“You gonna take that shot, boss, or just stand there all day?” His tone is amused, and I let his voice drip down my body.
“Shut it. I’m lining up.” I can hear the flirt there, loud and clear.
A distant part of my brain, unaffected by the alcohol, warns me to pull it together, but I ignore it. God, I just want to have a good time for once. Without worrying.
Is that so much to ask?
“Is that what you’re doing?”
I give an exasperated huff. “Obviously.”
“Looks to me like you’re swaying in place and not lined up for shit.”
A grin slides over my lips. He’s such a bastard. I make a good show, but I kinda love it. I look at him over my shoulder and shudder at the sight. He’s so hot sitting there, leaning on a barstool, long legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest, a beer in one hand.
I give him a sassy wave of my hand. “You’ll see.”
He chuckles. “I look forward to it.”
I give into my base urges and stick my tongue out before turning back to the subject at hand. Once again I line up, squinting to train my vision on the bullseye. It’s only a little blurry. It’s good enough.
I toss, and the dart lands on the wall next to the board.
“Awww…how unlucky.”
I’m not quite sure what’s wrong with me, but his mocking tone sends heat through my blood.
I whip around, planting my hands on my hips. “The wall moved.”
He laughs. “Sure it did, honey.”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re the absolute worst?”
He straightens, levering himself off the stool. “You know, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
He walks toward me, his gaze intent. My breath stalls in my chest, but then he veers around me at the last second to gather up the darts and I breathe again.
I turn to track his movements, and he’s standing in front of me, looking down.
He smirks. “Because you’re a smart woman.”
I peer up at him.
We’re close now. It’s a dance we’ve been doing all night.
Advance.
Retreat.
Advance.
Retreat.
Over and over.
And honestly, I never want it to end.