I smile back at him, unsure what to say. Devin seems perfectly nice, but Shane and Marcos get under my skin. Khalil would probably be a lovely man if he didn’t get into pissing contests with Shane.
“We’re playing darts. Want to join us?” Just as he says it, a loud burst of laughter filters in.
I want to decline, but there’s a puppy-dog look to his big, dark eyes — the kind that makes it really hard to say no. Also, I happen to be good at the game, and the thought of hurling darts at a target sounds very appealing right about now.
Besides, even though sharp, pointy objects are involved, darts sounds much safer than truth or dare.
26
Want to play?
After changing my clothes, I join the men in the game room that I saw when I was trying to clean the house the other day. Somehow, I hadn’t even noticed the dart board that day, but now all four of them are gathered around it.
It’s Shane’s turn, and Khalil is trash talking him, but it sounds much friendlier than it had last night. After Shane takes his shot, Khalil catches sight of me, and his face breaks into a broad grin. “Hey, Becca, how’s it going?”
I give him a brief smile. “Hi.”
When Shane turns and sees me, he looks wary, but gives me one of those chin lift greetings that men do. Marcos has a look that makes me glad we’re not playing poker, because, like usual, his face is impossible to read.
I lean against the pool table to observe the match from a distance, and Marcos soon joins me, an extra beer in hand. “Peace offering?” he says, holding it out. While I’m deciding whether or not to accept it, I take a long look at him, my eyes lingering over the snug black fabric that hugs his biceps.
When I realize where my thoughts are going, I tug my gaze back to his face, where he’s watching me, amused. I really need to be more subtle about checking these guys out, or, even better, I need to stop ogling them, because they’re bad news.
Marcos is a bossy jerk, but I’m under his roof for the time being, so I may as well make nice with him. To be honest, I’d have never expected him to make any admission of wrongdoing, like he is with this “peace offering,” so maybe I’m being too harsh.
“Thanks,” I say, taking it from him, being careful not to touch his hand in the process.
Devin comes over just as I’m taking my first cold sip. “I heard about your bad luck with apartment hunting today,” he says.
“Yeah, I can’t believe how hard it is to find something good.”
He puts his hand on my upper arm in a friendly, reassuring gesture. “Just remember, there’s no rush. You can stay here as long as it takes to find a great place.”
Marcos must have told him about the moldy rental. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
Much as they drive me crazy in various ways, I am truly grateful. I don’t know what I’d be doing if I couldn’t stay here. Quickly going broke, I suspect.
“Do you play?” Devin asks, looking over toward the game, where Shane is up again.
I nod. “Sometimes.”
“We were playing a standard game earlier,” Devin says, “but as we’ve had more beers, we’ve moved on to an around-the-clock game that doesn’t require math.”
Marcos smirks and shakes his head at his friend.
Devin explains the game to me, assuming I don’t know the rules, and I don’t stop him. After feeling a bit bruised by the game of truth or dare, I’m hoping to beat the men at darts. Marcos and Shane need to be taken down a notch, and I’m still not pleased with Khalil after he basically used me as a pawn last night.
Khalil lets out a cheer. There’s a dart in the bullseye, and Shane is cursing.
“I get to choose my next opponent,” Khalil says. “Want to play, Becca?”
I take another drink. “I guess so.”
Khalil starts to tell me the rules, but I let him know that Devin already filled me in. The concept is extremely simple, just hit all twenty numbers in ascending order, then target the bullseye. Easy to understand, not as easy to play.
“You can go first,” he says, even though standard protocol would be for each of us to take a shot at the bullseye to see who gets closer.
I collect the darts, purposely miss my first two, and land the third one into the fat number one segment.
“Great job!” Khalil says, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. I almost feel bad for how I’m going to beat him.
On his turn, he lands his first dart but misses the other two, and I suspect his misses may have been intentional also.
The other three guys are watching our game, and Shane razzes Khalil, but it’s playful rather than mean. All the men are in distinctly better moods than last night, and they’re rubbing off on me, lightening my mood as I drink and play.