Page 21 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“I’ll throw lefty. Make it more even for you.”

I laugh through my last bite. Sadly, he’s not wrong. I’m shit at darts. I don’t get the fine motor control of it all. If I could fling the things at the board the way I throw screwdrivers into the dirt back home, I might have something. But the precise flick of the wrist? That skill is lost on me. But I’m sure as hell not backing down from him in front of Nikki. I can’t figure out why she’s willing to entertain this asshole again.

“Sure, Brayden. Let’s do this,” I say, taking the darts from his right hand and feeling the weight in my palm.

Nikki raises a brow as she slides from her stool to join us. “I’m not so sure this is the way to make him jealous,” she whispers at my side. She’s grabbed both of our beers, which is good because odds are I’m going to need to drink after Brayden embarrasses me.

“Yeah, I know. Just . . . be my good luck charm. He’ll hate that. And let’s face it, I need one.” I grimace at her as I spin around to walk backward. Her head tilts with a certain sense of pity because I think she knows I mean that in a broader sense. I need luck for a lot of things.

Nikki slides into one of the high tops by the pool tables and the dart machines. Brayden sets up our game while I take a few practice throws on the board next to us. My first attempt scores a seven, and the next two in the double lines.

“Hey, okay,” I say, winking at Nikki as I spin around to retrieve my darts.

“I’m impressed you hit the board,” she says through her raspy laugh.

“Me, too,” Brayden adds. Damn, I almost forgot he was here. But isn’t he the point? Nikki and he high five at my expense and I force my smile to stay wide, then wind up to take one more practice throw. This time I send the dart into the men’s room door.

“Good thing that was closed,” Brayden says.

“Good thing that was closed,” I repeat in that pouty child voice I usually only reserve for hitting work with my dad.

And fuck, now I’m thinking about my dad. And Brayden’s relationship with my dad’s girlfriend. And his smug face. Both of their smug faces. Everyone’s smug face!

“Let’s go,” I say, yanking my dart from the well-graffitied Patty’s bathroom door. One of the Tiff hockey players pushes through a second later, and I glance over my shoulder to take in his massive body.

“I don’t know that the dart would have stood a chance,” Nikki jokes. I shrug, though that was funny and I think she was only trying to shift the jokes to not be at my expense.

“You ready, slugger?” Brayden says, baiting me. I gnash my molars but force a smile.

“You first,” I say.

Brayden lines up, weight on his front foot as his long arm reaches practically half the distance to the board. He squints and flexes his wrist, then turns his gaze to me.

“Little wager?”

I shrug.

“Depends,” I say. I don’t really have cash to drop to this fool tonight.

“Winner gets to dance with Nikki to the song of her choice,” he says.

I glance to my friend in time to catch her spitting out her sip of beer. She waves her hand. “Absolutely not?—”

“Deal,” I agree, ignoring her wishes completely.

Dammit!

I am an asshole.

I will myself to take it back. To toss the damn darts on the table and walk away. Go back to the pub side with Cutter and Cole. Hell, go home!

“Deal,” Brayden says.

I don’t say a word. I simply step to the side and watch him knock down three twenties in a row. I swear, the only reason he skipped the bullseye was to drag this out and watch me squirm.

He plucks his darts from the board, then steps to the side with a wave of his hand.

“You’re up, sport.”

---