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After that, we draw a few games. As in: twenty- three games. It becomes clear that neither of us wants to be in the position of being asked the next question when I win the twenty- fourth game, and Nolan channels his most traditional self by slapping his palm on the table. Honestly, it feels nice.
I wasted my Challengers question, so I think hard about what I’d like to know about him. Something about his relationship with Koch, maybe? The Baudelaire story? His grandfather? There’s something I’ve been wondering for weeks, but it seems like too much.
On the other hand, hedidask about Dad, and Iamfeeling vengeful. Maybe even vicious.
“At my house, when Sabrina asked you who you have sex with, you said . . .conflictingthings, and . . .” I trail off.
“What’s the question? Who do I have sex with?”
I nod quickly. My cheeks are on fire. I’m already regretting this.
“No one.”
Uh? “Excuse me?”
“I don’t have sex. Or at least, I never have.”
It takes a few moments for the words to penetrate. For it to really sink in: Nolan Sawyer, the Kingkiller, blithely admitting that he’s a virgin at the age of twenty. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But.
No. I misunderstood. What about the Baudelaire thing?
“You’ve never had sex,” I repeat.
“Nope,” he says, confident, calm, like he has nothing to prove to anyone, like he doesn’t care to be anyone but himself, fully himself. At least here, tonight, with me.
“Oh.” I feel like I should tread carefully. “So you . . . ? I mean, are you happy with that, or do you wish that . . . ?” I flush harder. He takes pity.
“Do I wish I were having sex?”
I nod again. Jesus, Icanspeak. I ambetterthan this.
“No.” He doesn’t even think about it. “Not until recently.”
“What . . . what changed recently?”
He stares for a long moment. “No follow-up questions, I was told.” The corner of his lip twitches into a smile. “Besides, I hear you have enough sex for the both of us.”
I groan. “I’ve barely been— You should never believe anything Darcy says. ”
“It’s not like it’s a bad thing.” He draws another grid. I’m still flustered, and he wins immediately. “What are you going to do at the end of your fellowship?”
“What do you know about my fellowship?”
“No answering questions with other questions.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m going to look for auto- mechanics jobs. Any leads?”
“What about chess? Are you going to just stop playing?”
“Yeah.” I steal the pen from his hand. “There’s no future for me in chess.”
He snorts. “You can’t just— ”
“Question answered. Next round.” He gives an annoyed, stubborn look, and immediately wins. How? He’s drinking andI’m not, but I’m the one slipping. “Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “No follow-up questions.”
He leans toward me over the table, dark eyes earnest, stars traveling on his skin. “Do you know how incredible you are?”
I cannot breathe. Temporarily. So I force myself to laugh. “Really? You’re wasting your question on this?”
