Page 17 of Between the Lines

So, books are, and always have been, my escape.

My sister can handle an hour at the library every few weeks. And besides, she has her own reasons for wanting to be here.

I predict her, “I’m going to play chess then,” before she has even popped my bubble of happiness.

“Don’t make the old men cry too much this time.”

“No promises,” she offers without even turning around.

I snort. Addchess extraordinaireto my sister’s list of endlessly perfect talents. I don’t think the kid has lost a game of chess yet.

What’s frustrating is the way that, in all of my hard-earned brilliance myself, chess is the one thing I can’t master. I taught her the basics when she was five using a YouTube video, and after three practice games, she was whooping my butt. It’s part of the reason that I reserve my library trips for Tuesdays: Zoey won’t complain if I stop on the way back from her advanced math tutoring session, because it gives her time to practice against peoplewho can actually play.

In the meantime, I set a forty-five minute alarm and peruse the shelves. My first stop is to pick up the paperback I’ve had on hold forever—it isn’t in Kindle Unlimited, which is a crime, but I’ve had this story on hold for two months now, and I’m sure as hell going to savor it. I stop at all of the displays, spending almost as much time at the banned books table as I do the table labeled “Controversial Staff Picks.”

Eventually, my alarm buzzes on my watch, and I start heading toward the community lounge where Tuesday chess takes place.There are several tables, most occupied by men past their sixties. I scan the crowd to find my sister, when I hear her first.

“…absolutely not! That’s not even possible.”

“Would you like me to run it by you again? I’m happy to relive the glory.”

I don’t know what stuns me more. The fact that my sister is slumped in a state of defeat across the chess board from Nathan Harding, or the fact that his victory somehow posted a real live smile across his cheeks.

I’m floored. So much so that I stand planted in place to watch the interaction for a few more moments from the edge of the room. Nathan’s haughty grin softens as I see that classic teacher-mode snap into place. He gestures to the board, and I catch phrases likesacrificed my knightanddiverted my bishop. I have absolutely no clue what he did to devastate my sister, but I’ve never seen the kid more focused in her entire life. Things come naturally and easily to her. I can only see her profile from here, but she’s hungry, studying every flex of Nathan’s body, and suddenly, I find myself doing the same—just not in the same ways as my sister.

Zoey is watching him for chess tips. I, unfortunately, am suddenly noticing things about my assistant principal that I never have before.

Like his square jaw, and the defined thickness of his brows over his glasses. His hair is full, and only slightly disheveled, like the work day couldn’t bother a hair out of place, but maybe library chess with a sixth grader did. As I follow the hand that’s gesturing to the chess board, I can’t help but trace the muscle of his forearm up the uncreased sleeve of his button-down. Does this man seriously not break a sweat all day?

Not even the checkered blue and green pattern can hide the fact that, somewhere beneath his buttoned persona, Nathan Harding is clearly fit. There’s hidden definition behind those buttons, and I want to undo them and findout just how.

Wait, what the hell?

I snap out of it. Snap all the way the hell out of it.

I’m standing in the middle of a public library for crying out loud making googly eyes over myboss?

Well. He’stechnicallymy boss. Technically speaking, the school hires subs from an outsourced company. I’m a substitute teacher in the school he works at.Technically,he’s my boss.

Stop thinking in technicalities, Claire. Heisyour boss, and he’s alsowayolder than you, and he’s kind of an asshole who hates your guts, and also he’s looking right at you?—

The mist fades away. I’ve been made. And suddenly, Nathan transforms from the soft yet focused chess protégé back into the man I see every day in the hallway when we cross paths and he finds some way to criticize me. His brows—those same thick, defined brows I’d just been admiring—furrow to a crease in the middle. His head tilts to the side. His eyes turn to slits, his predatory gaze taking mine as its prisoner. And my name rolls off his tongue in a question so piercing, it makes me feel out of place.

“Ms. Benson?”

“How’d you know my last name?”

Zoey breaks the tension, Nathan’s laser eyes releasing me from their grasp to snap back to my sister.

Why does he soften immediately with her, but can’t give me that same courtesy?

“I’m sorry, I was actually talking to?—”

“Me.” I place a hand on Zoey’s shoulder, and she looks up at me. “Zoey, this is Mr. Harding, the assistant principal at River Valley, where I’m subbing. Mr. Harding, meet the feistiest of the Benson sisters, Zoey.”

He blinks, awareness piecing together like building blocks, and then shifts his gaze from me to Zoey, then back to me.

“I didn’t think they could get any feistier.”

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