The Quarterback, Outcast and Me ✔

Chapter Three - Ice Cream Bribes Are the Worst

We were all sat around the, pardon my French, huge ass dining table, eating a stunning meal of roasted chicken, baked potatoes and salad, all made by Patrick.

When I had first visited this house I had expected a dozen maids and cooks, waiting on them hand and foot, but I'd been pleasantly surprised when Patrick had told me that the only help they had was a cleaner coming twice a week.

"It's a large house to clean." He'd said and winked.

Mom and Patrick were talking about wedding stuff, which I purposely blocked from my head. Instead I focused on scarfing down the mouth-watering chicken. It was seriously the best I'd ever had. Not even dad could make something like this. No hard feelings, right? Right.

"So Chloe," Jace said, putting down his knife and fork. "Do you know if we're in any classes together this year?" I reluctantly stopped eating and gazed at him from across the table.

"I really wouldn't know Jace. We've only been back one day." I didn't know why I was behaving so politely. Probably because our parents were sitting right next to us. Had this happened in the halls at school I would probably have checked my surroundings for any traps or signs that I was about to get a bucket of water poured over me.

No matter his private seemingly likeable manners I knew it all went out the window everyday from eight to three.

I started eating again. Apparently he wasn't satisfied with my answer.

"Well we should find out, compare schedules." His words had my eyebrows automatically rise and disappeared behind my bangs.

I checked to see that our parents were deeply engrossed in their conversation, and each other, before leaning in over the table and hissed;

"We have barely said two words to each other at school throughout this entire parental relationship, so why start now? We both know you don't socialise with lower-ranking students."

I checked on our parents again, though they weren't gawping at us, so I took it that they hadn't heard me.

Jace sat with a hand resting on the table; the other was cupped around his neck. The sign of an uncomfortable man. Ha.

"You're right, I haven't exactly paid you much attention, have I?" I waited for him to continue, but then Patrick asked if we would help clear the table and set up for dessert.

I looked for any signs that Jace would continue our conversation, but his face was an unreadable mask. An annoyingly flawless mask. Ugh.

Laddered with dirty dishes I went through the room and into the adjoining kitchen. It was huge and spacious like the rest of the house, designed with lots of wood, shining marble and stone. Spared no expense.

Sometimes I still found it difficult to believe that soon I would be living in all this luxury as well.

I set the dishes on the marble counter by the dishwasher.

"Dad says to just leave them and he'll do them later."

I whipped around to see Jace leaning against the entrance, watching me with his hands full of chicken and salad.

"Uhm, sure," I said and stepped away from the counter, finding a dishtowel to wipe my hands.

Jace walked over to where I had been before and dispatched his own load of dishes next to mine.

"About before," he began, but words seemed to fail him.

"You're still an ass, Jace, don't let this new situation stop you from being your true self." The wave of sudden confidence left me as soon as the words were out of my mouth. The muscles in his back seemed to tense up and as he slowly turned around I expected to see his "you're dead" face, but no. His face showed absolutely no sign of emotion.