Page 61 of Karma's Kiss

Two hours later, we’re playing darts, drunk as skunks. I’m not sure exactly how it happened. Sometime between the nachos and the cheeseburgers, Doc’s filled up with the afterwork crowd, my third beer turned into a fourth, and wouldn’t you know it? I suddenly don’t have a care in the world.

Doc cranked up the jukebox and he’s playing the song of my childhood: Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places”. There’s not a person in the bar that doesn’t know the lyrics by heart, hence why Sawyer, Hunter, and I turn to one another, lean in, and croon the chorus, giving “Think I’ll slip on down to the OH-asis” its just due.

“Damn, this is a good song. You’re up, Sawyer.” Hunter nods toward the dartboard and Sawyer steps back to take aim.

The floor and wall (and ceiling) around the board are proof of our bad aim. Well, mostly mine. Sawyer’s still fully capable of sinking dart after dart right in the bull’s-eye.

“That’s like a superpower,” I tell him, sounding thoroughly impressed.

He smiles, those dimples making my heart flutter. “You’re up, buttercup.”

Oh right. I have a game to win here.

I step up, take my position, and narrow one eye while taking aim like I’m really going to do something. The first dart I throw pings off the wooden slat beside the dartboard, ricochets off a nearby chair, and lands with a plop in a bowl of salsa someone abandoned half an hour ago.

Hunter bursts out laughing and has a hard time staying standing.

Sawyer retrieves the dart and wipes off the salsa with a shake of his head. “You’re not evenaimingat the board.”

“I sure am. And you know what I’m picturing for the bull’s-eye? I’ll give you one guess.”

Sawyer comes up behind me and drops his mouth close to my ear. “I don’t have to guess.I know.” His hand’s on my waist and he doesn’t take it away. “Turn more. Yeah.” His hand slides up my arm, directly to my wrist, that little bit of connection eclipsing everything else.

I turn my body so I can look up at him. “How macho of you to give me a dart lesson. You doing this out of the kindness of your heart?”

His hand tightens on my wrist as he redirects my stance. “I’m doing it for the well-being of every person in here. They’re shaking in their boots, worried where your next dart is going to land. Poor Hunter almost lost an ear a minute ago.”

“It’s already stopped bleeding,” Hunter assures me from his perch on a nearby barstool.

I shimmy my hips like I’m trying to get comfortable in my position, but it brings me in direct contact with Sawyer. Neither of us pulls away. “Hunter, tell your friend he’s standing awfully close for someone who hates my guts.”

Sawyer chuckles behind me and keeps ahold of my arm, taking aim and throwing the dart for me, ensuring it sinks with a satisfyingthumpdirectly in the bull’s-eye.

I whirl around to see he’s wearing a winning smile. He’s confidence personified, the most handsome guy in this town and heknows it. If things were different—if the last few days had never happened—I’d sidle up close to him, slide my hands up his chest, and kiss the smile right off his face.

“You tell Hunter you kicked me off the vineyard yesterday?”

Sawyer’s eyes spark with the challenge. When I look over, Hunter shakes his head, crossing his arms over his wide chest. His eyes are half-lidded, evidence of his fourth beer. “Sure didn’t tell me. I hope it’s not true.”

I turn back to Sawyer, quirking a brow, waiting for him to fess up. Sawyer’s gaze lingers on my face, taking me in with so much interest I almost blush. I swear there’s yearning there; it’s like he wants to keep ahold of me but doesn’t know how.

“He said I’m never allowed to step foot on the property again,” I continue with a slow-spreading smile. “Am I the first person in Oak Hill history to be banned from Starlight Vineyards?”

Sawyer actually chuckles. “No. That privilege belongs to my grandfather’s old friend. Crawford caught him cheating during a game of cards.You’rethe second person.”

“An honor,” I quip with a mocking bow. “Come on, Hunter, you’re up.”

“You think I can play darts right now? I’m ’bout to fall asleep at this table. Dammit, give ’em here.”

He shoves off his barstool and takes his turn, and though the darts manage to make it onto the board, they’re nowhere near the center. “Oh hell. I think that’s my sign to move on. I’m walking home.”

Ah, the perks of living in a small town. Hunter’s house is only a few streets over from Doc’s. He’ll be lying in bed sleeping off his buzz in fifteen minutes flat.

“That’s probably my cue too.”

I pat my backside as if I’m looking for my wallet and keys only to remember I ran here. No room for a wallet in my thin tank top and running shorts.

“Quitting on me?” Sawyer taunts.

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