Page 24 of Chess Not Checkers
She turns and makes her way back through the crowd of people, her white skirt flouncing with each swing of her hips.
I run a hand over my face and laugh under my breath.
I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter fourteen
Distracted
Jasmine Chamberlain
“Did I see you talking to Shepherd?” Marigold asks, tucking her tiny notebook back into the messenger bag slung across her body. She’s the only one of the roommates who came tonight. Saylor had to study, and Aurora said she’d rather dance on broken glass. Which I thought was a creative—if intense—way of sayingno thanks.
“Yeah, I ran into him,” I reply, unsure of what to say about the encounter. It was…nice? But something about that seemed wrong. As if we weren’t allowed to have a nice talk at a party. And my stomach was swooping and swirling like a kite on a breezy autumn day.
Marigold’s eyes narrow. “Did he say something to you? You look weird, and you said you were going to grab water, but you didn’t get any.”
I blink and look down at my empty glitter-covered hands. When my friend Emmaline from cheer called me over to take aphoto of her and Shelly, I came right back, forgetting what I had set out to do in the first place.
“We just talked. Nothing happened,” I tell her.
Marigold raises a brow like she doesn’t believe me and slides her notebook out again. Her purpose for coming tonight was not to celebrate the team’s win or have a good time. No, it was toobserve. She said the best writers were the ones who saw everything, felt everything, then documented it.
“Are you writing about me?” I ask with a nervous laugh.
She looks up from the tiny leather notebook, black pen poised over the page. “Yes. Your behavior is fascinating.”
My brows furrow together. “How so?”
“You talk about how you hate Kingsley and then you get so distracted by him that you forget to get water.”
I roll my eyes. “First of all, I never said I hated him. Second of all, parties in general are very distracting. Emmaline calling me over is actually why I forgot the water, not Shepherd.”
“If you say so,” Marigold says in a tone that says she’s not fooled.
I cross my arms and pop a hip out. “Fine, let’s say you’re right, wouldn’t you be the same way if Jameson were here? Enemies can be distracting.”
She doesn’t look up from her notebook, scribbling a little faster. “He is here, but you don’t see me talking to him,” she points out.
“He’s here? Where?” I ask, craning my neck as if I’d be able to tell who he is based on his name alone.
“By the door, talking to some blonde sorority girl,” Marigold mutters.
“You may not be talking to him, but you sure are aware of his whereabouts,” I say with a pointed look.
She shoves the notebook in her bag again. “Fine, you win. We’re both a little distracted by dumb guys tonight. Can we chalk it up to our hormones and drop it?”
I find Jameson across the room. His eyes meet mine, but not because he was already looking at me. No, that dark gaze is set squarely on Marigold, who’s either oblivious as a newborn or purposefully avoiding him by looking anywhere else. Maybe both.
His dark hair is messy, as if he runs his hands through it a lot, and too long for my taste with the way it hangs over his forehead. But he’s tall, muscular, and has this perfect brooding face that reminds me of Levi’s brother Adrian.
“He’s…” I trail off at the look on Marigold’s face. “Totally staring at you,” I opt to say instead. Which only makes her face twist up more.
“He is not.”
“He so is. Which you would know if you quit pretending he’s Medusa and you’ll turn to stone if you look at him.”
“Ihavelooked at him. He was busy with the blonde, as I’ve already said,” Marigold huffs.
