He stepped back and looked at her mouth before slowly raising his gaze to her eyes. “Tank top the wrong color?”
“No.”
“You don’t like the shorts?”
“I’m not the kind of girl they’re looking for.”
“I don’t think that’s true. I know for a fact they hire short girls. I’ve seen them in there.” He paused a moment, then added, “Of course, that was in Singapore.”
They both knew they weren’t talking about her height. “You’re trying to rattle me so you’ll win, aren’t you?”
Tiny creases appeared in the corners of his blue eyes. “Is it working?”
“No,” she lied and moved to the sideline where the Chinooks stood. “Did you come through with those beers, Rob?”
He patted her on the top of her head. “Sure did, Sharky.”
Sharky? Well, she’d earned a nickname, and it was better than what she was sure they called her when she wasn’t around. And he’d patted her head as if she were a dog. Progress, she thought as she watched Luc raise his hand, snap it forward, and bury the dart in the bull’s-eye.
“Luc hates to lose more than anyone I’ve known,” Bruce told her.
“Maybe you shouldn’t beat him
,” Peter warned. “It might snakebite his game.”
“Forget it, guys.” She shook her head as Luc buried the second dart in the out area and swore like a hockey player. “I’m not going to let anyone win.”
“Losing might make him play with a real mad-on at the Compac Center tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, remember when he lost at bowling by one pin and the next night he duked it out with Roy?” Darby reminded everyone.
“That probably had more to do with Luc and Patrick’s trash-talking than a bowling score.”
“Goalie grudge match.”
“They played old-time hockey that night.”
“Whatever the reason, they mixed it up at center ice, and man, it was beautiful.”
“When was that?” Jane wanted to know.
“Last month.”
Last month, and he still had more than half the season to go. For several long moments, Luc stood at the toe line, staring the board down as if he were in a contest of wills. A trail of light poured across the cheap red carpet and lit up his leather shoes and black pants to his knees. Then, as if he were launching a missile, he buried the dart deep in the double twenty for a total of sixty-five points. The scowl pulling at his brow as he strode to her and handed her the darts told her he wasn’t satisfied with trailing behind by seventy-five points.
“If they gave points for burying the dart through the board, you’d stand a chance of winning,” she said. “Next time you might want to use finesse rather than muscle.”
“I’m not a finesse kind of guy.”
No kidding. She moved into position, and just as she was about to release the dart, Luc spoke from the sidelines. “How do you get your hair pulled back that tight?” The other Chinooks laughed as if Luc were real funny.
She lowered her arm and looked over at him. “This isn’t hockey. There’s no trash-talking in darts.”
He flashed her a smile. “There is now.”
Fine. She’d still beat him. While he continued to heckle from the sidelines, her three throws equaled an even fifty. Her lowest score so far. “You’re behind by a hundred and sixteen,” she reminded him.
“Not for long,” he boasted, then walked up to the toe line and threw a double bull and a single twenty.