I stumble over my feet a bit as Ben stops moving. Oh, we’re here. Wow, that was fast, or else that beer—or maybe my hormones—is hitting harder than I expected.
“Yeah! Darts!” I exclaim as if the successful trek across Chuck’s was a hard-fought mile, not an easy fifty feet.
“Not sure giving her sharp objects is such a good idea,” Joy murmurs to Ben loud enough for me to hear. Actually, I think the guys at the next board give me a wary glance, too, like they’re worried I’m gonna throw my dart at them. Which I definitely—probably—won’t do because I’m a great dart player. I think. Though I haven’t really played much, but how hard can it be? The pointy end goes that way. See? Easy peasy, lemon breezy. “How many beers did she have before we got here?”
Ben’s supporting me with an arm around my waist, and when he looks at me, he grins like Joy said something funny. But she’s not funny. I am. Okay, I’m not exactly a rip-roaring riot, either, but I don’t want Ben thinking my sister’s the funny one. She can back off. He’s mine! To make sure she knows that, I growl at her, and she blinks, completelyunbothered by the threat, which might have something to do with my growl sounding more cute puppy than the rottweiler I’d intended.
“None before that. She’s only had three,” he tells Joy. I think I hear her call me alightweight, but I’m not 100 percent sure on that because Ben steps in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders as he peers deep into my eyes. I think he might be about to give me another kiss, so I lick my lips to get ready and then pucker up. He chuckles low. “How many dartboards do you see?”
Disappointed that he’s not making out with me right now, I follow his finger with a squinted eye. “One board. Lots of black and red triangles. One teeny-tiny circle that I’m gonna hit. Bull’s-eye!” I hold my arms up like I made a touchdown. “Wait, that’s football.” Then I throw an arm out to my side. “Nope, hockey goal. Um, what do you do for darts?” I wonder in bewilderment.
“Yep, this’ll be fun,” Ben declares, and I agree, bobbing my head up and down. Except I stop that pretty quickly because it makes the bull’s-eye blurry.
We team up, me and Ben versus Joy and Shepherd, and get down to throwing semi-sharp objects at a spot roughly eight feet away. Ben’s pretty good, and I’m not too bad myself, though that’s probably because every time I’m up, Ben stands behind me and helps me aim.
Brooklin brings our next round, setting the glasses on a table beside us. “Do you have fried pickles?” Ben inquires, pushing his beer away.
“Ohmagawd, yes they do!” I answer before Brooklin can say a word. And then I gush, “Ilovepickles. And frying them makes them even better. Everything’s better fried. Chef’s kiss!” I kiss my fingertips and flick them in the air.
Ben orders two baskets of them, plus some gravy fries and a Coke while I take a drink of my beer, then burp aloud. “Oops, excuse me,” I mumble, but I can’t fight off the grin because one thing brothers teach you is that burps are funny. “Why the fries?”
“Nothing soaks up beer like fried potatoes,” Ben says sagely. “Especially with gravy.”
Everything’s funny, especially the way Joy rolls her eyes. “Did you know, that when you do that”—I roll my eyes the way she did—“your right eye doesn’t open as much as your left. It makes you look drunk.” A thought pops into my brain. “Wait! Do my eyes do that too?” I roll my eyes for her to check.
Instead of answering me, I hear her tell Ben, “You’re holding her hair tonight.”
“I’ve got her.”
And the way he looks at me, I swear it makes my whole body sizzle like fajitas on a hot skillet. “You’re really hot, you know that?” I whisper as he helps me aim my next dart. Given that Joy and Shep laugh, I guess I didn’t whisper quietly enough. “You’ve got this whole tatted-sexy-bad-boy-outside, sweet-caring-inside thing going on that I really like. I like your kisses too.”
“Thanks,” Ben murmurs directly into my ear. His breath is warm, but it sends a shiver down my spine like I’m freezing cold. “Beautiful broken girl, mending yourself with gold, becoming more exquisite in the process. It’s sexy as fuck, Hope.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “You really think I’m sexy?”
He places the faintest, softest kiss to my cheek. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He pulls me back and I lean into him, then realize that I do feel it ... He’s hard behind me, his dick pressed to my butt.
“Oh!” I shift my hips a bit, rubbing back and forth across the ridge in his jeans.
“We’re right here, you know? Your brother and sister, who can see everything you’re doing,” Shep says, interrupting my moment with Ben with a most unwelcome reminder.
Ben chuckles quietly and then tells me, “Look where you want the dart to go, pull back, release, and follow through.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. All the blood in my body has rushed south, and my vajayjay is singing a song because Ben thinks I’m sexy.
Hee-hee,vajayjay... that’s a silly word. It’s better thanvulva, though. Vullll-va. Vagin-ina. Varginia.Vagina. Hee-hee, they all sound funny! I wonder what Ben calls it. Probablypussyorcunt. I don’t think Roy ever called it anything.
I don’t remember throwing it, but the dart flies through the air toward the board, prompting me to momentarily focus on the game. Joy and Shepherd are winning by twenty-three points, but we’re gonna beat them. I’m already internally celebrating the bull’s-eye I’m sure I’m going to make when the dart bounces off the board and tumbles to the floor. “Damn it!” I shout.
“I don’t know what Roy sees in you,” Brooklin scoffs as she drops off our fried pickles and fries. “He could do so much better.”
“You want him?” I question harshly, my good mood soured by her attitude and the not-bull’s-eye. “You can have him. I don’t want him or his crappy vows. ‘Obey’?” I shake my head, but decide words are better than a movement that sends me off-balance. “Hell no. The only person I’m obeying is me, myself, and I.” I point at my chest so we’re both clear on who I’m talking about. “I don’t want to be a lonely lamp. I’m not a lamp! I’m Hope Mercy Barlowe, and I’m not living another day of my life for Roy Laurier.”
“A lamp? How drunk are you?” she asks in confusion. “You’re cut off.”
“I might be drunk, but at least I’m happy!” I bellow. “Unlikesomepeople!”
I already had everyone’s attention, but that gets a response. “Oooh! Catfight!” someone calls out.