The Slut's Guide to Chess

chapter 8

Arwyn led us into the pub where we ordered a coke each and sat next to the large window. Blackwell Boarding School was built next to a small town by the sea, situated on top of steep cliffs with jagged edges and seagulls that squawked loudly overhead. High enough for the wind to whip around our bodies and close enough to the rough ocean that the salt from furious waves stuck to our skin.

"Now, we just sit back and observe the locals," Arwyn began. He pointed from our small round table and to the interactions over the bar. The bartender was a lady with large black hair and countless piercings who smiled widely at her customers, taking and giving jokes. She threw bags of crisps and peanuts out to those around her and pulled pints with ease.

"Why?" I asked, tapping my knuckles against our wooden table. My skin stuck to the surface that was sprinkled with the leftovers of sticky alcohol and wild memories.

"What do you see?" He ignored my question and instead asked his own. "When playing chess it's important that you don't just see the piece you need but every piece on the board - even the opposition's. By doing this, you get a better understanding of every move available for you and them."

I sighed deeply and tucked my hands under my thighs to stop the incessant tapping of knuckles on wood.

"I see a drunk guy," I confessed, narrowing my brown eyes onto the man who sat at the bar. His body swayed back and forth while laughing boisterously, the pitch so high that it echoed against the old stone walls of the pub.

"Is that all?" Arwyn urged.

"The bartender is talking? Though she should probably send him home, he's had too much to drink."

Arwyn hummed his reply with pursed lips. I watched as his gaze danced across the scene in front of us and the way a blaze lit in his brown eyes, he'd seen something I hadn't.

"Go on then," I sighed. "Tell me what you see, Einstein."

"He's not drunk," Arwyn said.

I blinked, snapping back towards the man and shook my head. His eyes were glazed over with the effects of alcohol and his orange hair stuck up unusually. The smile on his face was carefree and from the way he threw back pints, he was obviously an expert.

"He's too quick," Arwyn explained. "His reaction time is all wrong. She threw a bag of peanuts at him just now and he caught it straight away. When somebody called his name - Johnny, by the way - he looked over without hesitation. It's not right."

I whistled lowly. "Well well. Look at you then." It was teasing but something in my chest tinged with jealously.

"There's one more thing, I want you to see it. Look really, really close, Zora."

I shook my head of stray thoughts and pushed it all back to watch the man. My stare burnt holes into his back and the flannel hung loosely from his body. It felt like static in my head as my observations travelled down from his faded flannel and instead to his jeans. That's when I saw it and gasped.

"Is that my phone?" I hissed, seeing the dark navy of my phone case sticking out of his back pocket.

I patted down my own jacket, feeling for my phone only to be left empty-handed. Arwyn smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

"When did he take it?" I asked as I flicked through my memories while trying to recall when he'd done such a thing.

"That's how I know he's not drunk. It wasn't a sloppy mission. His hand slipped right into your pocket and pulled it out as though it were nothing. But, he's still here. What do you think that means?"