Page 31 of Power Play

“I don’t lose, Charlie.”

“You lost today.” I pretend to think on it, tapping my chin, and go the whole nine yards when I cock my head and stare him down. “In fact, the Blades have lost the last four games. If anything, you are on alosingstreak.”

He doesn’t rise to my bait, not that I expected him to. Duke Harrison is much too controlled to fall prey to sharp words.

“One question per round, winner asks it. Can be about anything.” He points the dart at me, looking so sexy in a black T-shirt and worn jeans that it hurts. His tattoo edges out from beneath the sleeve, covering the length of his left arm all the way down to his wrist. The black ink swirls this way and that, creating abstract images of light and dark spaces over his naturally tanned skin. Right now, he doesn’t look like Duke Harrison, pro-athlete. He looks handsome and approachable, a regular Joe that just so happens to be a near-identical twin to the Hollywood actor Charlie Hunnam. “You got it?”

I nod. “I got it.”

We take our positions, lining up for what might be the battle of the century. I know what I want—this interview; him—but his motives are unclear. For all I know, he could be gathering intel on me so that he can slam me in the media’s headlines.

“You want to go first?” he asks, holding out a dart. “Ladies first.”

Nope. No way am I taking the bullet first, especially as I haven’t thrown a dart since my last year of college. I need to work my way in to this, start slow and methodical. “Age before beauty, right?” I gesture at him with my hands. “You go first.”

His mouth twitches, and he slowly shakes his head. “Subtle, Denton, real subtle.”

Black sneakers toe up to the line. His hand raises, dart clutched loosely, and he bites his lip as he takes aim and fires. I’m so distracted by the curve of his hard bicep and his sexy tattoo that I hardly notice him clap his hands together in victory.

My gaze shoots to the board, and, sure enough, he’s scored a full fifty points. I wouldn’t be surprised if the dart’s tip hasn’t plowed through the board itself, his aim was so precise.

There’s no way I’m going to hit the bull’s eye to tie him.

As I’ve never been someone to throw in the towel, I put an extra sway in my step as I grab for an extra dart. “Beginner’s luck, right?” I ask over my shoulder as I position myself on the line.

Duke gives a soft chuckle from behind me. “Sure, Charlie, beginner’s luck.”

I screw my eyes shut, take a deep, mobilizing breath, and stare at the board. Might as well go for broke. I fire off the dart—

It bounces off the metal rim and clatters to the concrete floor, an echo so loud that I can hear the sound ringing in my ears.

Duke’s already there, swooping up the dart. He turns to me, his blue eyes gleaming with laughter. “Might need to buy you a serving of Beginner’s Luck from the bar. What do you say?”

I’m not a good loser, and I grumble a bit when I snag the dart from his grasp. “The dart’s faulty.”

His rich laughter curls around me like a warm blanket on a cold, cold night. “Your aim’s the faulty one.”

I roll my eyes, not willing to lose my bravado. There’s a good chance I’ll be losing every round tonight. “Just ask your question already.”

“Fine.” Retrieving his winning dart from the wall, he fingers the tip casually. “Why are you wearing that Red Wings jersey?”

“My dad bought it for me before he passed away.”

His expression turns somber, the twinkle in his blue eyes dimming. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “Was he a Detroit fan?”

I hold up a finger. “That’s two questions, Duke. You scored only once.”

With a shake of his head, he lets me evade answering. I appreciate it more than he’ll ever know. After my dad passed away, my life teetered on the edge of uncertainty for a while. Did I attend university, like I’d always envisioned? Did I pick up whatever job came my way, just so that I could afford to pay the bills? Jenny and her family, lifesavers that they are, came to my rescue, offering me her family’s couch to crash on while I figured everything out.

Within six months, I’d sold my family home so that I could afford tuition at Boston University. Sometimes, I still drive past our old house in East Cambridge, pulling up to the sidewalk so I can stare at the brown triple-decker and immerse myself in the memories.

But whereas the memories I’ve always been able to carry with me, the house funded my education. It’s what Dad would have wanted, though that didn’t make my decision any easier.

“You go first this time,” Duke tells me, a hand lightly touching my shoulder as he comes around to my other side. One peek at his face confirms my fears: he knows that he struck a nerve with his question and wants to distract me.

Against my better judgment, I give him a grateful smile.

This round goes much the same as the first one, and by that I mean, Duke wins by a landslide and I’m forced to answer another question.

---