Zach is perfect. Loving, respectful, passionate, and such a cocky son of a bǐtch. You sat across from him, and what you thought was a harmless chess game turned into a competition. You were probably in your sixth game when he beat you again. Seven must be the charm, you ‘thought.’

”Checkmate,” he murmured before moving one piece of his checkers. His posture was collected; he held his lips tight, trying to contain the smile when you sighed. He knew you, and he knew you were such a sore loser at times, but you always tried to conceal it. He slid off the chair and leaned his head, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I beat you,” he taunted but with no real menace. ”Babe, you’re just jealous that I beat you,” shifting his head slightly to whisper in your ear before placing a kiss on the side of your head.