Page 59 of Chess Not Checkers
“I can. There’s an edge to our ballerina, I think,” I reply.
“So? Are you going to go yell at your man?” Saylor asks with expectant eyes.
“He’s not my man. He’s a friend.” I receive a series of looks that lets me know they don’t believe me. And I’m pretty sure Aurora laughs in the other room. “But yes, after ice cream, I’ll go.”
I’m going to need the sugar to recuperate all the energy I lost from crying my eyes out. I climb out of bed and stretch, my muscles tight after lying down for so long.
“Could I maybe, possibly cleanyourroomwhileyou’regone?” Saylor asks in a rush.
I start to say no, but then I get a good look at the disaster zone I’ve been living in.
I heave a sigh. “Fine.”
“Yes!” she shouts, making me laugh.
We file into the kitchen and huddle around the kitchen island. As we dig into our pints, I look around and smile. No matter what happens with Shepherd, at least I have my girls to fall back on.
Chapter thirty
Why?
Shepherd Kingsley
Owen walks in from the kitchen, a container of microwaved stir-fry in tow. He pauses in front of me, blocking the TV. I’m not missing much, considering they’ve been saying the same thing on repeat all morning. Or rather, asking the same question: Has Shepherd Kingsley lost his touch?
“Coach said not to watch ESPN.” Owen’s voice is monotone, as per usual.
“I’m not watching it right now because you’re in the way,” I deadpan.
“You’re being pathetic,” he says in the same way a bland professor reads a slide from the lecture.
“Appreciate the pep talk.”
“Wasn’t trying to give one,” he throws back, still not moving. “You know, the rest of us lost the game too. You’re not the only one who played yesterday.”
“I’m aware,” I grouse, and sink lower into the couch.
I’ve spent all morning in sweats with my hoodie over my head, ignoring the world as best as possible. I can’t eat. Nothing sounds good. Certainly not the awful meal prep I used to tolerate. Jasmine came in and ruined food for me. Not just food, though. Everything is miserable without her. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I sent that text, and I miss her with a fierceness I didn’t anticipate.
“Have you talked to Jasmine?” he asks. He has no idea what happened between us.
“Why would I do that?”
He gives me a look that saysyou’re an idiot. And he’s right, but I’m also stubborn. So I’m going to sit here and be pathetic until it’s time to go over game tape, then I’m going to be the best quarterback this program has ever seen.
Second to your brother, my mind corrects, making me wince.
A knock at the door makes Owen and I both share a surprised look.
“I’ll get it,” he says, setting his food down on the coffee table before walking to the door.
I turn my attention back to the TV. They’re comparing my game stats to Carolina’s quarterback. They’re not as far apart as I would have thought, but mine are still worse.
“I’m guessing you’re not a big fan of emotions,” I hear Jasmine say.
I sit up, my hood falling back, and lean forward to look out the door. I can’t see around Owen’s lanky build, but I’m certain that was her.
“Uh…no?” Owen answers.
