Read Online Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel by Niki Hager - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Niki Hager
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like? and so on. I tell him I'm an art major, while he happens to be a business and accounting major.
"So, you mentioned being a pro paintball player. Professional sounds so impressive, what is that like?" I ask, with genuine interest.
"Paintball's good. The team's good." He pauses for a moment and then chuckles. "I actually never thought I would make it far, but then my brother and I got picked up by a team. When we got sponsored everything sort of fell into place, and into fast-forward."
"Sounds pretty incredible. I bet your life is pretty exciting then, huh?"
He snorts. "Exciting is one word for it."
He draws his eyebrows in, and when he takes a sip of his drink, I realize he's not planning to elaborate.
"I'd be interested to know some of the other words for it," I cautiously encourage.
While considering my statement, he goes full on Thinker and sets his chin in his hand.
"There are pros and cons."
As soon as the words leave his mouth I begin to giggle.
"What? What's so funny?"
I watch the light bulb moment happen, and his eyes open wider as his mouth forms an amused O.
"Ahhhh, pros and cons, right. I almost forgot."
"What are some of the cons?" I ask, getting back to the subject.
"It is pretty intense when we get to travel around the country. It's a good time, really, but it takes up a lot of time and energy. I'm rarely home during the season." He scoffs at the thought. "I would always miss a shit ton of school. What's worse is, the teachers didn't even care because they knew I was gone for paintball, so they let it slide."
"Doesn't sound so bad."
I wish my teachers would have let things slide with me.
"The thing is just … I think a lot of people's priorities are skewed. I mean, should paintball have been more important than school work? And I was only semi-pro then, I wasn't even planning on going pro at first," he starts to rant as he becomes more excited about the subject. "Paintball is not a sport you make money playing, in fact, it's super fucking expensive. I take the game serious, but damn do some people take it too serious, like my brother for one."
"As long as you're still having fun playing," I put in my two cents.
"Exactly!" he roars and slaps a hand on the table, causing the top to shake enough for my water to almost tip over.
"Oh, shit. Sorry," he apologizes as he catches my glass.
"You're fine, no worries. It's nice you have something you're so passionate about," I confess.
"You know, I hope this isn't a deal breaker, but I have to tell you …" he starts.
Uh oh, here we go.
"Because of the money going into paintball, I still live at home with my brother and parents." His head was down, but he glances up to gauge my reaction.
"That's all? Geez." I exhale a breathy laugh.
"What?" he asks, confused.
"I thought you were going to say something bad, like you deal drugs to pay for paintball or you kill kittens or something."
I could maybe get past the drug thing, but the kittens would be a deal breaker.
"I moved out of my parents a month or so ago for the first time, and let me tell you, it's fantastic! My family is utterly insane. So yeah, I totally understand. No biggy."
"One more confession then?"
He looks at me for some sort of affirmation before he continues, so I hold my breath and nod.
"I don't particularly like kittens."
I huff in relief again, "I didn't figure. As long as you're not a kitten killer, I'm good."
"What do you mean, you figured?" He glares at me jokingly, yet still pointed.
"You, uh …. You just don't look the type," I stammer.
"Well, aren't you a tad bit stereotypical. Is it my hair? The way I dress? Oh, oh, wait, I know, the tattoos, isn't it?"
I feel my face burn up and my anxiety sneak in.
"I … I didn't mean for …. What I mean is …" I pause to gather my thoughts. "I wasn't—"
"I'm fucking with you, I am so not the type," he interrupts with an evil smirk.
I exhale the breath I was holding then I pick up my wadded napkin and throw it at him.
"So, you mentioned being a pro paintball player. Professional sounds so impressive, what is that like?" I ask, with genuine interest.
"Paintball's good. The team's good." He pauses for a moment and then chuckles. "I actually never thought I would make it far, but then my brother and I got picked up by a team. When we got sponsored everything sort of fell into place, and into fast-forward."
"Sounds pretty incredible. I bet your life is pretty exciting then, huh?"
He snorts. "Exciting is one word for it."
He draws his eyebrows in, and when he takes a sip of his drink, I realize he's not planning to elaborate.
"I'd be interested to know some of the other words for it," I cautiously encourage.
While considering my statement, he goes full on Thinker and sets his chin in his hand.
"There are pros and cons."
As soon as the words leave his mouth I begin to giggle.
"What? What's so funny?"
I watch the light bulb moment happen, and his eyes open wider as his mouth forms an amused O.
"Ahhhh, pros and cons, right. I almost forgot."
"What are some of the cons?" I ask, getting back to the subject.
"It is pretty intense when we get to travel around the country. It's a good time, really, but it takes up a lot of time and energy. I'm rarely home during the season." He scoffs at the thought. "I would always miss a shit ton of school. What's worse is, the teachers didn't even care because they knew I was gone for paintball, so they let it slide."
"Doesn't sound so bad."
I wish my teachers would have let things slide with me.
"The thing is just … I think a lot of people's priorities are skewed. I mean, should paintball have been more important than school work? And I was only semi-pro then, I wasn't even planning on going pro at first," he starts to rant as he becomes more excited about the subject. "Paintball is not a sport you make money playing, in fact, it's super fucking expensive. I take the game serious, but damn do some people take it too serious, like my brother for one."
"As long as you're still having fun playing," I put in my two cents.
"Exactly!" he roars and slaps a hand on the table, causing the top to shake enough for my water to almost tip over.
"Oh, shit. Sorry," he apologizes as he catches my glass.
"You're fine, no worries. It's nice you have something you're so passionate about," I confess.
"You know, I hope this isn't a deal breaker, but I have to tell you …" he starts.
Uh oh, here we go.
"Because of the money going into paintball, I still live at home with my brother and parents." His head was down, but he glances up to gauge my reaction.
"That's all? Geez." I exhale a breathy laugh.
"What?" he asks, confused.
"I thought you were going to say something bad, like you deal drugs to pay for paintball or you kill kittens or something."
I could maybe get past the drug thing, but the kittens would be a deal breaker.
"I moved out of my parents a month or so ago for the first time, and let me tell you, it's fantastic! My family is utterly insane. So yeah, I totally understand. No biggy."
"One more confession then?"
He looks at me for some sort of affirmation before he continues, so I hold my breath and nod.
"I don't particularly like kittens."
I huff in relief again, "I didn't figure. As long as you're not a kitten killer, I'm good."
"What do you mean, you figured?" He glares at me jokingly, yet still pointed.
"You, uh …. You just don't look the type," I stammer.
"Well, aren't you a tad bit stereotypical. Is it my hair? The way I dress? Oh, oh, wait, I know, the tattoos, isn't it?"
I feel my face burn up and my anxiety sneak in.
"I … I didn't mean for …. What I mean is …" I pause to gather my thoughts. "I wasn't—"
"I'm fucking with you, I am so not the type," he interrupts with an evil smirk.
I exhale the breath I was holding then I pick up my wadded napkin and throw it at him.
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