Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER THREE
MATCHING HIS MOVES

Jackie gripped the knob of the basement door. The cold of the metal shocked her palm, and she withdrew her hand. She couldn't have been away that long, but the retaining walls surrounding the stairs seemed equally cold. She shivered and rubbed her arms. The weatherman had reported sixty-seven degrees this morning. Sixty-seven. Perfect weather for her shoulder-bearing dress, but the Formans' house was draining her of warmth.

She pushed open the door, expecting to see Donna, Eric, and Michael. They'd returned from California two days ago, but Steven occupied the basement alone. He sat in his chair, one hand resting on thigh, the other grasping the couch armrest. He was watching TV. Match Game '78 by the sound of it, but she closed the door with an audible click, and his gaze shot from the TV to her.

His sunglasses were hooked on the collar of his shirt. His eyes narrowed, but Gene Rayburn spoke before he could: "'I just flew back from Cincinnati, and, boy, are my arms blank.'"

Definitely Match Game '78, and she pointed at the TV. "You've really let yourself go."

"What're you doing here?" he said, but his tone wasn't angry. It was soft. Confused.

"We had a chess match scheduled."

He stood up without a word and passed her on the way to his room. He came out with the chess board and pouch of chess pieces. She forced her expression to remain neutral, but a hundred candles lit up her insides. He liked being with her. Genuinely enjoyed it. Even if the extent of his feelings were platonic, at least he felt something.

She shut off the TV, and they set up the game as Led Zeppelin played on the stereo. As always, the board went on the couch's side table. Steven pulled his chair close to it, and she took her place on the couch.

He opened by sliding his king's pawn two spaces toward the middle. The move was one he'd made many times. If she didn't counter it properly, he'd gain control of the board.

He had to be testing her memory, to see if she'd retained his lessons. Matching his move, shifting her own king's pawn two spaces forward, could put them on even ground. She'd used that opening before. He'd shown her how to defend against his attacks, but she wasn't interested in a defensive game today.

She brought forward her c-pawn instead, the pawn in front of her queen's bishop. He said nothing, but a smile glided over his lips. It was gone in a blink, but she'd spotted it. His approval, his pleasure, had revealed itself.

Ten minutes into the game, and she gave up less ground and pieces than she'd anticipated. Steven's eventual victory, however, had become self-evident. She wasn't that well-versed in the Sicilian Defense, but she'd learned enough to avoid total decimation.

"So," he said while taking one of her bishops, "you seen much of Kelso?"

His voice jarred her more than the loss of her bishop. Up until now, they hadn't been talking, just playing.

"I haven't seen anyone but Donna," she said and studied the board. The kingside was under his control, but she still had a chance on the queenside. "According to her, Fez has been dragging him all over town … but I don't wanna see him anyways."

She'd barely looked at Michael when he returned from California. His van had pulled into the Formans' driveway, and she stood by the porch. Her attention centered on Donna and her miraculous tan. Miraculous because usually Donna stayed pale or burned during summer. Her mom must've given her a new kind of California sunscreen.

Steven gestured to the board. "Get your rook onto the c-file. That'll help you advance."

She thanked him and did as he instructed. He was trying to help her win, to teach her how, and her stomach fluttered.

His knight was in a good position to take one of her queen-protecting pawns. She braced herself for the loss, but he pushed one his few remaining pawns forward.

"Why did you do that?" she said.

"The obvious move ain't always the smartest." He leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together, and stretched his arms above his head. "You don't gotta jump into a relationship just 'cause you've been out of one a few months."

The fluttering in her stomach sharpened into clawing. "Yeah. I watched that episode of Donahue, too."

"No, man. What I mean is, you shouldn't define yourself by a guy." He leaned forward again, but his focus wasn't on the chess board. It was on her. "When you and Kelso broke up the second time—the third time? Whatever. You tried to define yourself by me."

"I did not!"

"You followed me like a freakin' baby duck who'd imprinted itself on me."

Blood heated her neck and cheeks, and she turned away from him. She stared at the alcove under the wooden stairs, and the scent of her own perfume choked her. Too much jasmine. "I have no plans of being with anyone right now."

"Plans don't always work out. Forman and Donna are slobbering all over each other. The cheer squad's gonna squawk about your single status, and the pressure'll get to you."

"So?" Her face blazed even hotter with blood. She whipped her head back toward him, hoping some of her fire flickered in her eyes. "So what, Steven?"

He captured her other bishop with his pawn. "Don't wanna see you get hurt, all right?"

Her breath stalled. His concern was like a salve. It soothed her stomach and tingled on her cooling skin. She was important to him. He'd finally admitted it, albeit in his own way.

"I took your second bishop," he said at her grin. "You shouldn't be happy."

"How could another boy hurt me? By cheating?" Her smile faded. Her importance to him was worthless if he had such little regard for her intelligence. "You think I'm dumb enough to get involved with another faithless jerk?"

"You went back to Kelso."

"Because I thought he'd changed."

"Kelso doesn't change. He is who he is."

She took one of his knights with her rook. "I know that now."

"Right. You 'know'." His eyebrow quirked up, as if he didn't believe her. Or had secret information.

"You've spent time with him," she said. It wasn't a question. He was acting too suspicious, and Michael was a braggart. Steven definitely had information about … "California. What did he do there? Who did he do?"

He scratched his beard and looked at the board. "Enough beach trash to fill a garbage truck."

She gasped. The sound vibrated in her ears and set off an avalanche. Boulders crashed onto her heart. Their jagged sides poked between her ribs, and she pressed both hands into her chest.

"See?" he said. "You're still hung up on him."

"I am not! It's just hard to hear about him being with other girls."

"Because you're still hung up on him."

She slapped the couch's armrest. "What do you care anyway?"

"You can do better." He closed his eyes and rubbed the nape of his neck. "You've got to."

He wasn't trying to goad or burn her. He seemed worried, but his demeanor changed before she could react. He patted the sides of his legs in a rhythm and refocused on the chess match.

Her concentration, though, remained on him. He rarely expressed himself openly. He was mostly subtext, but she'd taken Honors English. She could analyze his actions to find the truth.

He didn't want her with Michael, and he hadn't been with any girls all summer—unless he'd sneaked them into the Fotohut. But she doubted he had, which meant he'd kept himself dateless. Celibate, just to spend time with her.

His hand hovered above the chess board. He was about to take his turn, but she grasped his hand, and his eyes widened. He looked up at her, as if silently asking a question. She answered by changing her grip on his hand to a more comfortable one.

He didn't withdraw. His thumb swept the underside of her wrist, creating both warmth and a chill, and goosebumps sprouted on her arm.

"Steven," she said, but the basement door crashed open. Fez burst inside, singing an inaccurate version of "The Star-Spangled Banner". She flung Steven's hand away and adjusted the top of her dress.

"You two look sweaty and guilty," Fez said, approaching the couch. "Have you been eating my candy?"

"What candy?" she said.

"I didn't say candy..." his eyes shifted to the right, "and I certainly don't have any candy hidden in the garage." He waited a moment before speaking again. "I will be in the garage."

He fled from the basement. The door closed behind him, and she glared at Steven. "What do you think you were doing?"

"Me?" He gestured to her. "You're the one who groped my hand."

"Please. Who asked you to caress my wrist?"

"Caress? I don't caress."

She tapped the underside of her wrist. "Right there, Steven. Your thumb. My skin."

"Whatever. You're nuts."

"Not nuts enough to go back to Michael."

"Believe that when I see it."

His gaze lowered to the chess board, and he moved his queen forward, menacingly, toward her king. His dismissal of their intimacy invaded her stomach, scraping it clean of tissue, and acid spilled into the rest of her body.

"I'm not the one obsessed with Michael," she said. "You are."

He squinted at her. "Huh?"

She brushed her hair from her bare shoulders and spoke with a forced haughtiness "You don't want me dating him because it means he'll be too distracted by me and my great beauty to hang out with you."

"Sure." His chest bounced with soundless laughter. "That's gotta be it."

"I don't hear you offering an alternative explanation."

"Told you: don't wanna see you get hurt."

Her hands curled into fists. "Prove it."

"Why should I?"

"If you have to ask that..." She squeezed her lips together until they hurt. Her muscles tensed until she could no longer control them, and she flipped over the chess board. "You are so aggravating!"

He stayed silent as the chess pieces plinked onto the cement floor. He was staring at her ... or maybe past her.

"You're a broken railway signal, Steven. All the lights are blinking at once, and I don't know what it means or where to go!" She got off the couch. She should've left the basement, but her heels dug into the floor. "At least you're right about one thing. I can do better."

Hyde crawled on the basement floor, scavenging for chess pieces. Jackie's outburst had surprised him. So had her showing up for their chess match, what she'd said about Kelso, holding his hand—but she was a busted railroad signal, too. The second he let her in, the way his guts were begging him to, she'd lead him onto the tracks and pulverize him with a train. He wasn't going through that crap.

"You're talking like this ..." he gestured between himself and Jackie from the floor, "is more than it is."

She tapped her foot by her fallen rook. "Isn't it?"

He scooped up the rook and two nearby pawns. The pieces he'd gathered so far were cradled in the hem of his T-shirt. He twisted the cloth to secure the makeshift pouch, and it exposed part of his stomach.

She was watching him. He pretended to ignore her, but a vision pierced his skull of her touching him. Of her palms pressing into his stomach and her lips smothering the doubt in his mind.

"So what I feel here," she jabbed her fingers into her chest, "is just made up."

The pain in her voice speared him, and a lump grew thick in his throat. If she'd never dated Kelso, if she hadn't reconciled with him so many damn times … "Depends on what it is you feel," he said.

"Friendship, loyalty, connection—on a level deeper than I ever expected. Why do you think I came back? Why I keep coming back to you?"

He dragged in a breath through his nose. She had to be fucking with his head, but the sadness in her eyes deepened the ache in his throat. He stood up, chess pieces wrapped in his shirt and crammed into his jeans pockets. "It's not made up."

She dashed to him and looped her arms around his neck. Her cheek skimmed his beard, and he tightened his grip on his shirt to keep the chess pieces from dropping. "Jackie—"

"Shut up and hug me back."

He slung his free arm around her waist. Every curve of her body fit against him as if he'd been made for her, and his shoulders stiffened. That was romantic bullshit, but his eyes closed as her perfume swirled around his brain: citrus, jasmine, and another flower he had no name for. How many damn perfumes did she own?

Blood thundered in his ears. Ten seconds must have passed, but she wasn't letting go. Neither was he. His muscles relaxed with the extended contact, like they did during a circle, and he sighed through his nose. As certifiably nuts as she made him, he'd never achieved this kind of serenity with anyone else. Not without drug-induced help.

"For someone who doesn't do hugs," she said and nestled her head in the crook of his neck, "you're good at this."

Allowing their embrace to continue was a bad idea. She'd repositioned herself more intimately against him, but his arm tightened around her back. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathed in its apricot aroma, and his dick grew hard. Not just from lust but from all his shackled emotions. The center of his chest was throbbing with pressure, but he couldn't have what his insides screamed for.

Steps thudded on the wooden staircase, and Kelso's voice followed: "A Catholic school? That's rough."

Jackie's head jerked from Hyde's neck. Her arms slipped off him, and he tripped on his own feet getting to his chair. His hand let go of his shirt and grasped the couch's armrest. He'd kept himself from falling, but chess pieces spilled onto the floor.

Jackie gestured frantically to his chair. He got his ass into the seat, slid his shades onto his face, and adjusted his erection through his jeans pocket, effectively hiding it. She crossed her legs on the couch, like she had her own lust to hide, but evidence was everywhere.

He shook the thought from his skull. Evidence of what? They hadn't done crap but hugged.

Kelso, Forman, and Donna's voices blended together. Whatever they were talking about, Hyde's haze of adrenaline muffled it. He was sweating, and his shoulders hurt. His head pounded, but Kelso leapt over the back of the couch, landed next to Jackie, and Hyde's concentration sharpened.

Kelso's foot collided with a chess piece, sending it flying toward the TV. A string of spit latched onto the lollipop he pulled from his mouth. His legs spread wide enough to touch Jackie's, and his left arm got into her personal space.

"What were you guys doing?" Forman said from the deep-freeze. It sounded like an accusation, and Donna nodded beside him, reinforcing Hyde's sense of incrimination.

He didn't like it. He and Jackie owed no explanations. If they played chess together, hugged each other—or someday fucked—it was their damn business, no one else's.

"Well?" Donna said. "You and Jackie look weird."

"You look weird," Jackie said. "Your makeup palette, as limited as it is, suits fair skin, not the tan you acquired in California."

Hyde laced his fingers over his knee. His forearms strained with the effort, but this interrogation had to end. "Careful, Donna. Piss her off, and she'll chuck chess pieces at you."

Donna laughed. "What?"

"You can't see it 'cause of the beard, but I got a bruise forming on my jaw."

"That's right!" Jackie thrust her fist into the air. She must've caught onto his cover story. "I came here for you, Donna, but I found Steven practicing chess strategies. I made a perfectly innocent remark about him playing with himself, and he—"

"Gave her wardrobe advice," he said. "Her dress makes her shoulders look like a linebacker's."

She gritted her teeth but spoke through them. "That's when I hurled a bishop at him … and the rook."

"And the pawns, the knights, the queen and king. I should have her arrested for assault, man."

"You wouldn't dare! My dad would sue you for false charges!"

Kelso raised his hands, as if to placate her and Hyde. "All right, all right. Obviously, nothing's changed between the two of you." He put his hands down and angled his head toward her. "You and me, though … look, Jackie, we've been avoiding each other. I think it's time we hash this thing out."

Hyde chewed the inside of his cheek. The moment he'd been dreading had come, but Jackie smiled at Kelso like he had the mental faculties of a fungus. "It's okay," she said. "I'm good."

"I can see you're devastated over losing me," Kelso said. He brought the lollipop to his lips, and his tongue dragged it into his mouth. Had to be an attempt at seduction, but he needed to get better moves.

Hyde imagined ramming the lollipop down Kelso's throat. He followed that up in his mind by shoving pawns into Kelso's eye sockets, but in reality he did nothing but cross his arms over his chest.

Jackie mirrored Hyde, crossing her arms over her chest, too."You know what, Michael?" she said, but her eyes flicked to Hyde. He arched up an eyebrow. Her smile deepened, and she looked at Kelso again. "I'm fine. Really."

Kelso removed the lollipop from his mouth. "You sound brave, but inside you're a scrambled mess. Just remember this: I'll always be there for you in case you have any physical needs, all right?" His left arm snaked around Jackie's shoulders, and he clutched her upper arm. "We don't have to be in a relationship to fool around."

His fingertips were close to her breast, and her jaw visually tightened. She didn't want Kelso touching her. That much was clear

Hyde's stomach tightened, and his throat burned with phlegm. He didn't want Kelso touching her either, but she could shrug Kelso off. Stand up from the couch. Make the decision for herself—

Kelso's fingers played with her dress, the ruffled trim of its low neckline. Her spine straightened, but her eyes dulled. She resembled a dead deer, and Hyde slammed his fist into Kelso's right arm.

Kelso cried out in pain and withdrew his arm from Jackie's shoulders. Life returned to her eyes, but Kelso glared at Hyde. "Damn! What was that for?"

"I just missed you, man," Hyde said, smirking, but he felt anything but happy. Jackie must've been so used to Kelso overrunning her space that spacing out was her defense.

"Oh." Kelso's glare became an appreciative grin, and he stuck the lollipop into his mouth. Jackie though, pinched the skin by his elbow. "Ow—Jackie! What was that for?"

"I didn't miss you," she said and stood up. "You deserted me and broke my heart, but I've had a whole summer to get over you. A lot can happen in eight weeks, Michael. A lot can change." She walked to the basement door and grasped the knob. "Donna? Come by my house later and tell me about the horrible school your dad's making you go to."

She left, slamming the door behind her. Hyde fought every impulse to follow. She'd given Kelso a strong message today. She didn't go back to him. She'd come to Hyde. If he went after her now, they could find a secluded place to make-out, like behind the oak tree in the Formans' backyard.

His mouth grew dry as Forman moaned about Donna's school situation. Hyde's problem was less immediate but more toxic. If Jackie rejected him … or felt nothing in their second kiss … or claimed to share his feelings but returned to Kelso down the line—

"Fuck!" he whispered, and three sets of eyes trained on him. He was obsessing. Over Jackie. "What?" he said. "Donna's gonna be in a hot Catholic school uniform all day, and I won't get to see it."

Kelso nodded in understanding. Forman tilted his head, as if deciding whether to be sympathetic or pissed. Donna, however, said, "Oh, you'll see it. I'm not changing clothes before I get home. But if you make any Catholic school jokes, I'll—"

"Spank me with a ruler?" Hyde said, and Kelso high-fived him. Mission accomplished. He'd successfully accounted for his outburst, but his bigger issue still needed solving: what to do about Jackie.