“A miracle, more like,” Hal says, grinning around the toothpick wedged in his teeth.
“A double-ten,” Maggie repeats, ignoring him. “The narrow strip on the outer edge.”
The pub’s gone even louder, warmer. Half the room’s drifted over to our corner, and old Pete from the feed store is taking bets, which is probably illegal, but Bram seems too invested in the game to care.
It’s about as perfect as a Sunday gets.
And now Luna’s up. She steps to the line with her tongue between her teeth. A few drinks in, dead serious, and I can’t look anywhere else.
She throws... and it thuds into the seven, wide.
“Damn it,” she mutters.
“Hey,” Doug, Hal’s teammate, chuckles. “Girl’s got an arm. A wild one, but an arm.”
Luna turns around, her eyes narrowing as she holds Doug’s gaze for a second. Then she looks at me, pointing the second dart at my chest, her other hand on her hip. “Reed. No way I’m letting them win. Coach me.”
Oh, you don’t have to ask me twice, Sugar.
“Alright.” I set my pint down and step in behind her, leaving just a few inches of air between my chest and her back.
My whole body goes live like someone flipped a switch.
Her sweet scent has been quietly driving my Alpha crazy all night. Getting this close definitely doesn’t help.
“First problem. You’re holding the dart like a steak knife.” I reach around and tap the back of her hand, and a jolt of heat shoots clean up my arm. “Three fingers. Loose. Don’t choke it.”
She loosens her grip. “Like this?”
“Better.” My voice has dropped lower than I planned. I clear my throat. “Now your feet. Flat.” I slide my boot forward and nudge the outside of her sneaker an inch left... and the outside of my thigh brushes the back of hers.
I feel the little hitch in her breath.
Christ.
“Now, only your arm moves,” I say, goosebumps rising along the side of my neck. “Picture the dart already in the board. Don’t think about anything else.”
“MILLER.” Hal waves his pint like a man flagging a bus. “You wanna get a room, or you wanna let the lady throw before we all die of old age?”
“Patience, Hal,” Bram says from the wall, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “At your age, dying of old age is a daily hazard, anyway. Let her shoot.”
“Yeah, Hal,” Ash adds. “Some things can’t be rushed.”
I step back. Half a step. Enough to give her arm room and not one inch more.
“Go on, VP. Show ‘em.”
She blows out a breath and squares up. Loose grip, feet flat, only the arm. She draws back, her eyes lock on the board... and she throws.
Thunk.
It thuds into the ten slice, just a hair below the narrow double ring on the outer edge. A single, not the double we need to win.
“Ohh,” goes the pub.
“That’s the right line,” I tell her. “Just a hair too low. You’ve got the feel of it now.”
She rounds on me, lit up despite herself. “Next one’s the charm.”
