Page 77 of Overtime
I burst into laughter. “Yeah, okay. I’ll deplete the battery.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!”
“Aw, yeah!”
“Go drain them!”
They steer me toward the throw line, one of them massaging my shoulders as another gives me advice against my next opponent, who is none other than my rival dark horse.
I lick my lips. Aran’s not a trash talker, but he can throw me off my game with just a glance.
And yet, I really want to win. I want to get this one not just for the Strikes, but for me. Because it’s the first time I’ve played darts with anyone, and it’s a heck of a lot more fun than playing alone in my bedroom.
Aran offers me the green darts. He must’ve seen me use those before. When I collect them from his open hand, my fingers brush his palm, and it twitches.
Well, maybe I affect him a bit too.
Knowing we’re on even ground helps me fire a near bullseye for my first shot. The others cheer and shout as if we’re in the middle of a hockey game. It’s a wonder we don’t get kicked out of the place.
Aran shifts a little away from me to measure his throw, giving me his profile. He’s so beautiful it hurts, with his deep-set eyes, his straight nose that curves just a little at the bridge, the full, wide lips I know taste delicious, the square jaw I can now map with my hands. I wish he wouldn’t wear hoodies all the time so I could get my fill of him more easily.
He throws, and tearing my eyes away from him to check the board feels like nails on a chalkboard. But his dart is a smidge farther from the center than mine.
Just one good look at him, and I’m drunk again. My feet stumble, and someone catches me. Big, warm hands grip my hips, and I don’t need to wonder who it is.
Aran’s breath fans against my neck, and he pushes my hair away from my ear to whisper, “I got you, little Strawberry.”
He does. Like putty in his hands.
“Tripping!” Ryan screams.
Then Amber adds, “Interference! Stop trying to throw our best player off her game.”
Releasing me, Aran snorts. “What, did you want me to let her crash to the floor?”
“Maddie is a grown woman who can catch herself.” Christine lifts her chin. “Right?”
“Right,” I say, not feeling it at all. Because I really did trip all on my own because of a pretty boy. I need to focus.
I stand behind the line and take a deep breath. This throw—no, this game—means more now. It’s proof to myself that I can keep my cool around Aran. That I won’t be showing the whole planet that anything he does is enough to make me swoon. Like Christine said, I’m a grown woman, and I don’t need to let any man get in my way.
Thwack!
Grinning, I turn around. “Oh, you’re in trouble, boy.”
“Ooh!”
“Burn!”
Aran tucks his tongue against his cheek, but his eyes shine with amusement. No one would guess he’s close to losing.
He steps up and doesn’t think about it too hard. But his second dart is off again, almost next to his third. I throw my last one, and it’s not dead center, but almost.
By this point, everyone’s gathered around us. Aran’s boys give him a pep talk, while Ryan heckles the crap out of him. I’ve gone and lost it, because I can’t stop cackling like a hyena. Finally, he takes his last shot and…
“Booyah!” I throw my hands in the air.
Someone slams into me from the side, then another, until I’m in a pileup of Strikes chanting their team name. Through the commotion, I get a glimpse of Aran’s grin, and I feel it like a brand. I can’t get it out of my head, even after I defeat Archie to a round of applause from the whole bar.
