AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Finally revealing yourself.”
“You knew I was here.”
Until ten minutes ago I’d have denied it, but yes. And I liked the idea, though I’m not going to admit it to him or to myself. There’s been enough soul-searching for today. Time to engage in some soul ditching.
“We didn’t tell her,” Tanu hurries to say.
“She knew anyway.” Nolan doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t look at anyone but me, and I feel blood in my cheeks.
“I did. It was that fishy smell.”
He laughs, low and deep, and after a second I’m laughing, too, and the others look at us like we’re bananas. Which we might be.
“Thoughts on Koch?” Defne asks him when we’re done. She, too, seems unsurprised by his presence.
“I hope he sits on his balls,” he says. “Aside from that, none.”
“Really? No thoughts about this man you flew cross- country to creep at?”
“Notwhy I came to Vegas.” He shrugs. “Koch’s the human equivalent of a dirty toilet brush, and hasn’t changed in the ten years I’ve known him. Would you like more hot takes?”
Part of me is surprised to hear Nolan and Defne bicker like they’ve been acquainted their entire life. But it doesn’t get to ask follow-up questions because of theotherpart of me, which is too busy wallowing.
“But what did you think of the game?” Defne insists, and something shifts in Nolan’s eyes, something that might be disappointment, displeasure, disenchantment. The feeling of falling morphs into an uglier, colder one.
“That I’d like to talk about with Mallory alone. Could we have some privacy?”
Defne snorts. “I’m not leaving you alone with her.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Not an answer.”
“She’s my responsibility.”
“She can speak for herself. And you realize we’ve been alone together before, right? On multiple occasions.”
“Not like that,” I hasten to say. “Not alone likethat.” Everyone is giving me weird looks, and I don’t know why I’m blushing. Nolan should be the flustered one. That’shisjob.
Defne looks at me. “Do you want to talk to Nolan, Mal? Just the two of you?”
No. Yes. No. “Yes.”
“I’ll walk her back to the hotel,” he says. “No need to stick around.”
It takes some shuffling, but we end up alone at the booth— us, Emil’s board, and six different flavors of waffle syrup. I look at the black queen again and wait for him to speak.
Maybe he’ll say that he was wrong about me, that I was neverincredible, that he won’t be texting me advice anymore. I’m tempted to justify myself, to apologize, to say that I did my best, and if it’s not enough, well. This might not be the first time that I’m not enough, but it hurts just like all the others.
But he says nothing. His hand travels across the table, and I think he’ll cover the back of mine with his palm. Instead, he twines our fingers together.
A simple, loose touch. Barely a touch, really, but it warms meand grounds me, just enough to look up at him when he says, “Be my second.”
“I . . . what?”
“Be my second.”
