P-QB4.
“So,” Libby said sagely, “chess.”
“Chess,” I repeated. “The move—it’s called the Queen’s Gambit.
Whoever’s playing white puts that second pawn in a position to be sacrificed, which is why it’s considered a gambit.”
“Why would you sacrifice a piece?” Libby asked.
I thought about billionaire Tobias Hawthorne, about Toby, about Jameson, Grayson, Xander, and Nash. “To take control of the board,” I said.
It was tempting to read more meaning into that, but I couldn’t linger. I had the first clue now. It would lead me to another. I started walking.
“Where are you going?” Libby called after me. “And do you want me to have Jameson meet us there? Or Max?”
“The game room.” I made it to the door before I answered the second half of that question, my stomach twisting. “And yes to Max.”
CHAPTER 26
Built-in shelves lined the walls, all of them overflowing with games.
“Do you think the Hawthornes have played all of them?” Max asked Libby and me.
There were hundreds of boxes on those shelves, maybe a thousand.
“Every single one,” I said. There was nothing more Hawthorne than winning.
If what we have now—if everything we have now—starts to feel like another competition between Grayson and me, like a game? I don’t trust myself not to play.
I slammed that door in my mind. “We’re looking for chess sets,” I said, focusing on that. “There is probably more than one. And while we’re looking…” I shot my best friend a pointed look. “Max can catch us up on the Xander situation.”
Better her romantic drama taking center stage than mine.
“Everything involving Xander is a situation,” Max hedged. “He specializes in situations!”
I scanned the boxes on the closest shelf, checking for chess sets. “True.”
I waited, knowing that she would break.
“It’s… new.” Max squatted to stare at the lower shelves. “Like, really new. And you know I hate labels.”
“You love labels,” I told her, skimming my fingers across game after game. “You literally own multiple label makers.”
Chess set! Victorious, I pulled the box from the shelf and kept looking.
“The situation—Xander, me. It’s… fun. Are relationships supposed to be fun?”
I thought about hot-air balloons and helicopters and dancing barefoot on the beach.
“I mean, I’ve never actually been friends with a guy first,” Max continued. “Like, even in fiction, friends to lovers? Never my thing. I’m more star-crossed tragedy, supernatural soul mates, enemies to lovers.
Epic, you know?”
“You don’t get much more epic than Hawthornes,” Libby told her, and then, as if she’d caught herself, she straightened, turned her attention back to the shelf, and pulled out chess set number two.
“Do you know what Xander did when I had my first college test?” Max was rambling now. “Before things even got romantic? He sent me a book bouquet.”
“What’s a book bouquet?” Libby replied.
“Exactly! ” Max said. “Mother-faxing exactly.”
“You like him,” I translated. “A lot.”
“Let’s just say I am definitely reconsidering my favorite tropes.” Max popped up to standing, a wooden box held in her hand. “Number three.”