Page 38 of Chess Not Checkers
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “My goals are more important than the desire to be free of them. Even when I wish I could hit snooze or skip a practice or forgo a homework assignment, deep down, I know that I have to do it all. There’s no other option.”
“I know you’re right,” she says, then lets out a sad laugh. “But sometimes Ireallywish things were different.”
She turns and grabs two bowls out of a cabinet, then fills them to the brim with the pasta before sticking a fork in each and sliding one across the counter to me.
“At least we’ve got moments like these?” I try to lighten the mood.
A faint smile crosses her lips. “I guess that’s something.”
I scoop up some of the dish, letting it cool for a few seconds before taking a bite. I groan and hang my head over the bowl. “Jasmine Chamberlain, you’re evil.”
She giggles. “How so?”
I lift my head and meet her green eyes, my heart skipping at the happiness I see in them. “Every bite of food I have from here on out will be bland and flavorless compared to this.”
She shakes her head, her face tinting pink. “You can’t be serious. Promise you’re not teasing me?” Vulnerability coats her tired expression.
“I promise,” I say, not adding any teasing comment onto the statement so she knows I’m being sincere. “I’ve been to actual Michelin star restaurants, and they don’t compare.”
The smile that spreads across her face is nothing short of luminescent. “I’m going to choose to believe you.”
“Good,” I say as I get another forkful. “Because I’m telling the truth. When you open your restaurant, I’m going to be there every week.”
“You don’t know where you’re going to get traded to. You might be across the country from my restaurant,” she says before taking a bite.
There’s something utterly intimate about this moment in the dim light of her apartment kitchen. Barefoot and eating leftover pasta. It feels like a page ripped out of someone else’s life. One where they get to come home to their dream girl and laugh over a home-cooked meal.
“I’ll have millions of dollars. I’ll charter a jet from wherever I am.”
She laughs. “Environmentalists are going to hate you.”
“They can join the club. They’ll fit in with everyone else who talks about me as if they know me.” The comment comes out more biting than casual.
Jasmine frowns. “Do you have a lot of people who talk poorly about you?”
I look down at my bowl. This conversation turned in a direction I don’t love. The last thing I want to do is spend my time with Jasmine talking about the world she helps me escape from. But at the same time, it feels good to get it off my chest.
“My position as quarterback makes me an easy target. Talk-show hosts, podcasts, YouTubers, radio guys. Everyone wants to let me know how I could have done better.”Been more like my brother.
“Now I feel awful for insulting you. I don’t want to be in that club.” Jasmine frowns.
I shake my head. “You’re not. Saying something to my face is different. All of these people? They make money off of talking about me, behind my back, but if they saw me in the street, they’d pretend that we were best friends.”
It’s happened before. Too many times to count. One week, a host is calling me the weakest quarterback in the conference, and the next, he’s patting me on the back and inviting me to come to his granddaughter’s birthday party.
“Plus, I know you secretly liked me this whole time, so your words didn’t sting as much,” I joke to bring a smile back to her face. It works, and I feel lighter once more.
“I did not like you when we met,” she says with emphasis, making me laugh.
“I don’t believe you,” I reply with a grin.
“I didn’t!” she exclaims. “You were arrogant and I—” She stops herself, cringing.
“What?” I ask, curiosity springing to life inside me.
She sighs. “I was tired of hearing about how you were this football prodigy. I’m sure people insult you, but it felt like for months all I heard about was how amazing Shepherd Kingsley was.”
“So when Professor Kelton called me a prodigy…” I trail off.
