“Eli got invited to a party?” I ask. “I never got invited to a field party.”
“I went,” a voice says behind me. “I even drank half a beer that Josh Stipe gave me.”
I whirl around and he’s standing right there, one hand in a pocket, hair a little unruly and green eyes blazing, his Big Al’s Western Emporium t-shirt tight across his shoulders and biceps. Suddenly, it’s too hot in here.
“You were supposed to tell me when evil was lurking,” I say to Adeline.
“Sorry,” she says.
“I wasn’t lurking,” Eli says. “I just came over to say hi and see if you needed any help.”
I grab my beer and take a long, suspicious sip. I’m not surprised that he’s at his brother’s brewery on a Saturday, but I don’t like it either.
“Hi, and no, I don’t,” I say. I don’t even know what he’s offering help with.
“Hi, Eli,” Adeline says. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks,” he says. “Yourself?”
“I’m well,” she says. “I’m gonna go grab another drink, you two want anything?”
We both decline, and Adeline walks toward the bar, leaving me alone with him.
“I think you need some help,” Eli tells me the moment she’s out of earshot.
“Did you know she thinks you’re nice?” I ask, ignoring him. “I can’t imagine.”
“I used to help her with her homework,” he says, shrugging. “She was cute. And all the cheerleaders wore those skirts —”
“Okay, okay,” I say. There’s an unpleasant, boiling sensation rising through my stomach. “God, I get it.”
“This one time, she put her hand on my arm —"
“I don’t want to hear your high school Letters to Penthouse,” I snap.
Eli just laughs.
“I won’t even tell you what went on at that field party,” he says. “Did you know that some of our classmates were having sexual relations?”
My face heats up slightly at the phrase, and I cross my arms in front of myself like I can ward it off.
“We graduated ten years ago and you’re still bragging about how you got invited to a single party?” I shoot back.
“It’s one more than you got invited to,” he points out.
I go get my darts out of the dart board. For a moment, I consider throwing one at Eli, but with my luck I’d either murder him by accident or maim someone standing behind him.
I don’t want to murder him, just show him I mean business.
“You don’t know how many parties I got invited to,” I say.
“Zero,” he says, holding out his hand.
“You don’t know that. What do you want?”
“Give me a dart, and yes I do,” he says.
“Why?”
“So I can throw it and show you how it’s done.”
He’s right about the number of parties. I always heard about them Monday morning: who hooked up, who got drunk, who invited their hot twenty-two-year-old cousin, who got into a fight.
I still can’t believe he got to go to one, and I’m way, way more annoyed about it now — over a decade later — than I should be.
“I know how it’s done,” I tell him. “You stick the pointy end in the board. It’s not rocket science.”
“Okay, impress me,” he says, hands on hips.
“No.”
“Because you can’t.”
I’ve got the three darts clenched in my hand, the plastic digging into my palm. He’s standing closer to me than he should be, and it’s setting off proximity alarms in every single part of my body — only instead of sending an alert, every single one is reminding me how long it’s been since an attractive man touched me.
The answer is a while. Like, maybe a year a while. There’s been a dry spell, filled only with dates that go nowhere. Hell, right now might be the closest I’ve gotten to a man in a few months.
“Because I have no interest in whether you think I’m good at darts or not,” I say. “And I don’t want your dart lessons.”
“My dart lessons are only for people who I think can be taught,” Eli says.
Now I’m clenching my other fist, too.
“Then are you just here to tell me I’m shitty at darts?” I ask. “Yes. I know. I’m shitty at darts. Happy?”
He doesn’t answer, just steps around me and grabs Adeline’s darts off the table. I don’t know why he didn’t just borrow those in the first place.
Well, yes, I do. Because Eli delights in being difficult. That’s why.
“Follow through,” he says, standing on the line, dart in hand, making a throwing motion slowly. “Just look where you want the dart to go and don’t forget to follow through.”
He throws the dart. It lands in the ring right outside the bullseye.
“You missed,” I say.
He throws another one, and it lands in nearly the same place. I’m impressed for a moment, and then I remind myself not to be.
“I wouldn’t take lessons from you,” I say.
He releases the third dart. This one hits the bullseye, and Eli looks over at me, grinning.