19. Freddie #2
“Coward,” I laugh. “I’ll go first.”
I step up to the faded chalk line on the floorboards, holding the dart up like I actually have technique.
In my head, I quickly chant a tiny spell—just a little nudge of directional luck to guide the tip.
Is it technically cheating? Absolutely. Do I care?
Not even a little. I want to know everything about Callum McKinley, or to see him drunkenly make a fool of himself. Win-win.
I flick my wrist. The dart sails through the air and embeds itself with a solid thunk right in the center ring.
I turn around, sauntering past the high-top table with a victorious smirk. “Well, well, well.”
Callum grins and crosses his broad arms over his chest, rolling his shoulders back. “Fire away.”
I lean against the edge of the table. “How long was your most serious relationship?”
“Easy,” he says. “I’ve never had one.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Really?”
“Really,” he says softly, his tone pragmatic. “I messed around a lot in high school and college, but after everything happened with Rory, I just buried myself in work. I didn’t let myself get bogged down in anything serious.” He gestures toward the dartboard. “What about you?”
I hold up a single finger, shaking my head. “Uh-uh, loverboy. You have to make bullseye first.”
Callum smirks. As he steps past me to retrieve a dart from the holder, he purposely brushes his shoulder against mine, his arm warm and solid. He takes his stance at the line, barely takes two seconds to aim, and lets the dart fly.
It hits the center ring right next to mine.
I drop my jaw. “What the hell!”
Callum barks out a satisfied laugh, turning around to face me. “Told you I was good. My turn.” He taps his chin, watching my face carefully. “What’s your biggest turn-off?”
“Physically?” I ask, crossing my legs at the ankles.
“Sure.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” I say, taking a sip of my water. “Bad teeth and weird feet.”
Callum chuckles, a bright sound that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Clarify ‘weird feet.’”
“Men who have hobbit feet,” I say deadpan. “Fat toes and nasty, tangly toe hair.”
He takes a step closer, leaning down so his face is just inches from mine, his voice dropping into a teasing purr. “I would’ve thought you’d be into that. Then you could braid it.”
I burst out laughing, shoving his firm chest with my palm. “Fuck off! My turn.”
I step up to the line, gripping the metal barrel of the dart between my index finger and thumb. Closing my eyes for a fraction of a second, I chant the spell in my mind, coaxing the trajectory just enough before snapping my wrist forward.
Thunk.
Right in the red center. Again.
I turn around on my heel, a smirk spreading across my face. “Well, look at that.”
“I’m starting to think you’re a professional cheater,” Callum says, leaning back against the high-top table.
I saunter back over, leaning my hip against the wood right next to him. I tilt my head, letting my eyes drop to his mouth before locking eyes with him again. “Alright, detective. My turn to ask a question. What’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done in bed?”
Callum suddenly sputters as he takes a gulp of his water, nearly choking on it. He coughs once, his chest heaving, his face flushing a magnificent shade of pink. “Jesus, Winifred.”
“Answer the question, McKinley,” I say, tapping my painted nails against the table impatiently.
Instead of opening his mouth, he reaches down, snatches one of the shot glasses off the tray, and downs the cinnamon whiskey in one smooth gulp. He winces as it hits his throat, a low groan slipping past his lips before he slams the empty glass back onto the wood.
He turns toward me, stepping into my space until he’s so close I can smell the warm, sweet bite of cinnamon whiskey on his breath mixed with the clean scent of his soap. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he murmurs.
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the sudden flutter in my stomach. “Good thing I don’t see any gentlemen around here.”
He lets out a deep rumble of a laugh.
“C’mon!” I nudge him with my elbow. “Give me something!”
“Not a chance in hell,” he says, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mustache.
“Fine,” I huff, tilting my chin up. “It’s probably because you’re totally vanilla anyway. I bet you only do missionary. With the lights off.”
Callum doesn’t answer immediately. He just stares at me, his blue eyes darkening into something thick and dangerously heavy.
He steps around me to take his turn at the board.
But as he passes, his broad hand glides around my waist, his palm settling against the small of my back.
His thumb rubs a circle through the thin fabric of my burgundy dress, sending a wave of heat to my core.
My lungs seemingly forget how to work and my skin flushes hot everywhere his fingers touch, a wildfire spreading from that single point of contact.
He leans down, his lips hovering an inch from my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “Trust me,” he whispers. “I’m anything but vanilla, Win.”
When he pulls back and looks down at me, I swallow hard, thoroughly hating how effortlessly he manages to throw me off balance.
“Yeah, well,” I manage, voice coming out way too breathy, “you’re probably just a really good toe sucker.”
Callum smirks, giving me a wicked wink. “I’d like to think I’m good at sucking many things.”
My jaw nearly drops to the floor. Before I can even process the filth coming out of this Scottish detective’s mouth, he turns toward the board, raises his arm, and flicks his wrist. The dart embeds itself just a fraction of an inch outside the bullseye.
A wide grin breaks across my face, and I point at him triumphantly. “Miss! That means it’s my turn to ask a question.”
Callum turns around, resting his lower back against the dartboard wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He just waits, looking intensely amused by me.
I step directly in front of him, my heels clicking on the worn floorboards, and stop close enough that I have to tilt my chin up to look him in the eyes. The sarcasm fades from my tone, replaced by a rogue wave of nerves.
“If I dared you to kiss me,” I say, a quiet challenge, “right here, right now…would you do it?”