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I chuckle. Clear my throat. “You might want to move away. Since there are other people in this house.”
He seems confused. “And?”
“They could come in. Think we’ve been making out or something.”
He smiles. “They’re more likely to think we’ve been murdering each other over an en passant— ”
My brain short- circuits. Maybe it’s the late hour, or how I just dropped my knight less than ten moves into a mortifying game. Maybe it’s Nolan’s clean, familiar smell. All I know is that one moment I’m looking at him, and the next I’m not— because I’ve leaned forward and pressed my mouth against his in a . . .
A kiss.
There’s no way around it. That’s what it’s called, this clumsy, juvenile peck. I’m kissing Nolan Sawyer, and—
I jerk back, appalled. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I— ” I shoot to my feet. My knee knocks over the board, scattering the pieces. I lift my fingers to my mouth, and— it feels weird.
Different. Changed.
“Mallory.”
“I don’t know why I did that. I’m just— I’m so so sorry.” Nolan stares like I’m the center of gravity of the room, like nothing else ever existed but me in all of space and time. It makes my heart beat in my throat, it makes me want to kiss him again, it makes me want to run the hell away. “Sorry, I— ”
“Touch- take rule,” he murmurs. He stands, too. Every step back I take is one forward for him.
“I— What?”
“You touched me. Can’t stop now. Touch- take rule.”
“I . . . This is not chess.” My back hits an obstacle. “I can always stop.”
“Then just don’t.” His hands come up to cup my face. He towers over me, cages me against the wall, and I . . . I don’t mind. Which scares me. “Please, Mallory.”
“This is . . . We should finish the game. You said you wanted to play.”
“I said there were things I wanted more.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but Nolan is sohere— I can smell him, feel him in every pore of my being. “Weren’t you the one who chose Kasparov over getting laid?” I say, petulant, whiny. When I open my eyes, his smile is faint.
“And you think it’s because I want to play you less than I did Kasparov?”
“Of course. Why else— Oh.” I close my eyes again. “Oh.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“But our game— ”
“I resign. You win. Can I kiss you?”
“No! I mean . . . why?”
“Because I want to.” He’s being patient. Why amIbeing a total wreck whileheis being patient? “You don’t?”
“I . . .”
I do? It’s not a big deal. Nolan’s easily the most attractive guy I’ve ever met, and I’m not one of thosekissing is too intimate, let’s do it from behindTinder weirdos. I’ve done a lot of things, and regret none of it. So what’s stopping me?
Maybe it’s that I want it too much, I think. And then I hear myself say it aloud as my toes push up, and I’m doing that odd thing again— that light peck on his lips that makes me feel like I’m thirteen and sneaking behind the gym. But this time I don’t have to slap myself for being a total weirdo, because Nolan kisses me back.
He’s not good at it. Not immediately. Not bad, but there is an airy moment of hesitance, of suspended disconnect, when I think the kiss just won’t work out. Not meant to be. Two ships passing in the night, going their separate ways, a narrow miss.
