Page 67 of Chess Not Checkers
I cross my arms. “How do you know she lives here?”
He grimaces. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m a stalker.”
I raise a brow and channel my inner Aurora. “Too late.”
He sighs and holds out the book. “Please just give it to her. It’s one of her favorites, and I know she’ll be upset if she thinks she lost it.”
There are pink and sage green tabs poking out of the side of the book, and the cover is curling at the corners. I slowly take the book from him.
“I’ll give it to her.”
“Thank you.” He shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “We have a Shakespeare exam this week,” he says.
I glance down at my watch. This is cutting into my time with Shepherd before class starts. “I know; we have a shared calendar.”
He bobs his head. “We used to get ice cream floats after big exams. I think she’d like that.”
Marigold would be very upset with my soft, romantic heart right now. Because even though Jameson’s earned the title she gave him, he also seems to really care about her. Could she be mistaken, the way I was?
“Thanks for telling me. I have to get to class now.”
Pain flickers through his dark eyes. It’s in that moment that I know I’m not ever going to get an ice cream float with Marigold. If I did, it would hurt them both too much. That memory—for better or worse—is theirs.
“Okay, thanks again,” he mumbles before turning and stalking off toward the elevators.
I go back inside and leave the copy ofEmmaon the counter, next to the plate of pastries Marigold is going to need for emotional support when she finds it.
Book returned, Ifinallyset off to see Shepherd. Every part of my walk seems brighter than usual. The sunlight overhead warms my skin, but the cool of the morning ensures it’s not too hot. Leaves crunch under my feet. Autumn always drags her feet on her way into Georgia, but she’s starting to settle in. I swing the bag with my danish as I walk, tempted to skip down the winding path instead.
I pass through the revolving door to the Nadine Wilks Business Building with a bright smile. All around me, students trudge to their 8:00 a.m. classes with the despondency of a soldier heading out to fight a losing battle. I stand out today with all my cheer. I can’t temper it, though. I don’t even want to try. It’s already going to be hard enough not to throw my arms around Shepherd at first sight.
The lecture hall is almost full when I arrive, but not my seat. Shepherd’s backpack is in it, just like it was on our first day. He grins at me from the second row. My heart stutters at the sight. Yeah, it’s going to be hard to focus today.
I walk up the risers, and when I get close, Shepherd pulls his backpack to the floor. I take the seat without saying anything, set his apple danish between us on the table, then pull out my laptop.
“What’s this?” he asks in a low tone that makes my toes curl.
“I made apple danishes for the girls last night. We had an extra one…”
“So, it’s mine then?”
The wordminemakes me think of being on his couch. His lips on my neck. My face heats, and he smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking of.
“If you want,” I reply in a breathy tone.
He slides it toward him, then opens the bag, tears a piece off, and pops it into his mouth. A low hum escapes him.
“Delicious,” he whispers while looking right into my eyes.
My face is so warm, it feels sunburnt. I tear my gaze from his right as the professor claps his hands together at the front of the room.
“Happy Monday, everyone!” Dr. Poulter cheers. “We are starting the week off in a new unit: Customer Acquisition. Would anyone like to define the term in their own words before we begin?”
A few students raise their hands. I can barely breathe, much less think of an answer, so I don’t move. Shepherd moves, though, but not his hands. He relaxes back in his seat, and similar to our first day, lets his knee rest against mine. This time, I don’t pull away.
Someone answers the question, but it goes in one ear and out the other. I pull up my notes document to attempt to focus. The lights dim around us as Dr. Poulter projects his slides onto the smartboard. I start typing as he speaks, but all my focus is on the singular point of contact between me and Shepherd.
I feel something brush my leg, making me startle. Shepherd’s hand is palm up on my knee, his fingers splayed in a dangerous invitation. I glance at him, but he’s looking straight ahead, opting to write his notes on a tablet instead of type them. Neither of those options would work for me, though, because he’d be taking my right hand. An idea comes that I know will be just as distracting as holding hands, but at least I can pretend to be typing.
