10.

"Are you sure I can move the Knight there? Hang on, I'll just check real quick."

Jack issued a frustrated sigh as I once again lunged for my library copy of Chess for Dummies.

"The book will tell you I'm right," he muttered, pilfering some peanuts from the bowl next to the chessboard.

"You don't know that, we've only been playing for a week."

"Yeah…and the Knight goes to c5," he said through mouthfuls of peanuts.

"Ugh, this letter system is honestly confusing. Or maybe I'm slow," I complained, flipping the pages at random. Jack didn't bother to correct me.

You'd think Chess for Dummies would be simple, but they also provided information like Paul Morphy versus Duke Karl of Braunschweig and Count Isouard, a famous chess game I was pretty sure I'd never replicate or be that interested in.

"Okay, ha!" I bellowed triumphantly, "you're wrong, I can't move it to c5 because then you'd just take it with your Queen, which you suspiciously freed during the last move."

I shoved the page in his face for proof. Jack squinted at the sketch provided there and shrugged.

"Technically…it's an L-formation, so, uh, you can move the Knight to c5. Now, should you move the Knight to c5? That's another matter." His fractured grin looked more smug than usual.

He'd won most of our games so far, and we both sucked, so that was an indication of my appalling skills. I just couldn't think ahead, which was the whole point of chess. Keeping up with one or two moves was difficult enough. Having to plan beyond that was torture.

"You sound like those teachers who scold you for using "can" instead of "may"," I muttered, letting my Knight get eaten by his Queen.

"Don't look glum," he said, stuffing more peanuts in his slanted mouth. "My Queen's in the open. You, uh, got a solid shot."

And indeed, there seemed to be an opening if I just moved one of the Bishops away from one of the Pawns.

Jack was watching me formulate my attacks.

"You should really work on your poker face."

I frowned, shifting on my spot on the floor. My muscles were aching. "We're not playing poker."

"Yeah…well, I can read your next moves on your face."

I stuck out my tongue. "Read this."

He chuckled, the sound springing from a deep chamber in his lungs, like steam from an engine.

"Okay, let me take your Queen," I demanded, fingering my Pawn.

Jack raised both eyebrows in alarm.

I shrugged. "Hey, I let you take my Knight."

"You didn't, uh, let me. You lost your Knight."

"Come ooon," I whined, "just let me take your Queen. Just this once."

"No," he shook his head, arching his back like a cat. He was so lithe in his movements, I sometimes forgot he used to be military. But I suppose being nimble comes in handy in a warzone.

"Please, I want to win this," I persisted. Childishly, I knew but I wanted the final game of the night to end with me as winner.

"No cheats under this roof," he refused me mulishly.

"Fine. Guess I'll do it the hard way," and I reached out and grabbed his Queen off the chessboard.

He didn't exactly gasp, but his mouth issued a swishing noise, like paper being crumpled and crushed. His eyes glared at me. I'd obviously committed a foul crime by his standards.

"Just kidding," I mumbled, not wanting to raise his hackles. I'd chosen chess because it was supposed to be cerebral; the opposite of powerful emotions.

I was going to put the piece back – but then he grabbed my Queen from the board.

I blinked.

Jack held the piece in his fist.

"Hey! Put it back."

"You put mine back first."

"No, you put mine back first."

"No, you first."

"No, you."

"Both, at the same time," he settled diplomatically.

We both eyed each other suspiciously as we settled the pieces back on the board. Unfortunately, a sudden crick in my knee (I'd been cutting off circulation from it for too long) made me jerk and before I knew it, I'd turned over the whole chessboard.

Pieces flew in various directions on the carpet, both white and black.

Jack watched them with almost rapt fascination.

I put a palm over my mouth. "Oops."

He shook his head and some strands of hair fell into his face. I'd noticed he'd recently let his hair grow again. He was getting rid of the buzz cut. I felt oddly responsible for it, even though I knew that wasn't the case. Still, it looked nice. I mean, it was just an objective observation.

"I was going to win anyway," he remarked with noted superiority.

I made a face.

"Technically, I took your Queen first, so I win."

Jack leveled me with a searing look, but I knew him well enough by now to know there was little anger behind it. Most of it was just a tunnel-like intensity that few people could actually bear. Jack paid attention to you one hundred percent, and we're generally not used to that kind of focus.

"You know…your version of chess is, uh, kind of juvenile."

"You're just sour you lost," I pointed out glibly.

He heaved a sigh. There was the ghost of a smile on his ruined mouth. "I'm starting to miss The Secret of NIMH."

I rolled my eyes and said nothing, because I didn't know if it was safe to talk about the past.

We both started picking up the chess pieces to put them back in the case.

Our fingers brushed against each other a couple of times, whether on purpose or not, and it made me nervous. I wasn't scared of Jack; I was more scared of myself, of acting like a moron around him.

Keep it in your pants, Julia.

"Hey, what time is it?" I asked to distract myself. I was trying to get up from the floor, but I'd forgotten about my benumbed knee.

I stumbled and almost fell back on my face but Jack caught me in time. He gripped me by the tender flesh under my armpits and I hissed in pain. Both of my legs had fallen asleep, so he had to support me with his weight. He snaked a hand around my waist and pulled me up against him.

"Guess this whole sitting on the floor thing is not, uh, ideal."

I stared up at him on wobbly legs. It was kind of hilarious how much I looked like the eye-fluttering damsel in distress.

The grouch in me pulled back a little from his arms. I wasn't going to let my hormones take over. "I'll manage."

But in truth, I needed a bit more time for the blood to start circulating in my legs again.

Jack didn't let me go, thankfully.

We stood there, in the middle of his living room, staring at each other. Me, trying not to collapse on my comatose legs like some cartoon character. Him, acting like the boy scout who'd been taught to help old ladies cross the street.

I wondered if the stench of deodorant and sweat was coming from me. I sniffed at the air suspiciously. He smelled like food, since he'd recently cooked. Oh, man, I was the culprit.

"Um, I didn't get a chance to shower before coming up here."

Jack raised an eyebrow at me. "And?"

"You're probably getting a…garden variety of my scents."

Jack started to slowly sway my body left and right, as if we were dancing to some invisible music. It sent tiny ripples down my spine, which actually might've been due to my lower body being momentarily incapacitated.

"To get the blood pumping," he explained indifferently. "And I've smelled worse."

"Thanks for that," I quipped, feeling more embarrassed, if possible. "Actually my shower's broken. I need to talk to Mrs. Patrick about it, I just didn't get the chance."

Jack looked down at me. "Why didn't you say so?"

Okay, I hadn't said that to get a free shower out of him, I swear. I'd just wanted to let him know I usually do shower. In case he was wondering.

But it's not like I had a say in it once he found out. He dragged me straight to the bathroom.

"There's fresh towels inside. I'll bring a bathrobe. You, uh, get under the spray."

"Jack, this is really not necessary, I don't want to trespass on your–"

"You're trespassing on my patience," he replied, motioning me inside.

I could walk a bit now, although my legs still wobbled. Damn lotus position. A Buddhist monk I'd never be.

I closed the bathroom door behind me and stripped quickly, eager to get behind the shower curtains. He had the thick kinds. Good.

To be completely honest, I was so craving a hot shower. When I got home that day from work and realized mine was broken I wanted to cry so hard until I managed to clean my body with the tears.

I clambered into the tub with the grace of a hippopotamus and turned on the tap.

It was quite heavenly. There was even scented shampoo.

I tried not to enjoy myself too much; I was going to make it quick and short, I wasn't going to waste his water. But I found myself lulled by the steam and the relaxing jet pouring down my back. The shampoo, too, smelled like coconuts.

I didn't hear him come in with the bathrobe.

Although I was secure behind the shower curtains, I turned the tap off quickly and dropped the shower head.

"Sorry."

"For what?" he asked, standing only a few inches away from me. I could vaguely see his shape through the curtains. My nakedness was suddenly an extremely salient factor in the current circumstances.

"I wasn't singing, was I?" I joked, blinking away the water from my eyes. "It's what people do in the shower."

"Only if you're an asshole," he remarked starkly.

I huffed. "Well, I'll be getting out now."

And I should've followed up on that. Except my legs were still a bit tingly with numbness. You can really tell our P.E. programs have failed us, since most of us are in such bad shape. Well, that could also stem from having to stand up all day at work.

I could see that it would take me a while to get out of the slippery tub without killing myself in the process.

Jack had anticipated as much.

I didn't even have time to shriek as he pulled back the shower curtains.

He was holding the bathrobe in front of him, blocking most of his view.

But it was still really embarrassing, at least on my side of the robe.

I looked down at my flabby body which had seen better days and I tried not to be too self-conscious about it. He couldn't see anything.

I slid forward and let him wrap the bathrobe around me. Then I leaned on his shoulder as he pulled me out of the bath.

I felt like I was in a Jodie Foster movie about some incurable illness.

Jack didn't seem to care, one way or another. He maneuvered me the way you maneuver a child. Except his grip was a little too tight for comfort.

I stood in his arms for a second time that night, except soaking wet, with only a bathrobe between us.

Okay, maybe this was that other Jodie Foster movie, the one where Harvey Keitel is her pimp.

"No more sitting on the floor for you," he decreed solemnly.

"It's fine, I like it," I assured him, feeling my cheeks turning redder with each passing moment.

"You clearly can't handle it," he assessed sardonically.

I rested my hands on his arms in faux-despair and put on a wonky Southern accent. "Bless ma lucky stars you were here, kind Sir, otherwise I woulda gone straight to the dogs. Why, I'd simply float away if you didn't hold little ol' me up."

My Scarlett O'Hara impression did not seem to faze him, although I caught the usually amused look in his eye.

"Fine, let's see how you fare on your own," he replied. And he let go of me completely.

I was really lucky I grabbed onto the towel rack on my way down.

"Hey - !"

Jack stepped back, admiring his work.

I was splayed out on my knees, arms above my head, holding onto the metal rod for dear life.

I noticed Jack's gaze as it followed the line of my twisted body. His eyes acquired a dark sheen as they landed on my chest.

Shit.

The bathrobe had split open during the altercation, and I was now generously exposing my bust to him. Shit.

I wanted the ground to swallow me.

His gaze was uninterrupted, following the slope of my breasts with something like violence. I couldn't describe it. It was as if he wanted to rip into my flesh with just his eyes. It didn't feel like lewd voyeurism, it was something foreign, a kind of venom.

My throat dried up. I was going to say something smart and cutting like, "take a picture, it'll last longer", but he turned away before I got the chance.

"See yourself out when you're done," he said coolly, though not angrily. His fists, I noticed, were clenched. He left the bathroom quietly. I heard his footsteps down the hall. He reached his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

I stood there on the floor like a dumb puppet whose strings had been cut.

Eventually, I got up and toweled myself off with no further incidents. I put on my clothes and slipped out into the hall. The lights had been turned off. The whole place looked closed for visitors.

I frowned. Jack could've said good night, at least. His abrupt departure was not exactly out of character, but it did leave me puzzled. He was never this rude to me. Yes, we'd had an embarrassing incident, but I was trying to put it behind me.

I was almost tempted to knock on his bedroom door. Almost.

I left his apartment with the familiar feeling that I had missed something.

Unbidden thoughts came into my head. Maybe Jack hadn't seen a naked body in a while, maybe he hadn't had sex in a while - which was none of my business.

I absolutely shouldn't sleep with him. Ever.

I almost laughed as I climbed down the stairs. That was unlikely to happen anyway. Now that he'd seen the "goods", I doubt he was tempted. Oh, God, would I be able to look him in the eye tomorrow? And what would I find there? Contempt or shame? Probably neither. Jack didn't seem to operate in binaries.

I shoved a hand in my pocket and came upon something smooth and solid. His Queen. Somehow, I hadn't put it back with all the pieces. I don't know if I'd done it on purpose, but I was surprised it had survived the evening.

I stared at it for a while, then I put it back in my pocket.

A/N: updating at an ungodly hour again, because my muse is a fickle mistress. Thank you so much for your reviews, they push me to write more and better. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! To Waterbird, Nick Drake is a fantastic musical choice for the story and to maria, I'm incredibly humbled, thank you!