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“That piece of shit,” Nolan mutters. His jaw is tight, one large hand fisting the sheets.
“What does that mean?” I ask Defne. “For the World Championship?”
“FIDE hasn’t made a formal announcement yet. And Koch is still denying it and threatening lawsuits. But Mal, the evidence isdamning. They will have to disqualify him.”
“So, if Koch is disqualified . . .” I consider the implications. A knot of disappointment tightens in my chest. “It means that Nolan will win by default? And we should stop training?” The prospect is more devastating than it should be. I face it for a long, silent moment, in which Nolan gives me more of that inscrutable look, and Defne breathes audibly.
“Mal,” she starts, “you— ”
“That’s not what it means,” he interrupts her.
“What, then?” I frown at Nolan, confused. “They can’t redo the Challengers.”
“They don’t need to,” he says calmly.
The space between us charges, a sudden magnetic field, and then it occurs to me.
They don’t need to, because they already have a runner-up.
Someone who was poised to win until she lost to Koch.
Me.
“But we . . . Nolan and I . . .” I shake my head, flustered. “Nolan and I have been training together.”
“That’s why I’m coming up to get you, Mal. I’ll be there in a few— ”
Nolan hangs up on her. The phone immediately starts buzzing again, but we ignore it. His eyes hold mine for a second, for ten years, and I have no idea how to feel. What to think.
“I’m sorry, I . . .” I get off the bed and stare at the books stacked on the dresser, mind racing.
If Defne is right, if FIDEdoesask me to be the challenger . . . three million dollars. That’s the mortgage paid off, Mom’s meds, my sisters’ college tuition. Hell,mycollege tuition. We’d be set for life.
But I’d have to come clean to Mom and Sabrina. They mighthate me. And there’s the biggie: Nolan. Three minutes ago, I was trying to get inside his skin. For weeks, I’ve been his second. I’ve been studying his weaknesses, strategies, tactics. Challenging him now would be like robbing him with a house key he handed me for safekeeping. Utterly unethical.
OhGod.
I cannot imagine how devastated he must be feeling. How terrified. How betrayed by the idea of me exploiting what I’ve learned about his game.
I turn around and look up at him, meaning to reassure him that I won’t, promise that I wouldn’t, and find him . . .
Smiling?
“What . . . why do you look so happy?”
“Because it’s perfect. Because it’s you.” He steps closer, grinning. So hard, I spot a rare dimple. “I’ll get to do this. With you.”
“I . . . no. We can’t.”
“I think we can.” He reaches out for me, and I let him.
“I need to think.”
“Sure. Think. Think out loud.” His curved lips press against my throat. “Think while I kiss you. Everywhere.” I laugh. Then his fingers drop again to the button of my jeans. My breath stops with how much I want this. With him. “Can I . . . I have this dream that you let me— ”
“If I . . .” I pull back to look at his eager, happy face. Suddenly, I’m just as happy as he is. It’s going to happen. The two of us. Me and him and a chessboard. “Would I need to leave?”
“No.”
