Page 40 of Chess Not Checkers
“And what list are you talking about? The list of people you like to annoy? Because I’ve been on that since we met.”
“No, the list of goals I’m not going to stop pursuing until I reach them. Win the national championship,” he starts to list, holding a finger up for each thing. “Win the Heisman, beat my brother’s record, and get Jasmine Chamberlain to make something just for me.”
“Sounds like you’re going three for four, then.”
His grin widens, making my stomach swoop. “I’m undefeated, and I’m staying that way. You’ll see.”
“Go home before your pasta gets cold,” I say with a laugh.
“All right, but only because I really don’t think I’m capable of properly heating this up.”
My abs are going to hurt from laughing so much.
“Get some rest, Captain,” I say as he starts to walk away.
“You too, Chef.”
“I’m not a chef!” I call out through more laughter.
“Yet!” he yells back before disappearing out the door.
I’m cleaning up our dishes when I hear Marigold’s door open. I brace for impact.
“Care to tell me what that was about?” she asks as she hops up on a stool.
“Have you eaten today?” I ask her instead of answering.
She huffs. “Don’t avoid my question.”
“Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours,” I reply.
“I had breakfast,” she says quietly. I glance at the clock. 9 PM.
“Marigold!” I hiss. “You can’t do that.”
“I was busy. I had some protein bars too. I’m fine,” she defends, but the ever-present dark circles under her eyes tell a different story.
The woman is constantly working. I don’t know when she sleeps. Her major is competitive to be certain, but not as much as Saylor’s, who eats and sleeps well. I know there’s something else going on, but when we cross paths, we rarely have enough time for me to pull it out of her. It seems like everyone I know is chasing after something, even myself, but I get the feeling Marigold is running away instead of after.
I sigh and walk to the fridge. I haven’t had a lot of time to prep meals, but we do have plenty of groceries. Much more than Shepherd and Owen have, that’s for sure.
“How does a turkey melt sound?” I ask, already grabbing the supplies I’ll need.
“It sounds like heaven, but I know you must be tired. I can make a cold sandwich.” I shoot Marigold a glare. She holds up her hands. “Okay, okay, I’ll eat it and be grateful.”
“Good.”
She stays silent as I get out a clean pan and melt some butter in it. I know she’s dying for me to tell her more, but she can sweat for a minute. Once I get the sandwich assembled and placed in the hot butter, I turn to face her.
“Shepherd and I have hung out a couple of times, as friends,” I finally answer her. “That’s all.”
“So he doesn’t get on your nerves anymore?”
I let out a breathy laugh. “He does, but he makes me laugh, too.”
And feel seen. Understood. In an unnerving sort of way that makes me want to spill all my thoughts. I almost did tonight, but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get the words out without crying. And I don’t think we’re at the cry-in-front-of-each-other stage of friendship just yet.
“It sounded like you were flirting.”
