“Well, don’t stop now. You’re helping me get points for that dolphin.”
“But you’re distracting me now,” he says with a grin, then hands me a dart. “And this is your round.”
I’m distracting?
I look down at the dart in my hand and try to remember how to throw it. “Hey, could you teach me your technique?”
“You sure about this, Rossi?”
“No, but I want to win.” I step up to the table again. “So, do I just sling this thing at the dartboard?”
“No, no.” He moves closer, and I catch the clean scent of his cologne. The same one I’ve been trying not to notice all week.
“It’s all about your aim,” he says, taking my arm. “First off, you’re holding the dart too low.”
He shifts my elbow higher, until it’s at a roughly ninety-degree angle. “Right about here.” Then his hand slips to my wrist. “You need to align your hand toward the target, loosening your wrist.”
“How am I supposed to keep it loose when I’m holding a dart?”
“It takes practice. You want a straight shot, but that requires positioning. Let me help you.”
He moves behind me, his chest meeting my back, and suddenly the dolphin prize is the last thing on my mind. His hand finds mine on the dart, the muscles in his arm flexing against mine as he guides my elbow into position. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his body, his breath against my hair.
I have completely forgotten what I’m doing here.
“You need to let me guide your hand,” his voice murmurs in my ear. “Are you focused?”
No.
“Yes.”
How am I supposed to focus on anything right now?
“You’re too stiff.” His hands find my shoulders. “Your back’s tight. Loosen those shoulders and pull them down from your ears.”
His thumbs knead the knots in my back, trying to relax me, which is completely impossible when every nerve ending in my body is aware of his touch.
“That’s better,” he says, his breath brushing the back of my ear again.
I can’t see him behind me, but I can feel every place where our bodies connect—one hand resting at my waist, the other wrapped around mine.
He’s entirely focused on teaching me, while I’m entirely focused on not exploding into flames.
“Now we’ll throw the dart in one, fluid shot,” he says, then pauses. “Wait, are you holding your breath?”
“I’m breathing.” Even though I’m really not.
I’m trying desperately to focus on anything elsebesideshim.
“Keep your arm soft so I can guide it.”
“Got it, Coach.” I can’t help the little smirk on my face as I glance back at him.
He doesn’t say anything, but his lips kick up into a grin. “Okay, on the count of three…”
His grip tightens slightly on mine. “One, two, three.”
We move together, and the dart flies exactly to its target as a blue balloon explodes with a satisfying pop.