Page 60 of Enemy
The lump in my throat is back as I try to find my footing in this new situation. Beingboughta drink feels different than Clyde sharing his whiskey with me at his shack. But ifhe’s offering, I’m not going to say no. “Vodka,” I tell him, letting my gaze glide along the dense strands of hair, which I long to bury my face in already.
I’ve dressed in brand-new jeans, and a Henley shirt, which accentuates my muscular shape, pretty much what I might wear to a wedding or a funeral, and I’m wondering if it’s too much, even though he seems to like the outfit. “I—you look better than I remember,” I tell him, and I know it was the right thing to say when his features relax into a wide smile.
This man will be the death of me, but I regret nothing.
He’s silent when we get our shots, but as soon as the bartender walks off, he kicks my foot playfully. “That’s possible?”
I chuckle and rest my foot on the front of his boot, pressing down enough to make him feel it. “Goldfish memory. That’s what you get when mom keeps getting high while pregnant with you. But then, I get a very nice surprise every time I meet you,” I say and down the liquor. The sharp bitterness of it makes me scowl, but who needs something to wash that down when the man next to me is sweeter than syrup?
Clyde laughs, and I feel like the most entertaining guy in the fucking state. As much as I want to be in bed with him already, this is nice too. Very nice actually. He lowers his voice.
“Imagine forgetting how good I am at giving you head and getting that surprise every time.”
I catch myself nodding and clear my throat, leaning closer to catch his leathery scent. He’s making me feel such weird things, and I’m as lost as I was without him. “That would be something.”
Clyde glances down the sticky bar counter, but we’ve got enough privacy here. “Have you ever been to a gay bar?” He winces after his shot, and I can’t help the chuckle bubbling up my throat. I would have leaned in and nipped his neck if we were alone. Instead, I allow myself a discreet stroke across his hand.
“No, never. You?” I ask, imagining him in such a place, young and wide-eyed. Nah, someone would have snatched a fruit this juicy if they had the chance.
“No. We could openly touch there, but what if someone hit on you?” Clyde frowns at me, like I’m already being chatted up by some hunk. He’s ridiculous. “They’d kick us out in no time.”
“They can try all they want. I already have my eye on someone,” I say, meeting his eyes, even though admitting to such a thing drops a heavy weight inside my chest. Sure, it could be the usual flirting, just talk, but I even dream of him now.
He taps my chest with the back of his hand, that dick-hardening smile in place. “And do they even have darts at a gay bar?” Clyde points to the board hanging behind us.
I snort. “In a hurry to lose?”
Clyde’s eyebrows rise. “You’re very cocky for someone about to be knocked down a peg. Hey, bartender? Can we get the darts?”
“And another two shots,” I add.
I give his back a gentle pat, so I have an excuse to touch him. “You think someone who’s as good at throwing knives as me will lose to you at darts?” His nape looks so warm, so inviting, and I restrain myself from kissing it at the last moment, because the barman is there, placing shots in front of us along with some darts and a strong warning to not throw them at people. Seems like it’s something that’s happened before.
As soon as he’s away, Clyde shrugs at me with a smirk. “It’s a different skill, babe.”
He grabs some darts, downs his vodka and moves to stand in front of the board. I pull him back behind a line on the floor. Another excuse to touch him. The second shot of vodka already burns the back of my throat.
“Now you’ve got something to prove. How about we make this more interesting? Dart truth or dare,” I say because there are things I don’t know about him yet, and with the peace between our clubs crumbling, I don’t know how much time we have left. I’m not going to be a baby about the inevitable, but I will gorge myself on his company for as long as I can.
Clyde smiles. “Sure. Go first. Whoever's closer to the bullseye wins.”
The darts are different from the ones I’m used to, lighter, and their weight is not evenly distributed. So maybe I was overly confident when I shot my first shot, without taking my time to assess what I’m working with, and it drops too fast, almost avoiding the target altogether. Smug as a peacock spreading his tail, Clyde takes his time, and while he’s also far from the bullseye, his result is better.
I end up asking for a dare, a little intimidated about him being able to askanything. I’m told to drink herb liquor, which he knows I hate, but I guess it wouldn’t be a dare otherwise.
“I see your strategy,” I grumble. “Getting me an extra drink first, so my aim is off.”
Clyde spreadshis arms. “Got me there.”
But I’ve got a strong head for booze, so I’m not worried, and I win the next one. Again, I have this itch to ask him about things I haven’t gotten to yet, but when he too picks the dare, I demand that he does a handstand by the nearest wall. I half-expect needing to help him out, which would be yet another sneaky opportunity for touch, but while it takes him three attempts, he does manage to fulfill my request. His T-shirt rolls down, exposing the treasure trail of dark hair. It beckons me to follow it, either up or down, but before I can make up my mind, Clyde lands back on his feet, his hair in a delicious mess.
“We’re only getting started.”
“Okay, big shot, next round? Facing away.” Clyde’s a little flushed after the handstand, and it only makes him hotter. Before I know it, he faces away from the board and throws the dart over his shoulder.
It doesn’t even touch the wall, let alone the board.
He frowns at me when I laugh. “Let’s see how you do, smartass.”
