Page 26 of Hearts to Mend

“He’s all right.” I shrug.

“Uh huh.” Dad chuckles.

I groan and turn back to the bar, waiting anxiously for Polly to pour me a new pitcher of beer.

If the folks in this town—including my father—could stop with this wink-wink, nudge-nudge routine, that’d be great. But, alas, no. Everyone in these parts has an opinion about my fiery kiss with Rico, and they all see cartoon hearts in the air when it comes to little Deidre Fletcher and their favorite hometown hero back from the war.

When Polly finally slides the pitcher in front of me, I blow a kiss to Dad, then manage to carry the beer one-handed, working my crutch with the other, as I hobble back to the corner where my crew have paused our darts tournament for refreshments.

It’s obviously killing Rooster not to help me with my load, but he’s wise enough not to try. And I manage fine on my own; there’s minimal spillage as I distribute my contribution to Darts & Drafts night with some of the guys from the station and a few of our EMS compatriots.

John, aka Mr. One-Night-Stand Paramedic Guy, is here. And it’s awkward how Rooster keeps waggling his brows at me, like he’s ready to act as wingman and help me get laid. On a normal Darts & Drafts night, I’d be game, but tonight, my thoughts are elsewhere. My thoughts are where they’ve been for the last two weeks, centered firmly on Rico. While I’ve been recovering from my injury and learning to manage on crutches, my traitorous mind keeps looping back to the night of the fire. Not fixated on the scary moment when a ceiling came down on me. Oh no. It’s the kiss I can’t forget.

Mr. Unforgettable Lips has done exactly what I asked of him: he’s left me alone. But my imagination has been less cooperative. Every night in my dreams, he comes to me. His lips against mine, his hands clutching, needing, taking what he wants, pulling me closer, holding me tight, and never letting me go. It’s amazing and awful.

Once I’ve poured everyone a fresh beer, I set the empty pitcher aside and collect my darts, ready to get some of this frustration out by throwing sharp objects at the wall. But Rooster scares the crap out of me when he loops a lanky arm around my neck and pulls me against his side.

In a whisper loud enough to be heard over the music, he tells me, “Listen, doll, heads up. John the Paramedic has eyes on you and questions on the tip of his tongue.”

I groan.

“Is that going to be your answer to his questions?”

“Probably.” I try to shrug Rooster off me, and he just leans heavier onto my shoulders.

“It’s a wonder you’re so popular with the boys. But listen, why not consider answering in English instead. You could say something like, ‘Thank you for asking, handsome, but, you see, I can’t fuck your brains out tonight because the love of my life is back in town, and I’m working up a good angsty lather for him.’ “

I groan louder and dip out from under Rooster’s weight, hopping a little to balance on my good ankle as I turn and threaten him with one of my darts. “You’re in the danger zone, buddy!”

Rooster laughs and starts singing the Kenny Loggins song. I ignore him and all the other guys, focusing on the dart board. I put all my feelings there, all the anxiety and confusion, those lusty wet dreams, and my residual anger and heartache; they all fill the board. Then I aim and throw. The first dart hits the triple seventeen, putting me on the finish to win this tournament of 501. I aim my second dart at the triple twenty and hit it, much to the cussing and consternation of my opponents. With my last throw, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as I aim, throw, and hit my mark, winning the game.

Rooster crows and pulls me into another smothering hug. The guys on the other team pat my back good-naturedly and wave at Polly to serve the round of shots we’d wagered.

After we’ve all thrown back our whiskey, One-Night-Stand John comes over to me, and it’s time to nip this in the bud. With a smile, he leans in a little closer, but I speak first.

“Hi, John. So listen, I had fun with you all those months ago, but that was a one-time thing. I’m not looking to connect again. Okay? Sorry.”

John blinks at me, then bashfully points past me. “I was just trying to get to my phone.”

I glance down at the table littered with empty glasses and pitchers, and there beside me is a phone in a rugged black case. “Oh.”

“Sorry.” He shrugs. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh.” I nod and smile like a possessed doll. “Cool.”

John grabs his phone and wanders off, and I turn away, mortified. There, watching, Rooster collapses against one of the stools in hysterics. So pleased with himself.

“Shut up, asshole. You put ideas in my head.”

“You’re so easy to mess with.”

I grumble.

“Trust me, doll. No one in this town is going to hit on you. Everyone knows your heart is taken.”

“It is not!” I protest with a childish pout that I’m sure looks completely pathetic on a grown woman.

“Darlin’, if you ever want to get laid again, there’s just one guy who can hit the spot for you, and you know it.”

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