THE NEXT MOVE
563 Words
Sam’s POV
The rest of the day played out like background noise. Teachers droned on, classmates whispered their usual rumors, and every now and then I’d catch someone sneaking glances at me—nothing new. My head wasn’t in the classroom anymore. It was already running through the next steps with Vera.
She was different—not the desperate, giggling type that would throw themselves at me after one smile. She seemed composed, a little guarded. But the blush when I spoke to her? That was a crack in her armor. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s finding the cracks and pulling them wide open.
When the final bell rang, I took my time packing up. I liked making people wait—it keeps them wondering if you’re worth the patience. Brittany was already leaning on my car by the time I stepped outside, sunglasses perched on her head, pretending she wasn’t watching for me.
“So?” she asked, crossing her arms.
I opened the door without answering.
“Don’t act like I’m not going to drag it out of you,” she warned, sliding into the passenger seat.
I smirked. “It went… like clockwork.”
She gave me that look. “You’re impossible.”
“Nah,” I said, starting the engine, “just strategic.”
The drive home was smooth—windows down, music low, the late afternoon sun catching in my rearview mirror. My mind kept circling back to that library scene: her voice, the way she tilted her head when she teased me, the almost imperceptible pause before she agreed to dinner. She’d already started playing the game without knowing the rules. And once they start… they never win.
At home, I tossed my bag on the couch and headed straight to the gym. I don’t just plan my words; I plan myself. For a girl like Vera—poised, beautiful, probably used to getting attention—it’s not enough to talk smooth. You have to be the type of guy she can’t get out of her head.
Sweat dripped down my back as I finished my last set of weights. The burn in my arms reminded me of one of my own rules: If you’re going to make an impression, make it from every angle.
When I finally walked back into the living room, Brittany was sprawled across the couch scrolling through her phone. She didn’t even look up when she spoke.
“She texted yet?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What, are you stalking my game now?”
“Just curious,” she replied with a smirk, still not looking at me.
I pulled out my phone. One unread message. Vera.
> Vera: “Hey… about that dinner, when are you free?”
Quick. I like that.
I typed back:
> Me: “Tomorrow night. 7. Wear something that’ll make me forget my own name.”
She responded almost instantly.
> Vera: “Challenge accepted.”
Perfect.
I tossed the phone onto my bed and leaned back, a slow grin stretching across my face. Tomorrow, I wouldn’t just be another guy she had dinner with. I’d be the one she couldn’t stop thinking about.
The thing about a game like this? The first meeting is the hook. The second? That’s when you reel them in.
And tomorrow… I’d be fishing.
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- Writer
