“Is he worried Beth is going to punt a bowling ball into Bobby’s—”
“It’s nice of you to join us, Albie,” Beth cuts in, rolling her eyes as Gwen snickers. “Perhaps you can keep James and Gwen in line.”
“Oh, are you a troublemaker, Demeroven?” Albie asks, tossing the jack to the end of their pitch.
Demeroven looks over at him, startled. Bobby swallows thickly as he rolls up his shirtsleeves. “I... endeavor to be very little trouble, mostly.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have that,” Gwen says eagerly, grabbing Demeroven’s arm. “We’ll take the first round.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Bobby grumbles as Beth laughs.
Gwen’s two tosses land predictably close to the jack, and Demeroven’s balls nudge up against hers. Demeroven might actually end up a fair hand at darts, even if he will refuse to play for money.
“You’ve a good arm,” Gwen says brightly. “And a lot of muscles,” she adds as she lightly tugs him out of the way so Beth can push Bobby forward.
Albie passes Beth her two balls, chuckling at Demeroven’sdiscomfort. Bobby glances back and feels his throat tighten. Demeroven’s tugging at his collar, those muscles in his biceps flexing. Bobby does like arms—always has.
“You rowed at school, didn’t you?” Albie asks Demeroven.
“I did,” Demeroven says.
Bobby splits his focus, watching Beth bite at her lip in concentration, lining up her toss. But he’s got an eye on Demeroven as well. He never did bother to attend any of the sculling heats. Perhaps he should have, if all the rowers looked like Demeroven.
Perhaps they would have met before, in better, less socially severe circumstances.
“Yes!”
Gwen groans and Bobby looks over to find that Beth has knocked Gwen’s ball out of place. Her blue ball now sits closest to the jack.
“We’re so good I’m not even necessary,” he crows, laughing as Beth jumps in excitement.
Gwen’s glowering, but Demeroven looks nonplussed.
“Think you can beat that?” he asks, looking for any reaction at all.
“Possibly,” Demeroven says simply. “Though that was a very good throw, cousin.”
Ah, so he can be polite too, when he wants to be. “It was,” Bobby agrees, smiling at Beth, who shrugs humbly. He makes his throws, which both land respectably.
“Hardly as impressive as sculling,” Beth says.
“They’re very different skills,” Demeroven allows. He and Bobby trade places while Albie jogs out to send all the balls rolling back to them.
Demeroven makes his next toss, landing perhaps six inches from the jack.
“I don’t know,” Gwen says, taking her ball and seemingly effortlessly tossing it down the grass to bump into Demeroven’s. “They both take teamwork, don’t they?”
“They do,” Demeroven admits. “Though this has so far involved far less shouting, so I appreciate that.”
“Don’t count on it,” Albie mutters and Bobby laughs.
“Father told me you won most of your races. Do you ever think about joining one of the Henley-on-Thames teams?” Gwen asks.
“Oh, goodness, no,” Demeroven says.
Bobby listens as Demeroven, Gwen, and Albie get into a rather in-depth discussion about the odds for each team for the upcoming regatta. Demeroven is rather animated when he’s interested in the subject at hand. And the brightness in his eyes, it’s almost captivating.
That, and the thin sheen of sweat around his neck, which has him pulling at his collar constantly and making the rest of his starched shirt go taut, giving a hint of what appears to be quite the set of defined abdominals beneath.
