Chapter 3
Long Live
Raven
“Hello, boys !” She calls, loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear. “Who’s winning?”
If they weren’t looking at us before, they definitely are now. The whole group pauses their game, turning toward us.
The guy I talked to earlier is the first to speak, flashing that familiar grin.
“Well, well, well. Look who decided to join us,” he teases, the Scottish lilt of his voice is making the words entirely too smooth. “If it’s not the American girls who’ve taken over our pub.”
He winks.
Sarcasm is practically my love language, so I fire back without missing a beat. “Taken over? If it was commandeered that quickly, then you’re lucky we decided to show up to liven the place up. You’re welcome.”
A ripple of laughter spreads through the group, and I can’t help but giggle a little because who even says commandeered?
Well, I guess the list now includes Jack Sparrow and me.
I’m going to blame it on the vodka-cran running wild through my system.
“Yup, you ladies will fit right in here,” the man says, his attention completely locked onto Rachel like they’re the only two people in the room. “How long are ye staying for?”
Yeah. That question is clearly meant just for her. I arch an eyebrow, smirking to myself. Well, well, well…
Rachel, to her credit, barely misses a beat. “We’re here for a few weeks, but we don’t really have anything specific planned. We just want to explore and do whatever.” She flashes a bright smile.
Which is hilarious, considering this is the same girl constantly worried about being trafficked, taken, or peeped on. But introduce a hot guy into the equation and suddenly, she’s very approachable.
The man looks seconds away from heart eyes, like he might actually need the napkin I used earlier.
“Why don’t you ladies bring your stuff over here and watch us play darts?” Tall, dark, and entirely too handsome says, resting his hands on Rachel’s shoulders, steering her toward a prime viewing spot. Then he gestures toward the table for me with an easy smile.
I trail behind, amused. Honestly, I’m kind of glad he’s more focused on her. If anyone can finally make her ditch that loser Bobby, it’s probably a hot Scottish man who looks like he wants to worship her.
Still, I’m not about to sit here and be eye candy while they show off.
“No offense,” I arch a brow, “but we didn’t come over here just to watch you play darts.”
The men exchange glances.
“We came to challenge you to a game,” I continue, flashing a grin. “And kick your ass. Boys against girls. We’re here to show you how it's really done.”
Laughter erupts, and Rachel claps her hands together. “You heard her. Prepare to be humbled.”
A sharp snort to my right cuts through the laughter. I glance over, already knowing exactly who it is. The man of the hour himself.
Of course, it came from him. I was doing a perfectly fine job of pretending he didn’t exist.
No, we weren’t, my brain betrays me as a swarm of butterflies take flight in my stomach. I try to shut it down, but nope, they’re having a full-on parade.
He leans back against the table, arms folded, and exuding the kind of confidence that makes my teeth grind. “Sorry, but have you ever even played darts before?” His smile is infuriatingly perfect. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your manicure. Maybe you should sit this one out and just watch.”
Um, excuse me?
As if I'm about to let this motherfucker tell me what I can and can’t do.
Heat flares in my chest like a wildfire licking its way up my spine. My fingers twitch at my sides, tingling again with that same strange sensation. A pulse of warmth floods my fingertips and it's impossible to ignore.
Have I ever played darts before? No. But is that any of his business? Absolutely fucking not.
The nerve of him, assuming I’d ruin my nails. I curl my hands into fists, forcing a slow inhale. He’s not worth it.
But, God, how satisfying would it be to wipe that smug look off his face?
Rachel’s eyes flick to me and her expression shifts as she takes in my clenched fists. She knows me too well and can feel the shift in my energy. She’s probably already debating whether she needs to step in.
The bastard chuckles, completely unfazed, as he pushes off his chair and strides toward the dart board.
Okay, Raven, let’s be honest, we don’t actually know how to play darts.
I take a slow, steady breath. Calm down. Let’s think about this rationally.
When he glances back over his shoulder with that infuriatingly cocky look still in place, my temper snaps.
“Aw, well, that’s super nice and thoughtful of you,” my voice is all sugar and venom. “Are you the one celebrating his engagement?”
He stops mid-step, tilting his head slightly. One brow lifts, and the amusement in his eyes is quickly replaced by intrigue.
“It’s likely going to be short-lived if your fiancé finds out that you think that just because she’s a girl with a manicure, she should sit down and look pretty.”
Rachel stifles a laugh behind her hand, her shoulders are shaking with the effort. I catch the quick flicker of surprise in his eyes before a low chuckle rumbles from his chest.
Okay, was that a little too far? Maybe.
Maybe Rachel’s right. Maybe I do have a little unresolved trauma from Chance bubbling under the surface. But over my dead body am I going to sit back and let someone talk down to me like being just a girl is some sort of disadvantage.
I’m already gearing up to throw another verbal dagger, one I probably would regret in the morning, when Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome throws his head back and starts laughing.
Even his friends join in. The entire group erupts into laughter like I just delivered the punchline of the year.
Rachel is staring at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, completely stunned.
Honestly? So am I.
How much of tonight can I blame on the drinks?
“Well, if that isn’t the funniest thing that’s happened all night. Hell might even be the funniest thing I’ve heard all year,” the man drooling over Rachel says, grinning as he leans forward, offering his hand. “I’m Cam, and that one there that you so hilariously put in his place is Kane.”
I glance over just in time to see Kane shake his head.
Cam gestures to the rest of the group, introducing everyone. “That’s Brandon, the engaged one, then there’s Tyler, and James.”
I give them all a polite nod, but my focus keeps getting pulled back to the man whose ego I apparently bruised. Kane is still watching me, studying me like I’m a puzzle he hadn’t planned on solving tonight.
Tyler claps him on the back with a bark of laughter. “Don’t mind him, his ego just took a hit. He’ll take a moment to recover, but he’ll be fine.”
I almost apologize, the instinct so ingrained it nearly slips out, but I catch myself just in time. Nope. Not apologizing for that.
Kane shakes off whatever lingering surprise he had and leans in just enough that I can feel the shift in the air between us. His smirk turns razor-sharp and something else flickers behind his eyes.
“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is…?” He trails off, waiting for me to snap back.
The challenge is unmistakable, his tone is a deliberate dare wrapped in smooth confidence.
Oh, he’s good.
I know he expects me to back down. That much is clear. This is probably going to be the easiest win of his life, considering I definitely don’t know how to play darts. My money is certainly not going where my mouth is.
In fact, maybe I’d have room to put money in there if my foot wasn’t already lodged firmly in my mouth.
I hum, tilting my head, pretending to consider my options, when really, I’m just stalling long enough to set the stakes in a way that won’t sting too badly when I inevitably lose. “Hmm… how about this. If you win, I'll tell you my name.”
Seems like a safe enough bet, considering I’m almost guaranteed to lose.
Kane crosses his arms, his expression is unreadable, but the hint of amusement in his eyes tells me he sees right through my weak attempt at strategy. “And if you win?”
Well, I didn’t think of that. Obviously, I didn’t think that far ahead because I know I won’t win.
“If I win, then I guess you have to buy us a drink. Plus, I’ll have all the bragging rights that you lost to a girl.” I keep my voice light, like this isn’t a completely ridiculous, unfair challenge.
Fake it till you make it, right?
Rachel, clearly catching onto the game, bursts out laughing. “Well, boys, do we have a deal? Our names and phone numbers, or you’re buying drinks.”
I try to glare at her, knowing damn well we didn't agree to numbers. Not to mention, she already gave Cam her name. But he doesn't say anything, and his grin says he’s more than happy to play along.
“Deal.”
Kane’s tone is final, and the way he’s looking at me makes it crystal clear that he fully expects to win.
The guys exchange a quick glance before turning back to us. Their friends are already settling in like they’re about to watch the best entertainment of the night.
This should be a quick game.
The good news is I’m last to go. Which means I have time to mentally prepare… or more time to panic.
Cam steps up first. He throws with an effortless flick of his wrist and the dart is on the board, inner ring.
Ten points for Gryffindor… or however the hell this game works.
Rachel’s next. She barely makes it, but it sticks. I have no idea how many points that gives us, but it’s something.
Then it's Kane’s turn.
I already know how this is going to go.
And sure enough. Bullseye.
“Wow,” I deadpan. “I never saw that coming.”
Kane shoots me a look. “Careful, your jealousy is showing.”
I snort. “Jealous? Of what? Your… dart-throwing skills?” I gesture dramatically at the board. “Yeah, you’re so impressive. What a talent. Truly inspiring.”
Rachel nearly chokes on her drink, covering her mouth to keep from spitting it out.
Kane just shakes his head, exhaling through his nose like I’m some kind of impossible child. “Are you going to talk or throw?”