwalk as I can get.
Despite telling myself I don’t care if Will has a good time while we’re here, I find myself scanning my brain for every piece of information Nathan ever told me about this place to find the activities Will might enjoy.
I admittedly wasn’t listening very hard when Nathan talked about his childhood and going on rides and eating inedible hot dogs.
But Will doesn’t look bored as we take a walk down the boardwalk.
He looks at everything with keen interest while I walk beside him, feeling awkward.
He still consults his phone as he walks, saying stupid things like “I wanna see Lucy the Elephant.”
“Come on, Priestley,” he says. I’m starting to regret telling him he couldn’t call me Rosie. Something about Priestley feels too familiar now. Or not familiar enough?
“You’ve gotta admit, it’s kinda pretty.”
He gestures to the beach on our right. The setting sun is red and pregnant behind a wisp of clouds. If there weren’t so many people around, it may even be peaceful.
“I suppose.”
He nudges me with his shoulder and shakes his head with a soft laugh.
We duck into an arcade. There’s a cacophony of sounds. The bright lights of games disorienting in the windowless building.
I should be annoyed by it all. I like peace and quiet … order. But walking next to Will while he drags me along makes me almost giddy.
“What’s your favorite arcade game?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“Your favorite arcade game?”
I shrug.
“What did you like to play when you were a kid? Speed Racer? Pacman?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to an arcade.”
He looks at me like I’ve just told him I’ve never read a book, or been in a car, or been skiing.
“You’ve never stepped foot inside an arcade?”
I shake my head. Will grins in a way that makes my insides turn to mush.
He drags me by the arm from one machine to the other until he finds what he’s looking for.
“You’ve played foosball, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well this is like that, but make it ice hockey-ish.”
“I’ve seen one of these before.”
“Okay, good. You’re not an actual alien then.”
The machine starts up and Will bats his little disc around the way he’d handled a puck that day at the ice rink.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod.
The disc comes at me slowly and I bat it back with no trouble. He bats it back. This time, I let my competitive side take over. I may have never played this particular game before, but the rules are painfully simple and I do have good hand-eye coordination.
Neither of us manages to get the disc into one of those slots either side of the machine for the first few minutes of play.
We’re defending our little slot with everything we have.
That familiar desire to win surfaces and takes over.
The game is actually closer to table tennis than ice hockey—maybe he mentioned hockey to throw me off?
Will hits the disc off one of the side walls and catches me off guard. The disc slips in behind my defending paddle and makes an annoying sound.
I catch the triumph in Will’s eyes and recognize it from times when I’ve won something. I’ve never beaten Will at anything when we’re even remotely equally matched. Tennis doesn’t count, seeing as he’d never played before that day and I’ve been playing since I was a child.
Right, time to do it now.
Using Will’s tactics, I hit the disc off a side wall, but he counterattacks and sends it flying back. The disc goes into my slot again.
It takes everything inside me not to toss my paddle onto the table and throw a tantrum. But I’m better than that. I’ve practiced good sportsmanship over the years—not that I had to practice being a gracious loser often.
I focus. Crouch into position. Ignore Will’s grin at the other side of the table.
I send the disc flying straight down the middle. He isn’t expecting it. It flies straight past his paddle and into the slot.
The feeling of victory is euphoric. I throw my hands up and celebrate. Point and laugh, jump up and down.
“What happened to good sportsmanship?” Will asks.
“Screw good sportsmanship, I got the thing in your thingie!”
He laughs. His eyes sparkling under the artificial lights.
“You’re still down 2-1. Are we still playing or—”
“Oh absolutely, it’s on!”
After probably the most competitive game of disc-air-slot-thingie ever, Will is victorious, but I at least put up a good fight. I comfort myself with the fact I’ve never played before and there’s no such thing as beginner’s luck.
Will comes around the table and puts an arm around my shoulder.
“Come on, loser buys the hot dogs.”
“You’re going to single handedly clog my arteries.”
“Act like a guy in his twenties for once in your life, Priestley. Trust me, it’s fun.”
I gulp. Am I imagining things, or was there a sexual undertone to that comment?
It’s dark by the time we leave the arcade.
“Shall we go to that amusement park over there?” Will points to the glowing lights in the near distance. The Ferris wheel and spinning rides. My heart stutters for some reason. I’ve never been to an amusement park with a guy before. I have to remind myself this is not a date as Will leads the way.
I keep looking at people as they pass by, wondering what they’re thinking. A group of girls see Will and whisper behind their hands with a giggle. It takes everything in me not to get territorial and stake my claim on him.
“Keep up,” he says, grinning at me as he turns around and starts walking backward.
The park is loud and crowded. Will drags me into line for The Wheel, which is all lit up in red and orange. The lights make Will even more annoyingly attractive. He flashes his big, boyish smile and climbs into a gondola when it’s our turn.
I was afraid it might be rickety and unsafe, but it’s actually quite sturdy—the gondola’s enclosed and larger than I’d thought. Like a much smaller version of the London Eye I went on as a boy. A sight-seeing attraction more than a fairground ride.
The view, however, is quite breathtaking. You can see everything from up here. The strip of lights snaking down the boardwalk. The fairground rides reflecting off the water lapping the shore. The silhouettes of tall buildings stretching out into the city.
I have lived in New Jersey for four years and I have never known how pretty it is from up here. I’ve been so hyper focused on Princeton and being the best that I’ve missed things that have been within touching distance.
When I turn around, Will’s watching me, his expression a mix of surprise and admiration.
I open my mouth to ask him what he’s looking at, but he brings his face closer and I shut up.
I want him to kiss me so badly it hurts.
The word please ping pongs around my head until I’m dizzy.
And then his mouth is on mine and I’m closing my eyes, taking him in, tasting him, breathing in his scent.
When he puts his hand on my face, I allow myself to melt into him. He presses his body close to mine and sighs into my mouth.
Oh god.
I let my hands roam greedily over his chest and let out a moan.
Someone clears their throat and we break apart.
Gondolas hold up to six people, and well, ours has four.
“Sorry,” Will apologizes to the couple my parents’ age. The lady smiles while her husband pretends to have his attention taken by something outside the window.
My face is on fire and I can’t look at Will, but I also can’t stop smiling.