by Piper Rayne
The idiot laughs. “Whatever, man. It’s not like its anything I haven’t already had.”
I swear I’m about to deck the man, and the bouncer is too when I feel a hand on my arm. Ellie is standing next to me, staring down Caleb. No fear, just mild annoyance.
“Come on, Red. Just a misunderstanding, right?”
“I thought I’d made myself clear on Friday, Caleb, when I told you to get the hell out of my bar.”
“Really?” He scoffs. “You’re going to keep me out because you can’t take a joke?”
“Brandon is right, Caleb,” she says calmly. “I could have pressed charges, but I didn’t. But I did ban you from the premises. And if you try to come here again, I’ll have the sheriff arrest you for trespassing.”
Caleb’s face twists into something ugly. “Guess what I said that night is really true. You really are a bitch. Even more than that you’re a—”
“If you value your face you won’t finish that sentence,” the bouncer says. His fists are already prepped, and I don’t doubt that he’d take the opportunity if he had it.
“You can’t ban me,” Caleb says in a last effort. “You’re not the owner.”
Ellie just smiles. “If you want to take it up with Dorothy, feel free. My grandmother has dealt with bigger shit than you in her life.”
She gives me and the bouncer one nod and then goes back to the bar. The woman has balls. With how angry he is, I’m not sure that I’d feel comfortable turning my back on him right now.
Looking at Caleb, the rest of us who are standing there just stare him down until he realizes that he’s utterly outnumbered, and forcing himself into the bar is going to be a fight that won’t win and one that will probably end up with him in jail.
He lets out a string of curses and storms off into the darkness. A few people in the bar clap, and the bouncer and I share a knowing look. “Good riddance,” he says.
“For real.”
Ellie is already back behind the bar as if nothing happened, which is exactly the right move. That piece of shit doesn’t deserve any kind kindness, or to hear second hand from others that Ellie was broken up or terrified after. Just business as usual.
She’s talking to a pretty brunette down at the other end of the bar, smiling. I want that smile to be directed at me. It’s transformative. She looks like an entirely different person. And I like the way she looks when she’s happy.
We haven’t scheduled the meeting with Dorothy yet—she hasn’t looked at me long enough for that to happen—but I really want it to go well. I want a reason to stay here and get to know Ellie.
I realize that I’m more invested in this deal than I should be because of her. Sure, acquiring Granny’s Sauce would be a huge benefit for Wolf Foods. And for Granny’s. But clearly that’s not where my focus is when it comes to Ellie.
Or Red. Caleb called her Red. She didn’t flinch when she said it. Is it something that she prefers and he was using to be familiar? Or was it something that she hated that he was using to bother her? If she gave me the time of day the next time I called for a beer, I would ask her.
Looking around the room, I analyze the atmosphere. People are comfortable. Friends are laughing, and it looks like there are a few people here on dates. A nice, cozy place to spend some time. This is the kind of atmosphere that I would absolutely strive to maintain in the renovation.
There’s a pool table in the back and a couple people are playing darts as well.
Darts. That’s an interesting idea.
Finishing the beer I have—the same one that she recommended to me the first time—I prepare to face her wrath. Her eyes flick down the bar to me and then back to her friend. I see her shoulders slump with a sigh, but she doesn’t look entirely angry to be coming down to me this time.
“The same?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
Ellie cracks the top and sets it in front of me.
“Red?”
She winces. “A very unoriginal nickname based on the color of my hair. Obviously.”
“So you don’t want me to call you that?”
“God, no. Honestly, you’re one of the few people that doesn’t. It’s refreshing.”
I smile. “Glad to hear I’m good for something.”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well…thank you. For jumping up back there.”
“You had it handled, and your bouncer—”
“Johnny.”
“Johnny,” I say, making a mental note. “There was no way that he was getting inside.”
She looks at me carefully. “Right. But thank you anyway. You didn’t have to jump up the way that you did.”
“Yes,” I say. “I did.”
Yet another moment that hangs in the air today with things that aren’t spoken. But I’m about to change that, because something has to give, and I’m not about to let her walk away from me again.
Ellie turns, and I reach and catch her arm. Gently, so not to startle her. “I want to make a bet with you.”
Her sass is back, along with the glare at my hand on her skin. “A bet?”
“That’s right.”
“What kind of bet?” Her eyes flash with interest.
I smile and lean back, releasing her. “Darts.”
Ellie hesitates. “Darts?”
“That’s right. Play me. If I win, I want you to go to dinner with me. So I can have the chance to show you that I’m not that guy.”
Leaning on the bar with both hands, Ellie studies me, thinking. Then, slowly, she smiles. “All right, Wolfe. I’ll take that bet.”
I’m smiling already.
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“If I win,” she clears her throat. “You have to drop this deal, and I never see you again, either in my bar or in this town.”
I hold out my hand to shake. “Done.”
The shock on her face when I immediately agree is an expression that I’ll take to my grave. She thought that she was calling my bluff, and I knew that she wasn’t.
She takes my hand and shakes it. “Deal. Tony,” Ellie calls behind her. “Cover me for a bit, I have a bet to win.”
The declaration isn’t quiet, and suddenly all the eyes in the bar are on us. I’m sure the locals are ready to watch her put me down the same way that she put Caleb’s head into the bar.
I take a long sip of my beer before I stand and follow her across the space to the dartboard.
Time to put on a show.
7
Ellie
It was probably monumentally stupid to have made what we’re about to do so public, but what’s done is done. I grew up in this bar, and I can throw darts in this place with my eyes closed and still almost always win. In fact, throwing a handful of darts at these boards was one of the first things I did when I got back into town.
I sank the bullseye on every single one.
But still, I can’t completely suppress the shiver of nerves in my stomach. There’s a lot riding on this for both of us, and the fact that Brandon agreed immediately tells me that he’s confident he can win. Normally, I’m not worried about men who are overly confident. But Brandon isn’t that.
He’s quietly confident, not overstepping. And that’s actually more dangerous than all the bluster.
I walk to the dartboard in the far corner of the bar. It’s a path that takes us past everyone that’s here. Including the ones in the booths and the ones that are playing pool. Heads swivel as they follow our path towards the back. No matter who wins, this will be good gossip.
“They really don’t have to stare,” I say, rolling my neck to get out the tension.
“Easy, Ellie,” Jenna says, her voice calming. “You know how this town gets. They’re just curious.”
I sigh. “And I basically laid out a challenge.”
I did know exactly how this town could be, which is why I never had any regrets about leaving it all behind. I really was fine being back here, but I’d told myself to lie
low. This was the opposite of that. What the hell was I thinking?
Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought I had. After all, I’d spent plenty of nights like this one challenging guys with bad intentions to games of darts exactly where we were now standing. Somehow those guys never put together the fact that darts and bars went side by side, and I usually handed them their asses after the first round.
But somehow I didn’t think that was the case for Brandon. I can’t imagine that Mr. Slick Suit had spent more time around a dartboard than I had. Yet, the way he moves so easily has me clenching my fingers with anxiety.
“Warm up?” He asks.
“Sure.” I doubt I’ll need one, but we both know the real reason is for us both to get a chance to look at the other’s skills.
He pulls the darts out from the board, takes up his stance, and releases the first dart in one easy stroke. The room goes quiet with a gasp, and there are a few cheers of affirmation, because he’s thrown a dead bullseye.
I might be in trouble.
Jenna claps. “Nice throw.” She smirks and shrugs when I send a glare her way. “What? It was.”
Brandon laughs. It’s a rich, warm chuckle, like the taste of spiced rum. Suddenly I’m craving an entirely different kind of drink, and I need to get a hold on myself. Remember why you’re doing this, Ellie.
“If Granny’s is like any of the other bars that I’ve spent time in, a good number of disagreements are solved with a good game of darts.”
“No, you’re right,” I say as he sinks another perfect throw. “It’s an easy way to settle things.”
“How many times have you lost, Brandon?” Jenna calls.
If he’s surprised that she knows his name, he doesn’t show it. He just throws his final dart to settle between his first two like it was meant to be there. “Never have.”
I walk to the board and pull the darts for myself. I line myself up before giving him a smile. “Neither have I.”
Taking a breath, I let instinct and years of muscle memory take over. The darts are a familiar weight in my hand. I don’t even have to think to know where to aim, and I trust that knowledge. The first throw lands in the bullseye, but barely. A fraction of an inch to the left and it wouldn’t be in the center. Still counts, but I grit my teeth as I throw the second one. Fuck yes, it lands perfectly.
My stomach tightens. No showing weakness. I won’t lose this. But I still hold my breath as the third dart buries itself in the bullseye. Thank the universe for that. Though maybe I should have made it look like I was going to lose. Give him overconfidence. Inside, I shake my head. Never.
There’s more cheering this time, and I find the tension in my shoulders relaxing. I don’t like that they’re staring, but at least they’re rooting for the home team.
“You spend a lot of time in the back rooms of bars?” I ask. “Sounds like a thrilling social life.”
“I don’t know. Some people I’ve met in bars are my closest friends.” He’s leaning against one of the pillars when I turn around from grabbing the darts, and I’m distracted by the way his shirt is stretched tight across his chest, the way his arms are crossed only emphasizing the fact that the fabric seems a touch too small. “It’s more fun than trying to generate a social life on an app,” he says. “My thumb gets tired of swiping.”
Jenna laughs and quickly tries to mask it into a cough, but no one is fooled.
“You should try a book club,” I say, sarcastically. “Slightly more strenuous than swiping, but maybe you’ll learn something.”
I practically shove the darts into his hand, but he catches me around the wrist before I can pull away.
“Why? Want to start one?”
My mouth is dry, and I can’t find a ready answer. Because my mind is busy imagining a scenario where that deep, honeyed voice is reading to me. Or it doesn’t have to be reading. Just whispering things in my ear. Deliciously naughty things—
“There’s one in town already,” Jenna calls, saving me from myself. “Mostly a bunch of moms, but I’m sure they’d like to have some variety in the membership.” She’s perched on the nearest table, with a huge grin on her face. And even though she just came to the rescue I still want to smack that smile away. “Next club is a book about a time traveling Viking, if you’re interested. Though maybe that’s not your type of thing.”
He shrugs with a smile. “Vikings and time travel sound good to me. Maybe I’ll give it a go.”
“It’s romance,” Jenna says, “just so you know.”
I swear to god that his eyes flick towards me when he says, “I like a good romance. And a good story is a good story no matter the genre. Why should that make a difference?”
“It shouldn’t,” Jenna clears her throat. “I’m just not sure that most men would agree with you.”
“I’m sure that Ellie has already told you that I’m not like most men.”
My mouth drops open. “Big of you to assume that you’re memorable enough to talk about.”
“It’s not an assumption,” he says. “It’s a fact. Your friend—who you haven’t introduced me to, by the way—knows my name. So you’ve at least told her about me. And I already know that I’m not like most men.” His grin is so wide because he knows that he has me backed into a corner. Despite the fact that frustration roams under my skin from having lost the round of verbal sparring, I can’t help but notice the lightness that the grin brings to his face, or the fact that he notices details. Like the fact that Jenna knew his name.
And that he didn’t blink at the idea of a romance novel. The few that I’d read while I was in New York I’d always had to hide from Chris, who thought they were stupid. Come to think of it, it wasn’t just the romance books. It was any book that wasn’t some non-fiction business how-to or biography. Fiction wasn’t welcome in Chris’s world.
Ironic, considering the one that he’d fabricated about me.
“You a big reader?” I ask.
He studies me for a moment. “Maybe. Maybe reading is one of my hobbies and I consume books like they’re oxygen. Or maybe I read what I can so I have interesting things to talk about with interesting people.”
“Maybe you’re full of it.” Just like at the diner, we’re closer than I realized, and I step back before Brandon’s magnetic draw pulls in in close enough for me to do something that I’ll regret later.
“Full of charm or full of shit?”
“Both.”
“Maybe that’s true,” he says. “But you’ll never know unless you get to know me better.”
Holding out his hand, he offers the darts to me again.
“Ladies first,” he murmurs.
When I reach to take them, my fingertips brush over his palm. The skin is rough with calluses, and that small sensation sends a thrill through my gut that absolutely does not belong there. Chris’s hands were smooth. He took pride in them. And I knew for a fact that Chris hadn’t truly worked for anything a day in his life.
But Brandon…even though he showed up at Granny’s that first night looking like he’d walked off the floor of the Stock Exchange, the signs of reality were on his hands. I hated the idea that I might have to rethink my evaluation of him, but things weren’t adding up anymore.
Again I had that image of him kneading bread to get arms like that. Maybe he was more hands on with Wolf Foods than I thought. A man who reads and works hard? He should have tried online dating—he’d have had women falling over his feet.
“You might regret letting me go first.” I step up, squaring my feet. My first throw hits exactly where I want it to.
“A real gentleman always lets a lady go first.” His voice is low enough that I’m the only one that hears it, and I have to stop my second throw before I release it. He could be talking about anything, and certainly not the thing that makes a blush creep up to my cheeks. The tone of his voice tells me that he is very much not talking about darts, and I don’t need that kind of distraction right now. “And not once have I regre
tted it.”
I flash him a glare. “You’re playing dirty.”
“I never promised I would do otherwise,” he says, his mouth curling into a smirk.
Ignoring the things that smirk does to me, I turn and let my last two darts fly one after the other, sending them flawlessly into the center. It’s my turn to smirk, and he nods. “Well played.”
But he doesn’t let me off easy. He’s got three more perfect shots in him, and so do I. We go back and forth, Jenna keeping the score and the crowd around us growing more invested in the outcome with each perfect shot. And they don’t even know what’s riding on it.
It’s my turn again, and when Brandon hands me the darts, he glides his fingers up my arm to my elbow, sending shooting sparks through my body and down my spine. The feeling lingers enough that I don’t focus enough on the board, and my first shot goes just wide, landing in the bullseye’s outer ring.
My stomach plummets. No.
The other two shots are perfect, but it doesn’t matter. If he’s as perfect as he’s been, he’s going to win. The people around the bar have pulled in a collective gasp, but I keep my cool as I hand him the darts. Jenna looks at me in a panic, but I just smile. It’s fine. It will be fine.
No matter what happens, I won’t let anything ruffle my feathers. The worst case is that I have to spend a couple of awkward hours with him at dinner. Nothing more.
The first shot lands dead center, and the second one too. I bite my lip in spite of myself. I hate losing. Hate it more than I even want to win. I fight to not hold my breath and force my lungs to move evenly, and I watch as Brandon’s third dart lands in the ring just outside the bullseye. Another tie.
Cheer’s erupt from the bar, and he grins at me. But I’m not smiling. He did that on purpose. He’s better than me at the game, and he had the chance to win. Why didn’t he take it?
“You could have won.”
The look in his eyes is one that I can’t quite interpret, but I feel exposed, like he’s pulling something out of me that I don’t want the crowd around us to see. “Maybe there are more important things than winning.”
“So you’re just going to keep it tied?”