He did a bit better than I was counting on, honestly.
Kent, meanwhile, is staring at me through two very adorably annoyed eyes.
I line up my feet and prepare my first dart. I squint. I pinch it with precision and consider my aim.
“Any day now,” taunts Beefcake.
The dart flies from my hand.
It lands in the wall.
Beefcake chortles like a ten-year-old who just heard a fart. Kent rolls his eyes. I frown at the rogue dart like it just betrayed me.
“You might as well take your loss before you humiliate yourself worse,” suggests Beefcake, still recovering from his childish laughter. Then he nods over at Kent. “Hey, Kenny, wanna just get outta here when he loses?”
Kent frowns, then glances at me. Neither of us bother to correct him on the name.
I face the dartboard again, readying my second dart. I will not lose this game. My face tightens up as I prepare to totally not make a fool of myself. Why are these darts so damned slippery? Were Kent’s hands sweaty?
I throw the dart.
It lands near the edge of the board, in a totally terrible place that earns me diddly-squat. Mathematically, there’s no way I can actually win. It’s over. Hilariously, I doubt Mr. Beefcake even realizes it, as if there’s still some magic move I can do to somehow win all the points.
Then I realize there is. “Alright, how about we double-or-nothing this?” I twirl the final dart between my fingers. “If I get a bullseye with this last throw, I win.”
Kent appears instantly concerned. “Uh, Jonah …?”
“Deal,” says Beefcake.
I take a breath, position myself, and lift the final dart.
Then I tilt my head, bite my lip, and take a few steps back. Beefcake watches, confused. Then I take a few more steps back and aim again, ready. Finally, I take one more step away, my heel nearly pressed against a table behind me.
“The hell are you doing?” asks Kent.
Then I throw the dart.
It zips through the air.
And with a gummy thunk, it lands: bullseye.
Holy shit.
As Beefcake stares at the dartboard in disbelief, I give a lazy shrug and turn to Kent. “I forgot I’m farsighted.”
A smile breaks over Kent’s face. “You sneaky bastard.”
“Hey, hey, hey, that’s not fair!” Beefcake shakes his head and gives us both a look. “The hell was that?”
Kent throws an arm over my back and chuckles at Mr. Beefcake. “That, my friend, was called a hustle. And this guy is taking home his prize.” He eyes me. “Wanna get out of here?”
“You bet I do.”
With Beefcake still sputtering indignantly, the pair of us slink right out of the bar, satisfied.
Soon, the sand is beneath our feet as we’re walking once again across the beach at night. But this time, it’s the tourist side of the island, Breezeway Point, and there are people gathered in clusters all over the place.
And Kent can’t get over how awesome that was. “You made that six foot guy feel one foot tall. Damn, the look on his face! That was probably the best thing I’ve seen in years. Maybe even better than the time my mom kicked some dude in the nuts who tried to steal her wallet.”
“Your mom sounds like a beast.”
“She can be. Are you actually farsighted?”
I shrug. “To be honest, I didn’t think I was gonna make the bullseye at all. Was a totally lucky throw.”
Kent gawks at me. “You serious right now? That was my ass you put on the line back there!”
“Sometimes, you just have to play it risky. Not worry so much. Y’know.” I smile. “Easy breezy.”
He studies me for a second. “Guess Coop got to you.”
“Who?”
“The bartender who owns the whole place. That’s his whole thing: be easy and breezy in life. He’s basically the anti-uptight.”
“A bar called ‘Easy Breezy’ on Breezeway Point … That only just now hit me. Hmm. Is there a ‘Sugar Bugar’ café on Sugarberry Beach, by chance?”
Kent snorts and shakes his head. “Nope.”
“The air out here is kinda nice tonight.” I take a deep, lung-stretching inhale, then let it all out. “There is really something magical about this place …”
“It isn’t the place, really. You’re just away from home, here on vacation.” When I give him a look, Kent shrugs. “I mean, if it was magical, all of us here on the island would be happy all the time. But I have my down days. I have struggles and troubles. I get mad. I get depressed.”
“Makes sense. Hmm. Where does someone who lives on an island like this go to for vacation?”
His hands find his pockets. “I dunno. Japan?”
“Why Japan?”
“Or London. Paris. Fucking Disneyworld. Montana. I dunno. We go wherever we want, just like anyone else, if we can afford it. Hell, I could just take a trip up to Houston and see the damned zoo. It’d be a long-ass trip, but maybe it’d be worth it. I heard the gorillas like to jerk themselves off in their big enclosures when they’ve got a good crowd forming. Fucking pervs.”