Page 13 of Falling in Love with Two

So am I.

five

What are you Going to do About it?

Dylan

“You know, I’m not going to let you keep paying for drinks,” I say as our third round of shots shows up.

She cocks one eyebrow. “You’re not going to let me?” She takes a step closer. “What are you going to do about it?”

Usually, I would have a smart-ass response locked and loaded, but I’m three shots, and who knows how many beers in. All I can think about is pushing her up against the wall and kissing those red lips of hers. She must notice me staring because she gives me a wicked smile.

This woman has trouble written all over her, and I’m dying to know what kind.

I walk over to grab the darts out of the board. She continues to wipe the floor with me, but I don’t give a shit. I’m having too much fun with her.

Plus, I love standing behind her and watching that juicy ass of hers.

I could do this all fucking night.

Once again, it’s as if Leah can read my mind. As she lines up her shot, she says, “You may hit closer to the bullseye if you stop staring at my ass.”

“Can’t help it,” I reply while taking a swig of beer. “It’s a nice ass.”

She glances at me over her shoulder. “You’re not so bad to look at either.”

I told myself I was going to take it easy tonight and go home alone. I’m supposed to be thinking about the future and settling down. But ever since Leah ran into me, all I can think of is getting her into bed. I’d love to watch that perfect ass bounce as I fuck her.

But I’m getting way ahead of myself here. Hell, I’m not even sure if she’s interested, or if she just enjoys whooping me at darts.

I wouldn’t mind if it’s both.

Leah hits another bullseye while my shot gets even further away from the target.

“How does alcohol make you better but me so much worse?” I ask.

“Alcohol fuels me,” she jokes. “Well, everything besides wine. That shit knocks me on my ass.”

“Seriously? You are mixing Jack Daniels with tequila and are killing it, but a little bit of wine is what takes you down?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m a little ass backward.”

We each take another shot at the board, and she says, “Do you want to make things a little more interesting?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“A friendly wager.”

“Is that right? Because you know that no matter what, I’m going to lose. What do you want to bet?”

“If I win, you come into the shop and let me give you your first tattoo.”

My eyes go wide. “Man, that’s a hell of a bet—a bet that you know I’m probably going to lose.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe. What if I try to make it a little more even?”

“How do you plan to do that?”

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