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“Come on, it’s my turn,” I say.
Now that I know where I need to hit, it seems less complicated. This time I take the dart with my left hand and close my right eye. Nope, that doesn’t work. I’d better close the left one, as usual.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying it with my left hand,” I say, so sure of my myself.
“But you’re not left-handed.”
“I know, but I have to try. Maybe it’s my darting hand.”
“I’m so going to wipe the floor with you. Get ready for tonight.”
“Hey.” I punch him in the arm. “I eat with my left hand.”
“No, Pris, you hold the fork with your left hand while you’re cutting meat or fish, like everyone else.”
“Same thing. Get out of my way.” I shunt him aside, my butt against his hip.
I’m a girl on a mission so I throw and... Look at that! I did it! I hit something! Although I don’t know what exactly.
“What did I score?”
“A double.”
“Good, and there go two more...” because I still have two throws left.
A few rounds later, we could say I’m not doing that badly—definitely, my left hand is my darting hand. Or maybe it’s just beginner’s luck, but still. Alex is winning though, he’s very good. And considering I’ve cheated a bit... Like when he’s gone to the bar to ask for a glass of water and I’ve positioned myself practically at the dartboard, jabbing all three darts in the highest scores. Desperate times, desperate measures.
When it’s his turn to throw, I reach behind him and lift his shirt to slip my hand inside. He startles at the contact but says nothing, pretends he’s not affected. It’s not lost on me that it takes him longer to throw than usual, though.
“Am I distracting you?” I ask innocently.
“Are you trying to distract me?”
“Not at all. I just want to touch you. Can I?”
“You can.”
“Okay.”
He throws and hits, but not as accurately as before. Bravo! But after throwing my three darts, I need something stronger; my caresses are not having enough impact. I bring my mouth to his face, so close; immediately I feel his breathing quicken. I stick out my tongue and lick the corner of his mouth. Hmm... delicious. Alex always tastes good. He smiles under my tongue and I take advantage of that, sliding it into his mouth.
“Aren’t you going to throw?” I ask, still on his lips.
“I was, but you interrupted me.”
“I’m sorry. Go on.” But I don’t take my tongue away from his face.
He throws, but this time... he misses. The dart falls to the ground. Victory!
“Wow!” I exclaim with mock regret. Don’t worry, it happens.
“Did you just steal a kiss from me? What a nerve!” he says, looking me in the eye.
“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”
“Take it back.”
