My fingers hover over the keys, thumbs frozen.
Me: I think he’s nice.
Lucy: Nice, LOL. I bet he’d love hearing that. Nice is so boring. HE is boring.
Me: I don’t think he’s boring.
Lucy: That’s because YOU’RE boring.
Me: Give me one more night to break up with him. I’ll do a better job, I promise—although I’M POSITIVE I already did. He even said the words “breaking up”. 100%
Lucy: Darts. Saturday night. 8:00
Me: Fine. I’ll be there.
Lucy: Okay, but can I just say something? Darts are SO WEIRD.
Chapter Nine
Amelia
Why did I agree to this?
I’ve broken up with this guy once already, in what were the worst five minutes of my life.
So why did I agree to meet him? Because I, Amelia Constance Ryan, am a glutton for punishment and cannot get Dante Amado out of my damn mind. Is it crazy that he’s all I can think about?
I’m dying to see him.
He’s got me longing for things I didn’t know I wanted, and now I completely understand why my sister dates around.
It’s been fun. And sexy. And a whirlwind.
Dante is great, and I like who I am when I’m with him.
It’s true, we didn’t spend that much time laughing, but to say there was no chemistry is a lie.
I was instantly attracted to someone my sister is dating and I hate it. I’ve never been jealous of her, but I’m jealous now, and I’m an idiot because I walked here, knowing he would be forced to drive me home at the end of this farce.
Does that make me a terrible human being?
Or just human?
He’s easy to find when I walk in, hovering near the door, waiting—for me. Dante straightens to his full height when he sees me. I’m bundled up in my coat because it’s insanely cold out, and he smiles at the sight of it.
He smiles at the sight of me.
I blush despite myself, beginning the process of unbuttoning the navy blue wool jacket, the toggles pulling free one by one.
It slides off like a robe, falls out of my hands and onto the floor.
Dash and I both bend to grab it at the same time but he beats me to it. We rise slowly, eyes connecting. Faces inches apart.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.”
“Thanks for meeting me here.”
“Uh, sure.” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, nervous about what to expect. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again after I broke up with you.”
“Did you though?” His smile is pleasant, placating in an almost patronizing way.
“Are you trying to make me lose my mind? Because I remember our conversation very clearly, and we broke up, so I guess I’m confused about why you want to see me again.”
Holy shit—what if he’s some roid-rager, or a psycho who’s going to start stalking my sister?
“I’m not trying to make you think you’re losing your mind. I’m just questioning whether or not it was you that broke up with me.”
I sigh. Some guys have such fragile egos. “I’m okay with you telling people you’re the one who broke up with me. That’s fine, however you wanna do it.”
“You’re totally missing my point.” He winks, lips twisting into a grin—a smirk, really—eyes shining with mirth.
Something about the way he’s observing me makes my stomach take a nosedive, and I actually lay my hand over my abdomen, pressing down to quell my nerves—to no avail.
Dante begins the short walk between us. Now he’s standing directly in front of me, hands reaching to grasp my wrists, gently stroking with his thumbs. I glance down between our bodies, at our joined hands, then back up again.
“Dante, we broke up.” I can barely choke out the words.
His dark gaze coolly assesses me. “Did we?”
He is going to make me insane.
Under the circumstances, I absolutely shouldn’t be here tonight, shouldn’t be seeing him again, the many reasons so numerous I can’t resist tallying them up in my mind:
He was my sister’s boyfriend
The boyfriend I broke up with for her
While pretending to be her
And ended up liking him
A lot
With a stupid amount of lust thrown in for good measure
He makes me crazy
I can’t stop thinking about him
God, look at him staring at me
He was my sister’s boyfriend
“I reserved us the dartboard in back but we’re going to make this quick.”
For real, he still wants to go through the motions of playing darts? Is this guy unhinged? I’m his ex-girlfriend!
“Uh, okay.”
“You throw one and I’ll throw one, then we can leave.”
My eyes narrow doubtfully. “You brought me here to shoot one dart? Is this some kind of ploy to get back together? Because it’s not going to work.”
Dante busies himself by opening the container of darts, laying two on the table. “I have no intention of getting back together with Lucy.”
I cross my arms, slightly irritated he’s going through so much effort to win my sister back. “Do you do this with all your ex-girlfriends?”
“I don’t have any.” He laughs, picking up a dart from the table and handing it to me then grabbing one for himself. “And we both know you’re not my ex-girlfriend.”
“Uh, okay…”
He gestures for me to step up to throw. “Ladies first.”
I’m so confused that I actually move forward without arguing, glancing back to study him before facing the board, the long heavy metal dart weighted in my fingers.
What the heck is going on?
Closing one eye to concentrate, I instinctively bite down on my tongue. The dart releases from trembling fingers, heading straight for the red outer double ring. Sticks in and hangs there proudly.
My hand is still shaking when I lower my hand, stepping off the duct tape on the floor so Dash can take his turn.
“Looks like someone isn’t as calm and collected as they thought they were.” His mouth isn’t smiling but his eyes certainly are, palms rolling a black dart between them, eyeing the board shrewdly. He points the dart at me.
“If I get a bull’s-eye with this, you spend the rest of the night with me, and I get to kiss you.”
“Are you insane?”
He ignores my question, asking one of his own. “Do we have a deal?”
The odds of him actually hitting the target dead center, on the first try, without warming up, are slim, so I nod my head in acquiescence. Plus, if he makes the shot, I’ll finally know what it’s like to have those lips on mine, even if it’s just once. I deserve it.
“Yes, we have a deal.”
“Shake on it?”
I stare down at the large hand he extends, that calloused palm and the rough pads of his fingers. Glide my hand across his flesh, shivering when our skin connects.
It’s positively electric.
We both shiver.
I give him a limp shake, eager to free myself from his grasp, tucking my hand away for safekeeping, the tingling sensation lingering far too long to be comfortable.
Far too long to be forgettable.
Dante steps in front of the dartboard, plucks my small silver arrow off, sets it aside, stands on the marker taped to the floor. Focuses on the target against the wall, homing in on that red, round center, leaning with one leg kicked behind him dramatically. His strong arm draws out the action of tossing the tiny missile.
My expressive eyes get wider when the dart lands the bull’s-eye, heart damn near having palpitations when his heels pivot and he shrugs his shoulders as if to say, Golly gee, look what I did!
“Did you just hustle me?”
His shrug is easy. “Beginner’s luck?”
“Liar.”
Dante laughs. “You should talk.”
We’re staring at one another as if in a showdown, unwilling to bend.
This is getting awkward. “Maybe we should leave?”
“Thought you’d never ask. Can you hold on one second?” Removing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, he taps open the camera. Positions it so I’m in the background of his selfie. Clicks.