I laugh. “Naked chess?”
“I like that idea, but no. If we do that, I’ll forget why we’re playing.”
“Why are we playing?”
“I’ll show you.” He kisses me and then releases me.
My gaze lands on his shirt. “Why are you wearing a Kingston shirt?”
“You told me I didn’t want to see my father with open eyes. Paraphrasing, of course, but that’s the gist of what you said. This morning, I took your words to heart and forced myself to climb out of my head where he loves to play, and get into his head.”
He has my full attention. “How does this connect to chess?”
His answer is to offer me his cup of coffee and indicate the chess board in front of me. “Play me.”
“Just tell me what you want me to figure out.” I sip the warm, sweet beverage that says Eric likes chocolate, and somehow I love him all the more for it. “I’m not playing you.” I hand him his cup. “You’re a genius.”
“Humor me,” he says, no denial about his ability to win in his response.
“I don’t even know how to play.”
“Approach it like checkers.”
“Fine.” I reach for a piece and make a move.
He moves next. Then me. Then him. I study his position and jump one of his men. “We both know you let me do that.”
“What were you thinking with every move?”
My brow furrows. “Well, I wanted to force your next move, leave you nowhere to go but where I wanted you to go.”
“Exactly.” He stands up and looks down at me. “Think about what happened. Isaac baited me and I left you there at the warehouse, angry. I did what I’ve done every time with this family. I headed to the airport. I was going to leave. You were attacked. It could have easily looked like I killed you and ran. They set up the reactions, or Isaac did.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“But then I showed back up. I saved you. I left with you. I forced them to make a move. And so, my father did. He came here to take control.”
“But you’re the one in control now. You didn’t do anything he wanted.”
“What if I did?”
My brow furrows again. “What? I get that I’m not a genius, but—”
“Stop saying that. Stop putting me over here.” He motions to himself and then to me. “And you over there. Don’t treat me like the bastard.”
It’s then that I realize that the bastard is more to him than I’d ever imagined. It’s the title that makes him an outsider.
“All right,” I say, moving on rather than commenting directly, my instinct telling me that’s what he wants and needs. “What you just said. That makes no sense, Eric. You didn’t go to his room. You didn’t call him after the attack.”
“What if that’s not how it happened at all? He came here to get in my head. He sent a man to attack me, a man who was no match to shake me up, to get into my head. And he called you to do the same.” He points to the chess board. “Think about the game. Every move you made was to force my next move. My father took an offensive stand to my defensive position when he responded to our retreat by coming here.”
I sit on the edge of the cushion. “So he doesn’t want you to retreat. He wants you to engage.”
“Unless he doesn’t.”
“Of course he does,” I argue. “He left me a message. He wanted me to respond.”
“He was testing your loyalty to me.”