Page 51 of Gamebreaker

"I'm very observant. It's one of my many talents." She took a sip of wine, eyes laughing over the rim of the glass. "Along with annoying you, apparently. Which I'm also quite good at."

"You're assuming you annoy me."

"You're assuming you hide it well. Your jaw does this—" She gestured vaguely at my face. "—when you're irritated. Like you're grinding your teeth to dust."

I consciously relaxed my jaw. "I don't grind my teeth."

"You're doing it right now."

"I'm not—" I stopped. She was right. "That's not about you."

"Sure it's not. What is it about, then? The ambient lighting? The floral arrangements? The crushing weight of wealth inequality on display at a charity gala where each plate costs more than most people make in a month?"

Despite everything, despite my irritation and my attraction and the uncomfortable truth of her observation, I felt my mouth twitch toward a smile.

Caught it. Controlled it.

Harper's eyes gleamed with triumph. "There it is. The almost-smile. I'm getting better at triggering it."

"You're not triggering anything."

"I absolutely am. Trish, tell her I'm triggering the almost-smile."

Trish, loyal teammate that she was, betrayed me immediately. "You're definitely triggering it."

"See? Validated. I feel very accomplished." Harper turned her attention to the menu cards at each place setting, reading with exaggerated focus. "Ooh, scallops. Do you think they'll taste like the ocean, or like expensive disappointment?"

"Those aren't mutually exclusive categories."

"Philosophy from Captain Russo. I'm impressed. Next you'll be quoting Nietzsche at me."

"I don't quote Nietzsche."

"That's because Nietzsche was depressing and you're already depressing enough without adding German existentialism to your repertoire."

"I'm not depressing."

"You're wearing an all-black suit to a charity gala. You're brooding in the corner like a protagonist from a noir film. You're one fedora away from monologuing about the fundamental darkness of human nature."

I felt the laugh building in my chest, fought it down through sheer force of will. "I don't brood."

"You're brooding right now. This is active brooding happening in real-time."

"This is me sitting quietly at a table."

"Brooding quietly. There's a difference." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. My skin suddenly felt too tight for my body. "Do you practice it? The brooding? Or is it natural talent?"

"You're impossible."

"Thank you. I work very hard at it."

Dinner arrived in orchestrated waves of culinary excess. Some kind of salad with ingredients I didn't recognize, arranged on the plate like abstract art. I ate mechanically, aware of Harper beside me, the way she gestured when she talked to Mia, the sound of her laugh cutting through the ambient noise of the ballroom.

The scallops came next. Perfect sears, swimming in some kind of sauce that probably had a French name I couldn't pronounce. Harper took a bite and made an appreciative sound that did dangerous work on my concentration.

"Okay, these actually do taste like the ocean," she announced. "Expensive ocean. Ocean that went to private school and has a trust fund."

I felt my mouth twitch again. Stopped it. "That's not how the ocean works."