Crazy Pucking Love (Taking Shots)

by Cindi Madsen

  Rubbing the side of his head, he bent down, picked up the dart, and turned to fully face me. “I didn’t realize anyone actually played on that board. Next time I’ll know better than to walk in front of it without looking out for a girl with a mean throwing arm.”

  I froze, a deer in holy-hot-guy headlights. He had deep brown eyes and a ridiculously sexy scruffy face. A blue, backward baseball cap covered most of his dark hair, which looked to be on the longer side judging from the strands sticking out the back and brushing his collar.

  He lifted the dart higher, and his eyebrows arched. “Did you want it back? Or was I the unknowing bull’s-eye, and you just won?”

  “I think I just won,” I said, unfortunately out loud, and way too wistful sounding. “I mean…” I glanced back toward Jenna, but apparently she’d abandoned me to deal with the embarrassing situation myself, because she was long gone. Guess we weren’t destined to be BFFs after all. “Did I say I was sorry yet?”

  “You did.” He ran his gaze down me, just a quick up and down, but it made my breath lodge in my throat. One corner of his mouth lifted. “Several times, in fact. But I’m fine—I’ve had worse hurled at my head before.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I took the dart from him, my heart skipping a beat when our fingers brushed.

  After a few seconds of silence, he jerked his chin at the other side of the room. “I guess I better go see if I can find my friends. See you around.”

  As he walked away, a sense of panic I didn’t totally understand rose up. Why couldn’t I have said something flirty? Or at least asked his name. Something. Anything…

  Maybe Aunt Tessa was right when she said I wasn’t ready for college.

  I tossed the dart at the board, and while it hit the center, there was no one around to celebrate with.

  I circled the room, and when I didn’t see Jenna, or Vanessa and Justin, I eyed the door, thinking maybe I should call it a night.

  But then I’d have to go sit in my room alone, and I’d only get more overwhelmed over the next few weeks. I can’t give up yet. Maybe I just need a little liquid courage before I attempt round two.

  I made my way to the drink table in the corner, picked up a red cup, and scanned the selection of alcohol, not sure what to go with, only that it wouldn’t be Sour Apple Pucker. After drinking way too much at a party about six months ago, I couldn’t even stand the smell of sour apple candy. The night had come along with an embarrassing singing and dancing video that my “friends” posted online for all to see—for the record, I was proud of the dancing, but there’s a reason I only sing in my shower—and since then I’d avoided drinking in public. And drinking alone always felt sad and emphasized the emptiness.

  “When in doubt, go rum and Coke.”

  I looked to my right, where the deep male voice had come from, only to see the guy I’d hit in the head earlier holding an amber-colored bottle. My jaw might’ve dropped, and there was no might’ve about my accelerating heart rate.

  “You’re not drinking and darting are you?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to take away all sharp objects before I let you walk away with a drink.”

  I smiled, enjoying the floaty feeling rising up and taking over my body. Here’s your second chance. Don’t ruin it. “What about you? How are you going to watch where you’re going if you’re drinking?”

  “Wow. You went from ‘I’m sorry’ to ‘it was totally your own fault’ rather quickly. Here…” He took the cup out of my hand and set it next to his, uncapped the bottle of rum, and poured a couple of ounces in both cups.

  He nudged me with his elbow, and I caught a whiff of something that gave me the sudden urge to hike into the woods with this dude, even though I was against hiking. And woods. “Just don’t tell anyone,” he said as he topped off the drinks with Coke. “I’m supposed to be off soda.”

  Tell anyone? Whenever I was around him, I forgot how to properly form words. Me + tall, dark, and ripped funny college guy = speech impaired.

  Luckily, by the time he handed me my drink, I had at least summoned the ability to say thank you.

  “Sure thing.” He took a swig from his cup and I quickly did the same—a little too quickly, the soda bubbles fizzing in my throat and nose. The drink was delicious, just a hint of coconut instead of the overpowering alcohol taste I’d expected.

  “I’m Megan, by the way.” I almost extended my hand, then thought that was more of a job interview type thing to do. Did college people shake hands when they met? Oh my gosh, I’m totally going to screw up this second chance with him.

  “Dane.”

  “I know this is probably a long shot, considering I assaulted you earlier, but would you like to play a game of darts? After all, since you poured me a drink, it’s the responsible thing to do.”

  “The responsible thing to do would be to keep you far away from the dartboard.” He flashed me a smile that made my knees go wobbly on me. “Lucky for you, I don’t feel like being responsible tonight.”

  Chapter Two

  Dane

  “Bro, how are you getting better at this the more you drink?” I asked Megan, and she laughed.

  “Bro?”

  Oops. I was so used to saying it with the guys that it’d slipped out, which just proved I’d drunk more than the recommended amount. We were playing the drinking version of darts, where the person with the lowest score per throw drank, and I’d lost enough that the colorful board occasionally moved when I tried to line up my shot. “Don’t change the subject. Did you switch your drink for water last round when I wasn’t looking?”

  “Don’t be jealous that alcohol improves my aim.” She swiveled toward me, her dart raised, and I shielded my head with my arms, like I was terrified she’d get me again—really it was more mildly concerned, especially when it came to my eyeballs.

  With a laugh, she stepped forward, grabbed my right arm, and tugged it down. With her this close, I could make out the strawberry strands twisted through her blond hair, and even in the dim light her bright blue eyes stood out.

  My heart thumped hard in my chest. A fuzzy thought about this being a bad idea flitted through my mind, but I couldn’t remember why, and with her hand on my arm, I hardly cared.

  “Watch this, because I’m about to win again.” Megan spun and squinted one eye, lining up her shot.

  When I’d arrived at the Quad, my main goal had been to drink and destroy. Nothing so crazy or permanent as damaging property, or getting in a fight, but I was down for destroying some brain cells—or at least getting my thoughts to quiet down for a while. I knew it’d only be temporary, but I figured a party and alcohol would get me through the transition it always took to go from overwhelming guilt and what ifs to back to life at BC.

  I could’ve used Hudson tonight, but my best friend had already dealt with a lot this Christmas break, what with his mom getting married to a guy he was struggling to like, and I didn’t think he and his girlfriend, Whitney, had made it back yet anyway.

  But then Megan had hit me in the head with a dart, making the part of me that’d wanted to destroy stuff focus on something else. I’d kicked myself for walking away without getting her name, even though that wasn’t something I usually did anymore. I’d told myself it was for the best, but when I saw her at the drink table, my feet started toward her without a second thought.

  Maybe it was because she’d looked as lost as I’d felt since arriving back in Boston this afternoon. Funny how a couple of weeks at home could undo all the progress I thought I’d made—progress that’d taken several months, and I’d backslid so quickly at just the sight of her.

  Don’t think about her.

  Think about this cute girl in front of you.

  Megan threw the dart…and hit way high and to the right. Finally the alcohol was getting to her as much as it was me—she was starting to make me feel like a total lightweight, even if I had drunk twice as much.

  “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.”

  “Ah.” The guy shot a big grin my way, his eyes assessing, and I smoothed a hand down my hair. “And you brought a friend tonight.”

  “Megan, Larry. Larry, Megan.” Dane rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, come here a lot.”

  The side of me that craved the easily quantifiable didn’t like broad terms, but this “a lot” obviously spoke of a stronger connection than the one I had with the barista from my old Starbucks, who just shoved my cup at me and moved on to the next order. It offered a tiny peek into this guy’s life, and it made me want to discover even more.

  “Half the time he’s the only one in here after midnight,” Larry said. “I never know whether to pump him full of coffee or cut him off.”

  “Please don’t pick tonight to cut me off. I’m in desperate need of caffeine. And I’ll take a number four, let’s go with scrambled eggs tonight.”

  Larry upended the giant mug that’d been on a white saucer and poured it to the brim with coffee, the rich, heavenly aroma filling the air. Then he swung the pot in my direction and lifted it in a silent question.

  “Yes, please.” I’d swayed plenty on the walk over, but I was pretty sure the slurring had calmed down—Dane assured me no one in the diner would care if I was a bit drunk, even though I’d been worried they might report me, being I was technically underage and all. Still, coffee and more sobering up would probably be good. After the excitement of tonight, there was no reason to pretend I’d be able to sleep, anyway.

  Larry filled my mug and took my order. He grabbed the menus and then paused, placing his hand on Dane’s shoulder. “When I didn’t see you these past few weeks, I thought maybe you finally realized you needed sleep.”

  “Me? Nah. Not when there are pancakes to be had.”

  Larry chuckled and walked away.

  I tore the ring of paper holding my napkin and silverware together. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”

  Dane pressed his lips together, and I’d bet money he was trying to decide how truthfully he should answer the question. I knew, because I’d experienced the same thing countless times.

  “Because I do. Have trouble sleeping, that is.” I rolled the small strip of paper into a tight wad between my fingers. “Me and three a.m. are BFFs. Only it’s a toxic relationship, where I tell her that she’s a bitch and I don’t want anything to do with her anymore, and she laughs in my face and tells me it doesn’t matter what I want.”

  Dane barked a laugh and ran his fingertips across his jaw as he nodded his head. “Sounds familiar.”

  For a second I got caught up in the movement, in the strong line of his jaw and his long fingers. I couldn’t remember thinking about guys’ fingers in terms of sexiness before, but Dane definitely had sexy fingers. The fact that he knew what I was talking about only deepened his appeal.

  Ooh, he understands me! Big check on that potential boyfriend point. I tried not to get too ahead of myself, but the tingly buzz working its way across my skin didn’t get the message. I dove deeper, wanting to explore the connection, and maybe so I could justify feeling it so strongly.

  “Have you told people about it, only to have them say, ‘you just close your eyes and go to sleep,’ as though you honestly don’t understan
d how sleep works? Or they tell you to stop stressing out, like it’s that easy.”

  “Like you haven’t tried every stupid thing to fall asleep before.”

  “Yes!” In my excitement, I nearly overturned the ceramic caddy with the sugar and sweetener packets. But seriously, no one ever understood when I explained my insomnia—they all seemed so confused.

  “And those sleeping pills,” Dane said, “either they knock you out for two years or they just lock you in a purgatory type sleeping state, where you can’t really function, but you’re still not fucking sleeping.”

  “So much yes! I’ve tried everything, but it never seems worth the awful side effects. My aunt implied I wasn’t trying hard enough, as if I just didn’t want sleep bad enough. It reminded me of those sports movies where the coach is like”—I transitioned to my best fired-up-coach voice—“you have to want it. Do you really want it?”

  A lopsided smile slanted across Dane’s face, but faded before it fully caught hold. “If I told my parents, they’d stress out and stop sleeping, too.” He picked up a creamer and dumped it in his coffee.

  I grabbed all but one of the sugar packets, ripped them open, and dumped them in my mug.

  “Jeez, want some coffee with your sugar?” he teased.

  “I always use all but one of the packets, since I feel like leaving someone without at least one would be rude. But I’m sure anyone who likes sugar in their coffee thinks one packet is pathetic and is probably sadder at the proof there used to be more.”

  Amusement flickered through Dane’s eyes. He reached a long, muscular arm behind him, which made his T-shirt stretch tighter across his built chest, and grabbed the sugar caddy off the other table.

  “Thanks, but I don’t need…” I started to wave it away, but then I saw all the white packets just waiting to be dumped into my coffee to make it even more delicious. “Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to need more sugar for this massive cup. Usually diners have such dinky little mugs. This is where it’s at.”