I sloshed closer to the bar. “Are you kidding? I’ll take a Jack and Coke, please, Jimmy. Better make it a double.”
Once we’d been served our drinks in Jimmy’s finest plastic cups, Logan crooked a finger at me. “Come on. This is how you’re going to unwind.”
“Darts?”He was leading me to the board in the back corner. “You’re asking me, a person with zero athletic ability, to throw needles in a blackout. I don’t think you understand the concept of relaxing.”
“Look, Jimmy’s giving us candles.” And indeed he was, placing two on a nearby table, giving our corner a warm glow. Logan set his drink down and pressed his hands together. “You’re not going to make me beg, are you? Because that would be embarrassing for all of us.”
“You’ll never unsee it,” Jimmy agreed gruffly.
I stuck out my hands. “Fine, give me the darts.”
I was red—queen of hearts, Logan said—and he was black. I tossed my first dart and it narrowly skirted Logan’s nose before clattering into the wall. He turned to me, amazed. “Should I be offended?”
“Told you. My lack of physical coordination is practically a party trick.”
He peeled off his blazer and hung it over the back of a chair, then rolled up his wet sleeves. In the candlelight, his dress shirt was practically translucent, clinging to his chest. Oblivious to my staring, he squared up, faced the dartboard, and sailed a dart easily into the triple ring.
I narrowed my eyes. “Just how often do you play?”
“Oh, I never get to anymore.” He chalked his score on the board. “Trust me, I’m rusty.” As if to prove his point, he tried another and missed the ring entirely.
I squared up like I’d watched him do. Was it left foot first, or right?
“Here,” he said, walking toward me. “May I?”
I took a deep breath. “Sure.”
Logan’s hands found my hips, tugging me toward him. “You’re right-handed, so you’ll want to stand like this.”
I shivered against the warmth of his hands. The last time he’d held me this close was when he’d lifted me on top of the elevator handrail.
“And hold the dart like this.” He put his arms around me and adjusted my fingers. “More control.” He glanced down. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I said, unable to tell him it was ten percent rain, ninety percent his proximity.
“No, we can fix this.” Ever the problem solver, Logan ran his hands up and down my arms, creating friction. “You look like some Victorian heroine come off the moor after a gale. Elizabeth Bennett or something.”
I don’t think he realized the enormity of the compliment. I swallowed hard as he continued to rub his hands over my arms.
“Regency,” I murmured.
He stopped, hands resting on my shoulders. “What?”
“Regency heroine, not Victorian. Jane Austen publishedPride and Prejudicein 1813... Never mind. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He laughed. “You’re funny.”
I squared up again and Logan stepped back. My muscles were loose and languid now, and when I tossed the dart, it landed in the outermost ring.
I gasped. “I got on theboard!”
Logan tapped his glass to mine. “Cheers. Here’s an idea. Why don’t we make the game more interesting?”
“No way I’m letting you fleece me. I’m not that much of a sucker.”
He put his hands up, the portrait of innocence. “Hear me out. No money involved. We’ll play for something else. And for every dart youget on the board, you’ll get double the prizes. I’ll have to sink a bull’s-eye to get one. You’ll never get a better offer.”
Hmm. I took off my own blazer and hung it carefully over the back of a chair, smoothing the wrinkles. I was acutely aware of how much this jacket had cost the Democratic Party. “It’s an intriguing proposal.”
