Read Online Fearless by Francine Pascal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Francine Pascal
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of thunder roared overhead. The air felt heavy with coming rain. He’d give her a very few minutes.
The Rain Starts
SHE WAS SURPRISED. NOT ALARMED or anything. Just a little surprised.
She hadn’t expected him to respond so adroitly to her opening. They’d progressed quickly to the midgame, and she’d achieved almost no advantage. Now the wind was blowing in soot-colored clouds and thunder rolled through the sky and she was looking at the possibility of a complicated endgame.
He wasn’t the doofus she’d imagined. That much she had to admit. She hadn’t thought it possible to have perfect orthodonture and a good haircut and also be great at chess, but then, she was only seventeen. There had to be a few things left to learn.
She wasn’t pretending anything anymore. She was too focused on the board. All attempts at inane, geewhiz posturing had fallen away.
His manner had changed, too. His concentration on the game was so full, he let out these tiny, almost inaudible grunts every so often. He had this funny tick of drumming his fingers against his bottom lip before he made each move. She couldn’t exactly remember what about him had seemed so self-satisfied.
She unintentionally knocked her knee against his under the table. He glanced up.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. Her face felt warm. She prayed it wasn’t actually turning pink.
His hair had fallen over his forehead. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.
She commanded her own eyeballs back to the board.
A fat, cold raindrop landed on her scalp. Damn. Why couldn’t she just finish this up?
More Rain
TINY DROPS OF SWEAT WERE collecting in his hairline, bleeding into the raindrops slapping on his head. Drops dribbled down his neck, and his sweater was starting to smell funky. He was concentrating too hard to care.
The girl moved her king’s bishop.
Ugh. He closed his eyes briefly in disgust at himself. Why hadn’t he seen the pin? What was wrong with him?
He was forced to defend with a knight. That was a tempo lost.
The main thing wrong was that this girl was totally shocking. She was not good She was very, very, very good Where had she come from? She couldn’t be from around here because he felt sure he would have met her in tournaments before. She had to be an internationally ranked player. Either that or he suddenly stunk.
He’d sacrificed material to no avail. She’d dismantled one of his most trusted combinations. But even so, it was a really exciting game. Her play was not only smart and challenging, but unorthodox. Who had taught her? Who was she?
He glanced up at her. Her light hair was soaked flat with rain. Her blue eyes darkened to mirror the sky, and they were steady with concentration. She was somewhere around sixteen or seventeen years old. He hadn’t detected any accent, which would have at least helped to explain how she was so good. It seemed like foreign players always dominated in competition.
The harsh, defiant set of her face had dissolved now. Self-consciousness had fallen away as her focus intensified. Her eyes were lovely, rimmed with long, dark (wet) lashes. Her cheekbones were
exceptionally prominent for a person her age. Her face was open now and almost sweet. Raindrops stood on her bare arms, and her T-shirt was …
She snapped her rook into the center of the action.
Okay, better not to look anymore. He was screwing up here. Lucky for him there weren’t many beautiful girls who played chess, or he’d probably be bowling right now.
His heart was speeding with nervousness and excitement. He could feel warmth radiating from her legs, so close to his. His palms felt tingly.
Think about chess, you idiot, he ordered himself.
A Flood
YES, ALARMING. IT WAS NOW officially alarming. He was up a knight and coming on strong. How had she misjudged him so badly?
He was probably the best person she had ever played except for her father, maybe, and Zolov, who was nuts.
She studied his face. He was older than she,
The Rain Starts
SHE WAS SURPRISED. NOT ALARMED or anything. Just a little surprised.
She hadn’t expected him to respond so adroitly to her opening. They’d progressed quickly to the midgame, and she’d achieved almost no advantage. Now the wind was blowing in soot-colored clouds and thunder rolled through the sky and she was looking at the possibility of a complicated endgame.
He wasn’t the doofus she’d imagined. That much she had to admit. She hadn’t thought it possible to have perfect orthodonture and a good haircut and also be great at chess, but then, she was only seventeen. There had to be a few things left to learn.
She wasn’t pretending anything anymore. She was too focused on the board. All attempts at inane, geewhiz posturing had fallen away.
His manner had changed, too. His concentration on the game was so full, he let out these tiny, almost inaudible grunts every so often. He had this funny tick of drumming his fingers against his bottom lip before he made each move. She couldn’t exactly remember what about him had seemed so self-satisfied.
She unintentionally knocked her knee against his under the table. He glanced up.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. Her face felt warm. She prayed it wasn’t actually turning pink.
His hair had fallen over his forehead. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.
She commanded her own eyeballs back to the board.
A fat, cold raindrop landed on her scalp. Damn. Why couldn’t she just finish this up?
More Rain
TINY DROPS OF SWEAT WERE collecting in his hairline, bleeding into the raindrops slapping on his head. Drops dribbled down his neck, and his sweater was starting to smell funky. He was concentrating too hard to care.
The girl moved her king’s bishop.
Ugh. He closed his eyes briefly in disgust at himself. Why hadn’t he seen the pin? What was wrong with him?
He was forced to defend with a knight. That was a tempo lost.
The main thing wrong was that this girl was totally shocking. She was not good She was very, very, very good Where had she come from? She couldn’t be from around here because he felt sure he would have met her in tournaments before. She had to be an internationally ranked player. Either that or he suddenly stunk.
He’d sacrificed material to no avail. She’d dismantled one of his most trusted combinations. But even so, it was a really exciting game. Her play was not only smart and challenging, but unorthodox. Who had taught her? Who was she?
He glanced up at her. Her light hair was soaked flat with rain. Her blue eyes darkened to mirror the sky, and they were steady with concentration. She was somewhere around sixteen or seventeen years old. He hadn’t detected any accent, which would have at least helped to explain how she was so good. It seemed like foreign players always dominated in competition.
The harsh, defiant set of her face had dissolved now. Self-consciousness had fallen away as her focus intensified. Her eyes were lovely, rimmed with long, dark (wet) lashes. Her cheekbones were
exceptionally prominent for a person her age. Her face was open now and almost sweet. Raindrops stood on her bare arms, and her T-shirt was …
She snapped her rook into the center of the action.
Okay, better not to look anymore. He was screwing up here. Lucky for him there weren’t many beautiful girls who played chess, or he’d probably be bowling right now.
His heart was speeding with nervousness and excitement. He could feel warmth radiating from her legs, so close to his. His palms felt tingly.
Think about chess, you idiot, he ordered himself.
A Flood
YES, ALARMING. IT WAS NOW officially alarming. He was up a knight and coming on strong. How had she misjudged him so badly?
He was probably the best person she had ever played except for her father, maybe, and Zolov, who was nuts.
She studied his face. He was older than she,
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