I rose to leave the girl's chess game and the garden. Coral's open palm in my direction indicated for me to stay.
Then, to Ruby, she challenged, "You are so sure. By the way, I want a peek at your tattoo."
Coral's hand spread angled on her hipbone, perhaps picturing where her girlfriend might be inked. Ruby swung her queen into the board's centre. She planted it with authority as her hand mirrored the golden girl's.
"Honey, you could see and touch my tat in private without this. But, right now, let's play!"
Coral cupped her queen's head.
"No, wait," she said, "Some rules here."
"Don't overthink it. You've lost already," cocky Ruby.
The brunette oozed impatience ever since Coral's revealing kitchen preview. Still, Ruby and I knew Coral's ability to make you wait. She could sit on the jetty edge an entire afternoon, pashing Josh.
He told me she kissed intensely for ages—more private parts of her body, forbidden, no-go zones. Coral crafting her girly bits using prosciutto exhibited the hallmarks of the teetering tease— nude and shared, entirely a separate event.
"How many layers are you wearing?" inquired Coral.
"Oh, I swear on my virginity," started Ruby.
She laughed in a way I associated with my bestie before she continued, "No, I can't say that."
Ruby smirked.
"And neither can you nor your puppy over there. Trust me; my jeans."
Her blue eyes locked on Coral. The brunette spun and pushed out her butt. Then she returned to an attention pose.
"Black lace bra and delicious black high-cut knickers."
Her face exuded mischief, "and the cross top you can see."
"Okay, fair enough," conceded Coral.
My buddy twisted her near-dry hair in the warm afternoon sun.
"And because you won't see them, I'm wearing a pretty white frilly bra and pristine white panties underneath. Shoes and socks to count, okay?"
Smart one, Coral.
String Ruby out.
"No shoelaces, honey. Okay, move!"
I thought Coral would respond by moving her queen. But she changed game tactics after several moves by lifting out her second knight to pressure Ruby's queen.
With her finger pointing, Coral said, "I suppose you want the beret."
Ruby huffed a hint of deprecation as her prey lodged before her. The brunette repositioned her queen. Then Coral shifted her knight. I savoured in a lip lick, her dainty steps on the board. She respected the marble and the game as a mental tug-of-war.
Ruby enjoyed herself, a check-mate girl, a conqueror. Her eyes hunted for any weakness in Coral's moves or her demeanour. The brunette's tongue tip danced over her lips, brash and sure.
"You skirted a full inventory," quipped Ruby, moving her queen; "You forgot your pleats."
The minx could double focus on Coral's hidden folded creases and chess!
Ruby spun her queen through her hands as she heeded a coy girlfriend smile; the piece's stylised face turned towards her. But, my God, the minx's crotch massaged the head! A steamy, mind-blowing gesture.
Coral's nose was upturned. She preferred the suggestive, not the flagrant! My best friend manufactured a closed smile.
Ruby was caught in her hot pleasure gyrating above her queen, but she snapped out of it, deciding playtime could wait. First, she snared an unprotected white pawn, captured at a sidestep of speed. Then she moseyed behind her pieces.
The game paused as Coral perched on the stone bench behind her white end and removed a sandshoe. She folded the laces and placed the shoe underneath the bench. Next, she moved with a lopsided wobble as she re-entered the board. Minus a shoe, Coral lacked her balanced charm. The laces of her remaining shoe became undone as she moved around the board, dragging her bishop forward as a logical move. I predicted her castling soon.
Ruby proved a board predator as her queen snatched another pawn. Then, of course, Coral removed her other shoe. She paired it beneath the bench. The brunette relaxed, tucking her feet under her matching bench behind her black pieces.
The next part of the game belonged to Coral. She skirted, castling. She glided on her socks, lifted her knight and swept off the board holding a black pawn. Coral scrutinised Ruby as she plopped on the bench and hurriedly removed a leather sandal. She flipped it high in the air. The shoe bounced behind her beret. No socks on the brunette as she moved a pawn—Ruby's awkward moment in one shoe. Her balance regained fast as Coral dislodged another black pawn using her alternate knight.
Ruby tossed her other sandal to the garden's edge beneath a butterfly bush. Barefoot, Ruby and her black pieces bustled in authority as Coral's delicate dinky toes wriggled free of socks. I doted as my bestie angled her feet inwards, big toe to big toe, as she folded her socks. Next, plying meticulous care, she placed them across her sneakers.
Coral delivered a move that appeared to be game-shaping. She used her knight to snare one of Ruby's bishops. I tried to look ahead and decide if Ruby sacrificed in the short term for later significant gains.
Though I concentrated more on seeing the unseen, I witnessed the mistress of screening poised to remove her top. I rubbed my hands with the prospect of seeing Ruby's breasts shaped by black lace, glad to be the third wheel here.
Ruby kept her top in place. Coral let her. Yes, it played out simply with a girlfriend twist. The golden girl's peripheral vision saw Ruby's dad approaching along the garden path. Coral gestured to her girlfriend.
Females and secret signs. Well, not so secret; more discrete and bi-partisan. Coral's hands, at her sides, gave the fig sign—no embarrassment for Ruby in front of her dad. I gathered in, not exposing Ruby; Coral intended to go 'all the way' with her girlfriend.
Ruby's dad sauntered to the chess set. A portly, middle-aged swagger. He exuded a sureness of his place in the world by rubbing a full wine glass, front and centre, to his chest.
The brunette's legendary hustle unfolded as she pretended to remove a loose thread fraying her top as her father idled beside her, his glass of red swaying.
"Rube…," he faltered, then restarted, "it's been ages since you played. I'm glad you are playing with friends!"
The brunette said, "Golf?"
"My partner received a medical call," her dad relaxed as he sipped his large glass.
"Oh, are you staying?"
Her toes wriggled spur of the moment.
"Yes, you are well-positioned. I have time for you."
He settled his expanding rump on the side bench next to me.
Ruby sacrificed for a high-value double gain, positioning her girlfriend on the back foot by stripping her girlfriend's white lady. Coral counter-punched a master of her knights, and she tilted off Ruby's queen.
The game transitioned to a hard slog as their dalliance loomed postponed. Ruby's dad sent me to fetch the wine bottle. I returned carrying a bottle sourced from the kitchen.
He sprawled beside me and commentated on the match between quick glasses of his quality red. I knew from the label the cost was exorbitant, as my parents had shared a bottle for a wedding anniversary. The longer the girls played, the more his words smelled of alcohol.
After Ruby initiated a decisive move, he confided, "She doesn't play with me anymore. I wish she did."
I shied from any response, choosing a meaningless nod. He drained his glass in a sustained gulp, and his swaying leg clinked the empty pitcher beneath the bench. He scratched his ear and refilled his glass.
Two males observed a polite chess game in the garden for the rest of the afternoon. We watched two graces being graceful. Coral and Ruby played politely and brought the manners they reserved for an adult presence. Their girlfriend banter waxed sweet. Whatever transpired in the game.
"Strong move," acknowledged Coral.
"Crafty pin," confirmed Ruby.
"Great top," complimented the golden girl.
"Not because it's black. It suits you."
"Where did you buy the lilac top?"
The brunette inquired as a conversation point.
They sustained their competition on the board. Ruby's late-game rook attack obliterated Coral's advantage, with both white knights tumbling in a rapid blitzkrieg. Coral manipulated a stalemate to complete the game. The game of love. Who knew then?
The girlfriends collected the chess pieces and set them again in their starting positions. Coral gathered her shoes and socks and joined Ruby on her bench. Afterwards, the brunette collected her scattered gear. Ruby's dad scratched his head as his daughter rummaged at the garden edge, collecting her hat and sandal. Nestling her ponytail beneath her beret, Ruby percolated style. Hands locked and swinging, the girls led us to the restaurant. I carried the platter, pitcher, and glasses like a fricking waiter. Ruby's dad loitered at the board, an empty glass and bottle dangling in his paws.
His presence slammed the handbrake on a potential eye-opener of an afternoon. How far would the girls have pushed each other? Stopping before they got to where they thought they might go? And a point where they prompted me to leave?
Ruby's mum invited Coral and me to attend the salami-making celebration dinner. We gathered in the restaurant, which was closed to diners. The tables lay arranged in long rows. A massive gathering of family and friends already assembled enjoyed nibbles and aperitifs.
Arianna stood and readied to supervise our seating. She ushered her late-arriving husband first, who declined, excusing himself, claiming unexpected, pressing business. His wife, unfazed, pointed Coral to a slot. Meanwhile, the petite brunette's face tightened as her father swanned out of the restaurant. Her sulking pout expanded as Arianna seated me next to her. Coral sat far away, between two nieces. As the courses began, I lacked the social skills to offer Ruby even fellowship, and besides, the brunette's mind and eyes scoped elsewhere.
I kept my mouth full; it was lavish, sumptuous and indulgent food. Coral occupied herself, genial and cordial, between the nieces without glancing in Ruby's direction throughout the meal. Meantime, the brunette picked at her courses the entire night. Homemade salami, prosciutto and mortadella ignored. Delicious pasta and pesto snubbed. Charcoal-grilled lamb ribs swimming in fresh herbs, prodded. Baked asparagus, mozzarella glazed, mashed under her fork. And a full-flavoured, robust, rustic Neapolitan, the final straw, untouched, as she excused herself and shadowed through an unlit door.