Page 5 of Crazy Pucking Love
“I think that means we have to have a tiebreaker round,” she said. “One dart each, closest to the bull’s-eye wins.”
“Bring it on.” If she hadn’t hit me and apologized profusely, I never would’ve approached her. She was too pretty, and her clothes and jewelry made it clear she took a lot of time getting ready, and girls like that were usually high maintenance and so not my type. I simply couldn’t play in their league, and I already had my hands full with balancing nonstop hockey practices and my classes without adding more drama.
No drama was a big part of my goals the past few months, along with the determination to be a better person—somewhere along the way, I’d become a person I didn’t recognize, and I didn’t want to be that guy anymore.
Unfortunately becoming a different guy didn’t undo the past…
Better sidetrack my thoughts before they drift back to where I don’t want them to go.I lined up my shot, let out a long exhale, and let the dart fly. When it landed right in the red, I did a fist pump and turned to her. “Beat that.”
“Really? Trash talk after all the times I’ve scored higher than you?”
I grinned and shrugged. “One of these times, my intimidation tactics are going to work.”
She laughed again, stumbling slightly as she did so. I figured she was now seeing double, but because I always did whatever it took to ensure my team won—and tonight I was a team of one—when she went to line up her shot, I dragged my hand across her back as I moved my lips right next to her ear.
“I think you’re going to miss,” I whispered.
A shiver ran through her and heat ignited in my chest and spread through my body.
She tossed the dart…and hit low. She spun around. “You cheater!”
With a smug smirk, I gestured to her cup. “Drink.”
Giving me a narrow-eyed expression she probably believed to be scary but was closer to downright sexy, she grabbed her cup and tossed it back. “Well, I’m empty.”
“Me, too.” I ran my thumb across the rim of my cup. “I should probably stop so I don’t end up making a fool of myself.”
Consuming less alcohol was another goal I’d made to ensure I’d do a better job of accomplishing both my no-drama goal and be-a-better-person mission. Plus, when it came to performing my best during hockey games, it made sense. Tonight I’d decided to give myself a break to help cut out some of the noise, but I didn’t want to take it too far and undo all my progress—especially since it’d taken a big hit already.
“Yeah, me, too,” Megan said.
Even though I’d been the one to put the brakes on our game, the thought of the night being over and going home to lie in my bed and rehash everything cut through my buzz and dug at that hollow spot in my chest. “I’m starving, actually.”
Megan nodded. “Well, Dane, it was nice meeting you.” She fiddled with her giant earring, the flashing lights swirling through the room bouncing off it. “Thanks for the drink, and the game, and just…thanks.”
She took a step away, and my lungs tightened. “I guess you wouldn’t want to grab some food? I know this great place that’s open late…”
So slowly that it seemed to be in slow motion, she turned back to face me. My gaze moved to her pink lips, and when she sank her teeth into her bottom one, my throat went dry. “I’m even better at eating than I am at darts.”
Chapter Three
Megan
The lights of the diner took some time to get used to after the disco-ball flickers at the Quad, but as I looked around at the retro restaurant, I liked it more and more. Everything was done in blue, white, and silver, from the big booths to the padded stools lining the bar, and even the large tiles on the floor.
Newspaper articles blanketed the wall over the counter, everything Boston-themed, with several covering the Celtics, the Sox, the Pats, and of course, the Bruins—thanks to my brother, hockey was my preferred sport to watch by far. When I was younger, I tolerated the NHL games because it meant spending time with him. But somewhere along the way—probably while watching Beckett actually play, cheering extra loud to make up for the fact that no one else in my family usually made it to the arena—it’d morphed into crazy fandom level.
“I remember that epic Bruins win.” I pointed at the article, front and center, that detailed their record-breaking comeback in the last period. “Half of the people in the stands had already left.”
“Killer game,” Dane said as we settled into a booth.
“You follow hockey?”
Dane laughed. “You could say that. Follow. Am obsessed with. I actually—”
“Dane! Good to see you.” A guy with a round belly and a shiny bald head clapped Dane on the shoulder. He had a steaming pot of coffee in his other hand. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I was home over the holidays.”
