I can practically see Tanner’s blood pressure rising. Good. The more agitated he gets, the sloppier he’ll be. “Fine. Let’s relocate to the dartboard, get ourselves set up.”
We all migrate to the corner of the room where the dartboard hangs, commandeering the nearby tables. A few regulars shoot us curious looks but don’t interfere.
“So we go until one of us misses three darts,” I confirm. “Got it.”
Kai clears his throat loudly. “Hold on. This seems way too easy. We need to up the stakes a bit.”
Tanner narrows his eyes. “What did you have in mind?”
“Every ten rounds, both of you have to ride the mechanical bull.” Kai jerks his thumb toward Brutus. The mechanical monstrosity sits in its own roped-off area, currently dormant but waiting. “Shake things up. Add some physicality to the mental game.”
I keep my expression neutral, but inside I’m grinning. Kai knows damn well that riding a mechanical bull is second nature to me. I could do it blindfolded, hungover, and missing a limb. Tanner, on the other hand, is a desk jockey who probably hasn’t been on anything more challenging than a bar stool.
“Not sure that’s necessary,” Tanner hedges, and I catch the flare of uncertainty in his eyes.
“I think it’s essential,” I counter. “Otherwise, this is way too simple. Come on, don’t chicken out before we’ve even started.”
His buddies immediately start in on him, clapping his shoulders and talking him up. “You got this, man. Don’t let these rodeo pricks intimidate you.”
Peer pressure is a beautiful thing.
“Fuck it. Fine.” Tanner straightens up, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
Kai catches my eye and winks. The man is an evil genius sometimes.
The bartender appears with two trays loaded with shot glasses, the amber liquid inside. Whiskey. Good stuff too, from the smell of it. Kai must have ordered while I was watching Tanner posture.
“Twenty shots’ worth to start,” Kai announces, arranging ten glasses in front of each of us. “Should make things interesting.”
I pick up my first glass, studying the liquid inside. The smell hits my nose, sharp and smoky, with notes of caramel underneath. Tennessee’s finest, ready to do battle.
“You first,” I tell Tanner. “Since you’re the challenger.”
He snatches up his glass and throws it back without ceremony, slamming the empty container down on the table with more force than necessary. A few drops splash onto the wood.
I follow suit, letting the whiskey burn a trail down my throat. It’s smooth going down, warmth blooming in my chest almost immediately. One down. Who knows how many to go.
We approach the dartboard together. Tanner goes first, squinting at the target with intense concentration. His form is decent; I’ll give him that. The dart flies true, embedding itself in the center ring with a satisfying thunk.
“Bull’s-eye.” He smirks at me over his shoulder.
I step up, barely aiming, and let my dart fly. It lands a millimeter from his, perfectly centered.
“Looks about even to me,” Kai observes from his seat, legs stretched out in front of him. “This is gonna take a while before it gets interesting.”
He’s not wrong.
We settle into a rhythm. Glass after glass disappears, the whiskey warming my blood, loosening my limbs. By the fifth round, there’s a pleasant buzz humming through my system. By the eighth, the edges of the room have started to soften.
Tanner is feeling it too. His throws are getting wilder, his stance less steady. He’s managed to hit the board every time so far, but the precision is gone. His last dart landed in the outer ring, barely qualifying.
Round ten. Kai clears the remaining glasses and gestures toward the mechanical bull. “Gentlemen, your chariot awaits.”
Tanner stares at the bull the way a man might look at his own grave.
“You first,” I offer magnanimously.
Tanner climbs over the rope anyway, approaching the mechanical beast with obvious trepidation. One of the staff members appears to operate the controls, barely suppressing a grin.
