Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
This evening, however, was proving him wrong. As it would turn out, Kennedy apparently preferred playing chess outside on a slightly too-cold evening, on a wobbly table in a public park, with slightly sticky pieces, including a knight whose head had been lopped off, sitting across the board from . . .
Kate Henley.
Kennedy sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand idly over his jaw as he watched his playing partner. Kate took her time deliberating each move, but he didn’t mind. He kept himself occupied by studying her as she studied the board.
She wasn’t used to her new haircut. He could tell by the way she kept trying to tuck a shorter piece behind her ear, then frowning when it fell into her face, as though she wasn’t accustomed to it not doing as it was told. He suspected Kate didn’t like it when things didn’t behave the way she wanted or expected them to.
She chewed her bottom lip as her eyes darted between her rook and her queen, and he knew she was debating whether or not to take a risk or play it safe. It was the thrill of chess with a new partner, where you didn’t know the other person’s skill or style, didn’t know whether a bold move was going to bite you in the ass.
After another minute of deliberation, she went with neither piece, instead nudging her pawn forward in a surprisingly tepid move. He didn’t mind. He’d take a chess match at a wobbly table with Kate over one with Bobby Fischer any day.
Kennedy already knew his next move but took his time studying the board anyway, partially out of habit, partially to prolong the game.
“You don’t feel a little guilty?” Kate asked.
He looked up. “About?”
“Ditching your own party.”
“A little,” he admitted. “But I figure if I can ever get away with a social gaffe, it’s on my birthday.”
“Oh, that reminds me, I forgot your present. And do not do that annoying thing where you say I didn’t have to get you anything,” she said, before he could do exactly that.
“All right,” he said, moving his bishop, and then sitting back in his chair. “What did you get me?”
“It was between a plastic bobblehead and a fake plant for your office.”
“Both things I love,” he said dryly.
Kate nodded. “I thought it would be nice with all of those weird wood chunks you keep around.”
“They’re collectibles.”
“Yeah, okay, Ross.”
Kennedy frowned. “Ross?”
“Yeah,” she said, starting to move her rook and then changing her mind. “You know, like from Friends?”
He shook his head.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You have a television. What do you watch, documentaries?”
He said nothing.
“Of course you do,” she said with a laugh. “Okay, well, watch Friends. You’ll like Ross.”
He’d seen Friends once or twice—he was discerning, not completely out of touch with reality. But he had no idea who Ross was. Kennedy made a mental note to look into it and get some insight into who he was in Kate’s eyes.
Kate’s attention was back on the board, as she chewed her lip once more. She shivered, then gave him a brief, knowing look. “You going to lecture me again on not bringing a coat?”
Discomfort rolled down his spine.
That’s who you think I am? That guy? The lecturing, sanctimonious asshole?
But had he given her reason to think otherwise? Kennedy knew he could be stodgy. Hell, he intentionally cultivated the image most of the time. He liked being old-school in an industry chock-full of bros. But there was a difference between being old-school and serious, and being an uptight prick.
Kate, apparently, put him in the latter category.
He stood and shrugged out of his suit jacket just as she moved her knight. She blinked in surprise as he came around to her side of the table and unceremoniously put his jacket around her shoulders, careful not to let his fingers brush against the bare skin there.
“Thank you,” she said as he sat back in his chair.
“You don’t have to sound so puzzled,” he said, shoving his pawn forward.
She lifted a hand and rubbed the fabric of his lapel between her fingers thoughtfully. “Well, you have to admit, while on paper I’d describe you as a gentleman, the chivalry doesn’t typically extend to me.”
“That’s not true,” he said automatically, shifting in the uncomfortable chair.
“It’s a little bit true,” she said, studying the board and then moving her queen. “But it’s fine. I know I drive you crazy.”
“Well, that’s true,” he admitted.
She laughed at that—a genuine, unfiltered laugh—and Kennedy found himself smiling back.
“Why?”
“Why do I drive you crazy?” she asked, looking up.
He stiffened slightly at the question. It felt too direct, somehow, demanding thought in a direction he wasn’t ready to go. “Why do you go out of your way to push my buttons?”
A small smile flirted with her lips, and she didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t mean to. Or at least, I didn’t, at the beginning . . .”