Page 73 of The Great Dating Fake Off
I grip my striker harder as the image of her and Nella cooking together bursts to life in my mind with alarming clarity. “Good luck. Nella won’t even teach me.”
I barely try to block her winning shot. Game over.
It’s for the best; any more of her red lace peep show will wreck me when I’m already fighting several consecutive days of pure, unresolved need when it comes to her.
“I win!” she squeals.“I never win.”
The hockey table powers down, the noise of the air jets falling away. But a loud steady sound persists. We blink toward the roof in unison.
I scratch the stubble forming on my chin from exactly nine hours of not shaving. “Rain.”
That weather phenomenon shouldn’t thrill me as much as it does. But if Nora wants to go back to her room, I want her to go.
There’s no disappointment in her eyes as she takes a step backward. “Guess we’re trapped here a little while longer. Want to let me win at darts next?”
My body moves forward, keeping the distance between us small but safe. “I didn’t let you win.”
“Nah, you just did everything in your power to lose.”
“History is always written by the victors.” I take a few large strides to retrieve my red darts from the board. “How’s your darts game?”
She removes a set of blue from the caddy on an adjacent wall. “Let’s just say I’m worried for the structural integrity of the board and everything within a ten-foot radius.” The fabric of her cute one-piece whatever it is shimmies as she gets in position. She lifts her arm and hurls a dart at the wall without even pausing to line up her throw.
Terrible. “Ah. I see the problem.”
“My aim?” Her giggle is melodic. “Yes, I’m aware.”
The dull ache that pounds inside me every time she’s near grows sharper. “May I?”
Her chin lifts as she transfers another dart into her right hand. “You may.”
I close the distance between us. Her back is an inch from my chest, our bodies two parallel lines that will continue forever without crossing, if I leave well enough alone.
And yet I cup the elbow of her throwing arm anyway. My palm glides up over her forearm as if powered by its own motor. Fuck, her skin is soft. “You have to take your time. You barely even looked at the target before you threw.”
Goose bumps skate down her arm. “How long am I supposed to look at it? Until it hops off the wall and gets closer?”
“Smart ass.” It takes everything in me not to bury my face in her neck. I lift her elbow higher and cock her forearm back before tapping the her heel with the tip of my shoe. “Slide this back so your stance is diagonal to the board.”
She obliges, stopping only when our bodies are flush.
A tornado of wanting tears me up from the inside. I’m fighting for my life even as I move my mouth closer to her ear. “Now throw.”
The dart flies through the air, sinking its metal tip into black cork.
A quiet yes slips from her mouth, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t put distance between us.
“Eighteen points.” My mouth finds its way back to her ear, my nose tucking in behind it. She smells so good I can’t stand it. “Not bad. Try again. You’ve got one more.”
Her head turns, and her gaze searches mine. Those eyes are cut with lust.
We stand for several audible breaths, touching without touching.
Eyes on my mouth, she murmurs, “Show me again.”
Her request takes a hammer to my resolve. What’s left is dust slipping through my fingers as I squeeze the curve of her hip and guide her into the same position she was in before, diagonal for throwing.
This time I hold her there with my hand on her stomach. “Ready?”
