Checkmate

He sits alone by the bar, nursing a foamy draught beer that’s begun to sweat.

All around him, the club is pumping. Music is throbbing, making hearts and ears pound. The DJ is riling up the crowd, the bottle girls weaving in and out between tables.

A bachelorette party is downing shots. Three men nearby are eyeing the group, nudging one another to make a move.

And he’s sitting alone.

He doesn’t mind. He’s not here to make friends.

He takes another sip of his beer, lets the cool liquid soothe his scratchy throat. He coughs.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her walk in.

An angel.

The first thing he notices is her lips—blood-red, glossy, and enticing. Her blonde curls sway. The gold sequins on her dress catch the flickering lights, making her glitter.

She leans over the bar as she settles herself onto the high stool.

“One margarita, please,” her voice a velvety alto.

He shivers.

I have to talk to her.

He takes a sip of liquid courage, then walks up to her, beer in hand.

“Hi.”

She turns to look at him, eyebrows briefly flicking upwards. “Hi.”

“I’d like to pay for your drink… in exchange for conversation.”

“Oh, thank you,” she purses her lips. “But I’m actually waiting for someone.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “Just until your friend comes.”

She looks him up and down. Tall, sharp jawline, trimmed beard. Slightly long, tousled jet-black hair, reminding her of a young Johnny Depp. A black leather jacket over a plain white tee and tight jeans.

Oversized square glasses. But behind them… Dark brown, deep-set eyes, with a glint of playfulness… and mystery.

“Hm,” she says, revealing a single dimple on her right cheek. He sucks in his breath.

“Well… I guess, why not?”

He gets up on the stool next to hers.

As he sets his glass on the counter, he stretches out his right hand.

“I’m Dylan.”

She takes his hand. “Ophelia.”

“Ophelia? Wow. That’s a lovely name!”

She just smiles without responding.

The bartender appears and gently slides the margarita glass over to her. “For the lady.”

“I’ve got it,” Dylan says. The bartender winks and disappears.

Dylan turns back to Ophelia. “So.”

“So.”

“What brings you out tonight, Ophelia?”

“I’m meeting a girlfriend. Just for drinks. Which reminds me,” she frowns as she takes out her phone. “I wonder why she’s not here yet. Let me just text her.”

“Oh.” 

They don’t speak, but the blasting EDM music fills the void.

She slips the phone back into her tiny purse. “She’s on the way.”

“Right.”

Ophelia takes a sip of her margarita, revealing her slender neck. Dylan gulps.

“What do you usually do for fun?” Dylan asks, leaning forward.

“Oh, nothing much.” She looks at him, bites her lip. His eyes widen.

“Well… Don’t laugh, but I kind of like to play chess.”

“Y-You do?” he splutters, setting his drink down. “So do I!”

“Really?” she tilts her head. “Do you follow the World Chess Championship?”

“Yes, I do. I wouldn’t want to miss the match between reigning champ Gukesh and challenger Javokhir this year. Gukesh’s been messing up lately. My money’s on Javokhir to win.” He smirks.

She places her palm on her cheek and nods. “Wow, impressive. I guess you do know your stuff.”

This time, she swivels her body towards him, tucks her hair behind her ear. “You know, I couldn’t agree more with you.”

As they continue talking, her laugh rings in his ears. His palms grow sweaty. His heart races.

He meets her eyes, then lightly touches her thigh. “Would you… want to go back to my place?”

Her face falls. “Oh.”

Dylan’s jaw tightens. “We can go somewhere else, somewhere quieter?”

“I… Maybe some other time?” She moves away, and his hand drops.

For half a second, something hard flashes across his face.

She lifts her phone to her ear. “Hello? What? I-I can’t really hear… Oh, we’re meeting someplace else? Where— Oh, alright. I got you. I’ll be there soon.” Her eyes flicker down.

“I’m sorry, Dylan. My friend’s asked… I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you.” She gives a faint smile, hops off the stool.

“Wait,” Dylan’s voice cracks as he grabs her wrist.

She freezes. “I have to go,” her gaze hardens.

The bartender swoops by, and Dylan loosens his grip.

She swiftly turns away and heads for the exit, her glittering dress disappearing into the crowd. He clenches his fists.

I can’t let her leave like this.

He chugs the rest of his beer, then slams his glass down with a loud thunk. He throws a couple of cash notes over the counter and gets up, too.

He follows the same path as she just had, his hand curled around the blade in his pocket.

He’s a knight. She’s his queen.

And now it’s his move.

-THE END-

(C) Copyright Lisa Kwan 2026

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Part of my creative writing project. Randomly generated three words (nouns) and came up with this story. Can you find them?

Prompt:

angel, queen, beer