Page 75 of Danger

CHAPTER TWENTY

danger

After dinner,I find Winnie by the back wall near the dart boards. She’s dressed in a white t-shirt and a high-waisted skirt with jewelry that makes her whole outfit look dressed up. Her laugh is so bright, it makes the world seem not so bad for a minute. Winnie never fits in anywhere, and that’s what makes her dangerous. She’s one of those people who’s too beautiful for how ugly the world is.

She catches my eye and smirks. “You ready to lose?”

“Didn’t realize darts were your thing.”

“I’m competitive at everything.” She picks up a dart and rolls it between her fingers like she knows what she’s doing.

Then she immediately drops it.

It clatters off her boot and skids across the floor.

I bite back a grin at her liquid courage. “Darlin’, that confidence is a little alarming.”

She bends to grab it. “Never said I was good. I just hate losing.”

“Never would have guessed that,” I say sarcastically.

Her hair’s twisted up, a few loose curls slipping free to brush her jaw. She smells like summer and sugar and things I shouldn’t want.

“Alright,” she says, stepping closer, but not close enough. “What’s the strategy?”

I nod toward the board. “Pointy end goes in first.”

She gives me a flat look. “Wow. I’ll be sure to write that down.”

She squares up, tongue caught between her teeth like she’s defusing a bomb. One eye squeezed shut. Serious as hell.

She throws. The dart sails wide—misses the board completely—and sticks in the cork wall beside it.

She stares at it.

I lose the fight with my smile. “We’ll have to add that to our lesson plan.”

I step up beside her and pull another dart from the rack. “You want to make this interesting?”

Her eyes light immediately. “Define interesting.”

“Hmm,” I say. “Loser buys the next round.”

She snorts. “That’s not interesting.”

I lift a brow. “Then what is?”

She studies me. Then her mouth curves.

“Winner has to take the loser somewhere fun,” she says. ”Mainly because I need to know what a man like you considers fun. I’m picturing… goat wrestling. Or grave digging.”

My throw lands dead center. I don’t look at it. I look at her.

“Did you say fun?” I say wearily.

She scoffs, stepping back into position. “Yes, you show off.”

Her dart hits the outer ring. Respectable, but it’s not enough. We trade throws. Hers are wild but determined. Too bad she doesn’t have a shot. She’s smiling when she takes her last throw, confident and hopeful. Misses by an inch.