Page 11 of Falling in Love with Two

The bartender hands over all our drinks, and Dylan hands her some cash.

“You don’t have to pay,” I tell him. “I should, considering I already spilled shit all over you earlier. I’m going to owe you more favors than I can count.”

“How about we play some darts, and we’ll call it even?”

“You want me to whip you at darts, and the slate is clean?”

He starts laughing, showing off his handsome smile. And motherfucker, the man has dimples.

Fucking dimples.

“You really are that confident in your ability to beat me at darts?” He asks.

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

As we are walking up to the table, he replies, “I think someone is awfully cocky.”

“Just confident.”

Amy asks, “What are you two talking about?”

“Dylan here thinks he can beat me at darts.”

She shakes her head. “Oh, buddy, that’s a bad idea. When Leah starts drinking, she gets ridiculously good at everything. Pool. Bowling. Darts. She turns into Rain Man or something. She’ll whoop your ass.”

“Okay, well, now I have to see it,” Dylan replies.

Jamie comes to his friend’s defense. “You may be surprised, but Dyl is pretty damn good too. He’ll give you a run for your money for sure.”

“I’m down to play,” I tell him.

He and I each grab our drinks and head to the boards. We look back to see if Amy and Jamie will join us, but they seem to already be locked in a deep conversation.

Dylan says, “They seem to be hitting it off.”

“Oh, yeah. Jamie is definitely her type.”

He sets down his drink and pulls all the darts out of one of the boards. “So, Miss Leah, why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

“Hmm. Do you want to know what I do for work or about the bodies in my basement?”

My sense of humor doesn’t land well with some people. Well, most people. It’s pretty dark, and sometimes, I don’t realize how off-putting it can be until I’ve already said something weird.

I wait for the strange look I’m about to get, but Dylan surprises me with, “Bodies. Definitely bodies. We can compare numbers.”

“Oh, I lost count a while ago,” I joke. “Look, I hate all the awkward forced small talk. Let’s just get the boring shit out of the way,” I say.

“Man, you don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Not even a little bit. I hate the bullshit. Besides that, I’m twenty-nine but will be thirty later this year. And I’m a tattoo artist. I’m a bit of a mess the majority of the time. Yes, I have family, but I don’t want to talk about any of them.”

I figure he’s about to ask some personal question that I don’t want to answer, but he surprises me once again. “Well, as you know, I’m Dylan. I live over in Lilly Leaf Falls, and I’m a mechanic. I have a buttload of siblings, but I’m by far the coolest—and the least crazy—one out of all of them.”

“That’s what the crazy ones always say.”

He grins. “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

I watch him wind up to take his first shot on the dart board. My eyes skim over his toned arms. Veins rope from his large hands all the way up his biceps and disappear under his t-shirt.

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