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“Koch’s so uneven.” Emil rubs his temples. “How can one go from disastrous blunders to near- genius moves like the one against Greenleaf? He’s like two completely different players.”
“And which one will he be in Italy?” Tanu asks.
No one answers. Nolan stares in the mid- distance, and I stare at him like a twerp.
We analyze Koch’s end games until late. By the time Nolan and Emil stand to make dinner, the sun has been down for hours. “You’re staying till the end of January, right?” Tanu asks me, voice low. The others are arguing over whether one should throw the pasta into the water before it boils. (Nolan: “Who cares? It’ll be faster.” Emil: “You are— and I cannot stress this enough— atasteless peasant.”)
“That’s the plan. You aren’t?”
“Only until the semester starts.”
“Oh.” I think of Nolan and me alone in this house. “Oh.”
“Defne will come up and help, of course,” she continues.
I frown. Defne approved of me becoming Nolan’s secondbecause she said that it would be great training for me, but . . . “I didn’t think they were that close.”
“Oh, they’resuperclose. They both trained with Nolan’s grandfather before . . . well. But Nolan still needsyou. He doesn’t show it, but Koch’s unpredictability rattled him. He needs someonehecares about who also cares abouthim. Like you do, you know?”
Oh God. “Tanu, Nolan and I . . .” I shake my head and shift closer, perched on the edge of my chair. “I guess weareclose in some ways, but we’re not . . . together.”
“Oh, I know relationships are weird.” Her smile is reassuring. “I mean, Emil and I technically aren’t together, either, because . . . well. Not that he deserves me, but mostly, the distance sucks. But Nolan is so into you.”
“It’s . . .” I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”
She laughs, a mix of confusion and amusement. “Well— I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve never seen him as calm and happy as when you stick around, so— ”
“Hey, do you guys want to play two versus two?” Emil interrupts me. “There’re four of us, so two teams.”
I quickly consider the possible permutations. I’d be either against Nolan, or—
“I’ll team with Mallory,” he calls from the kitchen.
Tanu lifts her eyebrow at me, and I close my eyes. They’re still closed a few seconds later when Nolan returns from the kitchen and, instead of taking a free seat, lifts one leg and slides between me and the back of my chair.
I nearly gasp. He takes up a lot of room, always, and this isn’t going to work. I’m going to fall over.
Or I’ll be fine, here in his lap. The hand that’s not busy adjustingthe black pieces to the center of their squares casually rests against my abdomen, spanning its width. It’s the same hand as last night— confident, soothing. This feels nice. Smells even better. Tanu’s eyebrow lifts a millimeter higher, and Emil moves his pawn to d4, unbothered by me sitting between his closest friend’s thighs.
“Want to go first?” Nolan murmurs, lips to the shell of my ear.
I shiver. Then I nod, and my hair brushes against his chin. My skin heats, and I’m too flustered to think, so I do the first thing that comes to mind.
Knight to f6.
I remember how much Nolan hates the Grünfeld only after he groans and sinks his teeth into my earlobe.
WE PLAY FIVE GAMES. NOLAN AND I WIN ALL EXCEPT FOR ONE,and that’s my blunder’s fault. The hanging queen.
“That was . . . a move,” Tanu says, advancing her knight, and Nolan makes a choked noise in the back of his throat and hides his face in the curve of my neck, as though unable to witness the mess I made. I want to hiss that if he weren’t tucking me into himself with a hand on my belly, maybe my brain wouldn’t be a slushie. But his breath tickles my nape, and while everyone thinks hard about the next move and the room is silent, I can feel his heartbeat warm against my back.
It’s the closest I’ve ever been to someone without sex.
The closest I’ve been to someonewithsex.
And the most distracted I’ve ever felt in a chess game, in life, and the worst part is, I don’t believe Nolan’s toying with me. Sometimes his chin rests on my shoulder, boyish, artless, and Iknow that he’s just doing what feels good. It justhappensto distract me.
He’s the first to say, “I’m going to bed,” when Tanu offers to put on a movie. He loads the dishwasher, heads to his room with an absentminded wave, and I am left there, stuck between his absence and Emil’s scathing takedown of Aronofsky’s filmography. I’m a balloon, blown larger and tighter and fuller by the second, ready to explode.
