Checkmate

18| Shotgun kiss

The idea of trusting Blake seems unfathomable. But then again, isn't that what I've been doing? I trusted him to be my campaign captain, which means if I can trust him with that, I can trust him to pick a movie that won't make me an emotional wreck.

I settle into the sofa as it plays. It's late enough that the basement is dark, and I can just about make out Blake's silhouette as he stares ahead, his face lit up a fraction by the screen. It's the first time we've sat this close without a reason, and I don't know what to do with myself.

"I don't get it," I say. "Why is he so concerned about finding this egg?"

"Because," Blake says with a hint of impatience, "it's got healing abilities."

"But why does an egg have healing abilities? Where did it come from? What laid it?"

Blake winces. "We don't know that yet, because we're only five minutes into the movie, Matthews."

I fall silent again. Even watching films with Chase, I found it hard to invest fully in what we watched. I get too caught up in the details, which is why, when the guy falls unconscious for twenty minutes straight, I can't help but say, "If he were unconscious for that long, he wouldn't just be getting up and walking around right after."

"I have a question," Blake says, his jaw contracted, "are you going to stop talking anytime soon?"

I can't help it. I talk too much when I'm nervous, and Blake makes me nervous. "Sorry," I mouth and turn to the front.

His arm brushes mine as he reaches for his beer. My heart pounds; if we were anywhere other than his basement, I'd feel embarrassed to admit to the searing heat invoked by a simple touch. But down here, away from expectations of life and school, it feels safe to acknowledge, even if it's only to myself.

It's not long before I lose interest in the movie altogether. Not because it's terrible, it's not, but because I can't stop overthinking. At first, it's about the campaign and my speech, but soon those thoughts turn back to Blake's party and how he'd taken the joint when I didn't want to smoke. Or how he let me sleep in his room. How, despite the fact we don't get along, he looked out for me. And then I find myself wondering things that I shouldn't, like what it would be like if we had something in common. Or how it would feel to spend all of my time in the shadows of his basement. Or what it would be like to kiss him.

The thought is ridiculous. Not for obvious reasons, but because the last thing I need is to do something stupid that will overshadow the campaign. What if rumors got out about us? What if my parents found out? What if something went wrong and he quit as my campaign captain? I didn't work this hard just to let it go to waste because I developed unnatural urges about a guy like Blake.

Eyes closed, I mentally rehearse my speech in preparation for Wednesday. But then the nerves I've been trying to suppress about that join the ones I have about Blake, and I'm back to overthinking.

Blake's still engrossed in the film and unaware of my anguish. My gaze drops a little and rests on his arm, tracing the lines of each tattoo. There is one I never noticed before, placed between the pocket watch and the compass, and it looks like a small dog bone.

Unable to stomach the silence any longer, I take a risk. "Can you tell me what one of your tattoos means?"

Blake leans forward and grabs the remote from the table. He turns the tv off, cloaking us in darkness, and half-turns to look at me. I can just about make out the wry twist of his mouth. "Remind me never to watch a movie with you again."

"Sorry," I say, "I just can't concentrate on a movie when I'm worried about my speech." And other things. "Maybe I should go over it again." I reach for my bag, but Blake grabs my arm before I can unzip it, his fingers like fire on my skin.