Page 7 of A Real Good Bad Thing

As I let the dart fly, my brain registered adjectives.

Sexy. Pretty. American.

I turned in the direction of the voice and…holy smokes. My assessment needed revising.

She was…beautiful.

Golden-blonde hair. Killer body. Legs a mile long and sculpted to toned perfection. She stood at the bar, knocking back a glass of whiskey, totally at ease.

I glanced at the dartboard. Not only had I missed high, as she’d predicted, but I’d missed by a long shot. The effect of a gorgeous woman.

“Seems I’m in need of a dart coach,” I said to her with a slight grin.

Setting her glass on the corner of the bar, she strolled past me and reached up.

Don’t stare down her shirt. Stop gawking at that ass. Look away from the most perfect pair of legs you’ve ever seen.

As she plucked the dart from the board, I tried to follow my own orders. I swear I tried. But then her short little tank rode up revealing, pale skin and a sexy-as-sin belly button piercing.

Ah hell.That was just too tempting.

As she stood, she flashed me a bright smile, her blue eyes twinkling. She handed me the dart. “I’ll see if I have any openings in my schedule, Tommy,” she said, a nod to the shirt I’d worn to look like a tourist. Her cute little tank said Happy Turtle. She lifted her chin in a challenge. “And, if you hit a bull’s-eye, I’ll give you your first dart lesson free.”

“Can’t turn down that kind of offer.”

She leaned against the bar and took a drink as she eyed the board. Like she was sayinggo ahead—impress me.

I was no dart pro, but I’d killed enough time in bars that I could play decently. I’d only missed the first shot because of her.

I took aim and let the dart fly. Straight down the middle. Bull’s-eye.

She cheered. “Admit it,” she said. “You’re a dart shark.”

“You’ve figured me out. But I’m still waiting to see how good my dart coach is,” I said, with an inviting sweep of my arm.

She parked a hand on her hip. “You doubt my skills?” she said, as if I’d offended her.

I shrugged. “Well, I’m waiting.”

She stared at me with a challenging expression. “You think I marched in here, gave you advice, and can’t back it up?”

“Time to show me,” I said, egging her on, and damn, it had been a long time since I’d flirted with a stranger.

She took the dart from me slowly, making sure to brush her finger along mine. That felt damn good. She never broke eye contact as she stepped away, like she was inviting me to stare. I drank her in, adding up details both practical and physical. The deep tan said local was more likely, and the bikini top, covered up by the tank and surf shorts, suggested she was a beach bum or simply part of the tourist industry. The toned legs and firm arms said she wasn’t afraid to break a sweat.

I could think of plenty of ways to get sweaty with her.

When she looked away, she raised her arm, steadied her stance, and tossed. Right down the center.

“Holy shit,” I said in appreciation.

She shrugged playfully and blew on her nails. “My stepdad taught me.” Something dark passed over her blue eyes when she said that, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came.

“He taught you well. But can you do it again?”

“I’m a dart coach, remember,” she said, then she proceeded to demonstrate, landing shot after shot until I was thoroughly demolished.

When the game ended, I extended a hand. “Congratulations. You are officially a goddess of darts, and I am humbly destroyed.”

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