Harle squeezed my hip gently, and I huffed out a breath. When I glanced up at him, the ‘I told you so’dancing in his eyes was somehow both amusing and comforting at the same time.
“Alright, you were right.” I leaned in, brushing my lips lightly across his. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Now, how about we see if your aim’s improved since last time?”
I jerked back, horror flooding my face. “We are NOT throwing bottles!”
His laugh rumbled through his chest. “Darts, darlin’. I meant darts.” He nodded toward the board hanging in the corner. “Unless you’re chicken shit about that too?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, recognizing the challenge in his voice. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“Mm-hmm.” He took a casual sip of his Coke. “But if you’re scared...”
“Get your ass up, Viking.” I slid off the barstool, tugging his hand. “I’m about to school you in the ancient art of pointy things.”
“Viking?” His eyebrows shot up as he followed me. “That’s new.”
“Well, you’re tall, blonde, and you live in the wilderness. Plus,” I glanced back at him with a grin, “you do have that whole pillaging thing going on.”
His steps faltered. “I do what now?”
“You know,” I waved vaguely at his everything, “showing up unexpectedly, carrying people off to your lair...”
“My lair?” The amusement in his voice was thick enough to spread on toast.
“With your wolf-dogs and your attack donkey.”
“Derek is not an attack donkey.”
“Well, not that we know of, but he’s got a wicked side-eye.”
Laughing, Harle collected the darts and handed me my share.
I lined up my shot, squinting at the dartboard. The red and black circles seemed to mock me, daring me to miss. My first throw sailed wide, sticking into the wall with a dull thunk.
“Good thing Pete didn’t give you any bottles,” Harle teased, plucking my wayward dart from the wall.
“Ha ha.” I accepted the dart back, my fingers brushing against his. “I’d like to see you do better.”
Harle stepped up, his stance relaxed and confident. The dart flew from his fingers, landing dead center in the bullseye. Show off.
“Beginner’s luck,” I muttered.
“Want some tips?”
I knew exactly where this was going and I was one hundred percent here for it. “Oh, yes please.”
He moved behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his hands settling on my hips. “Wider,” he murmured, nudging my feet apart with his boot.
There’s no way he didn’t hear me gasping, but he pretended otherwise.
“Now, relax your shoulder. Keep your elbow steady.”
The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of him made it hard to focus on anything else. “This feels suspiciously like an excuse to get handsy.”
“Maybe.” His lips brushed my neck. “Is it working?”
I elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “You’re terrible at teaching. I can’t concentrate with you doing that.”