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“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”
Chelsea watched our feet while we walked, zoning in on the click of her heels against the sidewalk. When we approached The Hustler, I reached for the door. “Give it a chance,” I said when she pursed her lips at the bar and furrowed her brow.
I pulled the door open, and the low hum of the crowd flowed onto the street. Chelsea slipped past me into the bar, looking around. “It looks fun!” she shouted over the crackle of music through the old speakers, but the crease in her forehead let me know she felt otherwise.
“Do you want a drink?” I put my arm around her shoulder, leaning in until my lips hovered over her ear.
Chelsea nodded. “I’ll just have a beer.” She skimmed the room again, grinning when her eyes landed on the far wall. “Are we going to play?”
I turned toward the empty dart boards that hung next to a scratched-up chalkboard. “You want to play darts?”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t just want to play,” she nudged me, stifling a laugh, “I want to win.” Then, she walked away, slipping between small groups of people until she got to the other side ofthe bar. When she looked over her shoulder at me, I shook my head.
I want to win.
“You can go first,” Chelsea said when I joined her with two beers. She handed me a set of blue darts, taking one of the beers. “Good luck.”
I lifted my brows and laughed. “Don’t get cocky yet, babe. We’re just getting started.” I threw the first dart, and it stuck into the cork in one of the black spaces under the number twenty. I grimaced; not my best throw.
When Chelsea stepped forward and threw her dart, it hit the board, sticking closer to the center of the board than mine. She spun around, and her hair whipped over her shoulders, almost hiding the smirk she wore. “If you say so,” she said, stepping to the side.
I closed one eye, aiming with the dart. Before I threw it, I paused. “If I win, you have to kiss me.” Chelsea looked at me like she was appalled I had suggested it, but when she smiled and nodded, I knew she wasn’t as upset as she played off.
“Deal.” Chelsea stepped aside, and I threw the dart. When it stuck in the center of the board, I brushed my nails against my shirt and smirked. “Bullseye,” I said, leaning into Chelsea. Her breath hitched, and her eyes narrowed.
“Lucky throw.” She straightened her spine, pulled her arm back, and sent her dart flying in the direction of the board with a determined grin. The dart landed next to mine, sticking out at an angle. Chelsea jumped, clapping her hands together before she turned to me. “Bullseye.” She winked and took a long gulp of beer.
My stomach fluttered when I caught another whiff of rose and strawberry. I closed the distance between us before she could walk away and cupped the back of her neck in my hand. When Ihovered my lips over her ear, she shivered. “Lucky throw,” I said, and her breath hitched.
Chelsea chewed on her lip when I pulled back, and her cheeks were a dark pink. “It wasn’t luck,” she purred, stretching onto her toes and running her nose along my jaw. Then, she turned and pointed at the board.
“I love winning,” Chelsea said when she threw her last dart. I looked at the score that confirmed it and laughed.
“A win is a win.” I shrugged. “Shall I get you home?” I put my hand out, offering it to Chelsea, and when she took it, I led her out of the bar.
Chapter 5
Chelsea
“So, are you going to admit it?” Graham asked when he pulled up outside my apartment building.
I looked at him, suddenly glad Bridget had insisted on dropping me off at the restaurant earlier—not that I would tell her that. “Admit what?” I bit back the smile that startedto tug at my cheeks, already stubbornly not wanting to admit whatever it was he wanted me to admit.
“That you had fun on the date you didn’t even want to go on.” When he smirked, excited butterflies started to dance their way to my throat. He was right—I’d had a really good time, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.
I shook my head, but I couldn’t stifle the giggle. “I won’t admit it.” My cheeks warmed, and when Graham raised his eyebrows, I knew my cheeks were turning a bright pink, but I resisted the urge to put my hands over my face.
“That’s a yes,” Graham said, climbing out of the car. Before I had unclicked my seatbelt, he was opening my door. Nobody had ever opened my door for me, and if they had, I probably wouldn’t have liked it. I liked to do things for myself, but I didn’t feel frustrated when Graham reached out his hand and helped me down from the passenger seat of his Jeep.
“It’s not a no.” I winked, and Graham looked like he had won.
He followed me up the path and up the stairs to the door of my apartment. “I’ll get you to admit you had a really great night.” A rush of arousal pooled between my legs when Graham’s eyes darkened, becoming impossibly black.
I put the key in the lock and turned it, but I didn’t open the door. I swallowed when my mouth got dry, blaming the wine and beer and not the sudden nerves, and then I put on the same smile I wore when I interviewed intimidating businessmen or athletes. It was the smile I’d spent years practicing in the mirror—one that showed confidence and hid any fear.
“I’ll admit, it wasn’t the total disaster I expected it to be,” I said, laughing. “Thank you for a nice night, Graham. It was nice to meet you.”
He stared at me, his gaze bouncing between my eyes and my mouth. “I know you won, and this wasn’t the bet, but canI kiss you anyways?” His voice was low, almost husky, and I instinctively rolled my lips together.
