Chapter Five — Callum
“You letting your lady win?” an older man asks, smiling knowingly.
“Oh,” I laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
He chuckles. “Little bit. Surprising she hasn’t caught on. Or maybe she has?”
I shrug. “Hard to say.”
“I’m sure she’ll figure it out eventually,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
I shrug. “Probably.”
“Then what’s the point in pretending?” he asks.
“I really don’t know,” I say, rubbing my chin.
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself ever since Alex left for the ladies’ room. What am I trying to do here? Am I trying to throw the game? Prolong it? Why?
I think it’s because I want to prolong this moment we’re in. This magical time before things escalate. Before we hit a point of no return. Because I know that if I keep escalating things, I will push her past her limits, and she’ll leave. Like they all do.
And I’ve never really cared about that. In fact, I’ve always wanted them to leave. That was the point. Part of the game. Breaking them was the funnest part. But I’ve never had as much fun as I’m having right now. Which is why I don’t want it to end.
I wish Alex and I could stay here forever. Frozen in time. In this limbo. But I know we can’t. Eventually, something will give. Either I’ll get bored, or she’ll get scared and run away. It’s only a matter of time.
Still, I just can’t bring myself to end this game. As much as I desperately want to fuck her, I don’t want it to happen like this. As a punishment. No. The first time I fuck Alex has to be outside of this game we’re playing. I want to fuck her because she wants it. It can’t be a punishment.
I can’t believe I’m even thinking these thoughts right now. But I want her to do it freely. And I mean really freely. The fact that I’m even thinking this almost scares me, because up until now, the only time I’ve ever enjoyed fucking women has been when I can see the fear in their eyes.
I’ve always needed that to be turned on. But not with her. Yeah, I like seeing her scared, embarrassed, squirming, but I also like seeing the desire in her eyes. Her desperation. Her wanting me. It’s something I never thought I would like, but with her, I somehow do.
“I’m back,” she says, breaking me out of my train of thought.
“Oh,” I say, smiling.
“So, are you going to start actually trying?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The old man overhears us and shoots me a look. I avoid his gaze.
“Whose turn was it?” she asks.
“Nine. I think.”
I purposely land a 60 on the first shot, on a triple. She looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“Seriously?”
“What?” I ask.
“I know what you’re doing, Callum.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Fine,” she says.
She takes the dart from me and starts throwing.
“What am I at?” she asks.
I take a second to do the calculations. “Thirty.”
“So I’m winning?” she asks, eyebrows raised.
“I guess you are, sweetheart.”
She smiles, and it delights me. We both know that I’m letting her win, but it’s still cute.
I go and hit below zero this time.
“At this point, I want to win just so we can end this game,” she says.
I laugh. “Go for it, sweetheart. It’s hard to finish on zero, though.”
“Oh, trust me, I know,” she says, looking at me.
I laugh.
She hits a 10 on her first shot.
“Now you need to hit a 20 on a double,” I say.
“I know,” she says. The way she says it so bossily is endearing. Everything about her is endearing.
She lines up in front of the board and stares.
“You’ve got this,” I say.
“Why are you rooting for me?” she says. “Don’t you want me to miss?”
I nod. “You’re right. Yeah. I mean, you don’t have this. You suck.”
She laughs. “I have got this, though.”
I love her confidence. She takes a deep breath and throws, and nails it.
The delight in her eyes when she lands the winning shot wipes any doubt I had in my mind about whether throwing this game was the right idea.
She has that childlike sense of wonder in her eyes.
It’s beautiful. It surprises me—just how delighted she is—given that she knows I threw the game.
But the joy on her face is unmistakable. I love it.
She’s proud of herself, and she should be. That was an impressive shot she landed for a beginner. I pick her up and twirl her around. She’s so small and light, and she fits perfectly in my hands.
“I’m proud of you,” I whisper in her ear.
“Thanks,” she says, beaming.
“Let’s get out of here?” I ask.
She nods. “What about the bill?”
We’ve been having some drinks while playing, just soft drinks for me since I’m driving, and I she had one glass of wine. All of which I’ve already paid for, obviously.
She laughs. “Already taken care of?”
“Always,” I say.
I place her down and extend my hand, and she takes it happily, swinging it as we walk out of the bar.