Page 51 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

She chuckles under her breath and steps aside so I can continue into the diner. “Come have your breakfast. I’ll add fresh cookies to your plate and call it even.”

“Did you make them yourself?”

Laughing, she follows me in and misses the way Stefan and Franky dive for cover when they see us coming. “I did make them. First thing this morning.”

“But you’ve only been at work for half an hour?”

Just like her son, she swings an arm out and smacks me. “Shut up.”

* * *

I don’t even pretend notto wait for her later that night. I sit on my stairs in the cool breeze and stare up at the stars while I count the minutes. Leaning back on my elbows, I tap my foot against the bottom step just before eleven, studying the twinkling Andromeda galaxy while I think back to all the classes in school I paid such keen attention to.

It’s not a secret at this point in my life I was – and still am – kind of a dork. I’m the friend for all of my friends’ girlfriends. The shoulder to cry on, the one they show their puppy dog eyes and ask me to fetch them something to eat. I’m the guy all of the women feel safe around because I don’t hit on them. I don’t even pretend to hit on them. And I always say yes.

Want a snack?

Sure.

Want a ride somewhere?

I’ll do it.

Want to buy your man a gift?

Sure, I’ll help you shop.

I don’t mind my place in this setup, since I never wanted to fuck any of those girls anyway. But still, I stare up at Andromeda and think about how we got here. Katrina’s sneakers scuff against the loose gravel and bring my lips up into a smile. I shouldn’t let her walk even those two blocks from the diner to here, but the very moment I offer to walk with her, I know she’ll pull herI don’t need a mancard and run in the opposite direction. Katrina is like a field of explosives: one wrong step and we’re all dead. So I choose my battles, and maybe I tip Spence and the chief off that she’s walking at this hour, in case they’d like to patrol and keep an eye out on my behalf.

I cast a glance to the left as she comes around the side of my building with shy eyes and bowed shoulders. She’s so proud, it almost hurts her to come to me in the middle of the night. It hurts her to ask for anything, even if I’m practically throwing myself at her and hoping she’ll accept.

To save her, I turn back to the stars and don’t make a big deal about the way she folds her arms and hugs herself as she stumbles forward. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I tap the metal stairs and scoot a little to the right, and as soon as she sits and her hip rests against mine, I drag her scent into my lungs until I’m full and wear a goofy grin. “Good night at the diner?”

“Eh.” She lies back and rests her shoulder against mine. Following my lead, she makes herself comfortable and looks up at the stars. “Same as always. Nothing dramatic happened.”

“That’s good.”

A star shoots across the sky above us and makes me smile when Katrina gasps. It lasts only a second and ends with her grunt of disappointment. “Did you see that?”

“I did. It didn’t last long.”

“I only caught the last second,” she pouts. “It was so pretty.”

“Uh-huh.” When I reach across and take her hand in mine, she doesn’t react at all. She allows me to move her arm, bring her hand closer, and folds her fingers around mine when I twine them together. I guess the rules don’t apply when we’re alone in the dark.

“Did you know some cultures think the stars can tell the future?” She glances toward me for just a second, then goes back to the stars with a smile. “It’s cool to think they can predict what’s coming.”

“I did know that.” Dorky McDorkerson, science class favorite, here. “Astrologists speak of myths and supernatural legend. It’s a little more hooey and not at all scientific, but their predictions are solid. Meanwhile, their snobby foes, the astronomers, tend to come up with thesamepredictions, but because they use scientific data, they consider theirs fact.”

“Snobs.”

I chuckle. “I know. Bunch of snobs think they’re always right. Then every Thursday when the astrologers and astronomists are at the same dinner table, the astronomers get pissed, because the astrologists are all ‘we already knew that, Frank. Don’t you ever listen to us?’”

Katrina snickers and turns a little toward me. Finally, I allow myself to turn my head and stare into her bright eyes. They reflect the moon and don’t look even a little bit sad. It’s rare she doesn’t have sad eyes. “That sounds like a totally legit conversation that probably never happened.”

“You know what I mean.” For reasons unknown to me, I bring our joined hands up and press my lips to her knuckles. I was married once, and for Gemma, I did all of the sweet things women want: flowers, chocolates, picnics, gentle kisses, and soft whispers. But when that was gone, I didn’t try it again. The women I’ve known since then didn’t want sweet nothings, and I didn’t want to give them. Our interactions were a business transaction of sorts. No money was exchanged, but neither were pleasantries. But here I am now, staring at the stars and kissing a woman’s knuckles just because I want to. It’s terrifying. “Did you know that stars are often clustered in pairs?”

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