“Five seconds to qualify,” Kai announces, appointing himself as official referee. “Anything less and you forfeit the round.”
“That wasn’t part of the original rules,” Tanner protests.
“Consider it an amendment. All in favor?” Kai raises his own hand. “Motion passes.”
Tanner mutters something under his breath and mounts the bull. The machine whirs to life, and immediately he’s clinging on for dear life as it bucks and spins. His body jerks back and forth, completely out of sync with the motion, his arms windmilling for balance.
The five seconds that pass might be the longest of his life. When the bull finally stills, he slides off with all the grace of a wet noodle, stumbling several steps before catching himself on the railing.
“And he survives!” Kai commentates. “Barely. Very, very barely. Looking a bit green around the gills there, buddy.”
“Fuck off.” Tanner is definitely swaying now, his face taking on a distinctly pale hue. He makes his way back to our table and drops into his chair, reaching for the next round of amber liquid with a shaking hand.
My turn.
I approach Brutus and mount up, give the operator a nod, and let my body find the rhythm automatically.
Five seconds pass in a blur of motion. The bull bucks and twists, but I’m with it the whole way, my hips moving in counterpoint, my core keeping me centered. When the time is up, I dismount smoothly and hop over the railing.
The room spins slightly when I land. Just slightly. I’m fine.
“And that’s how a professional does it,” Kai crows. “Take notes, Deputy Dipshit.”
We return to the table where fresh rounds await. The whiskey is starting to taste less like alcohol and more like water, which is either a very good sign or a very bad one.
Round eleven. Tanner manages to hit the board, though barely. His dart wobbles in flight and catches the very edge of the target.
I pick up my dart, weighing it in my hand, and make a decision. I’ve been matching him throw for throw, but where’s the fun in that? Time to show this asshole exactly how outclassed he is.
“You know what?” I toss the dart without looking, deliberately aiming for the wall. It embeds itself in the wood paneling a good foot from the dartboard. “I don’t need the security blanket. Too easy otherwise.”
Tanner actually cheers, pumping his fist in the air. “Ha! One miss for the cowboy!”
Kai bursts out laughing. “You realize he did that on purpose, right? He’s spotting you points.”
“Bullshit. Nobody throws a game on purpose.”
“I do.” I retrieve my dart and return to the table. “I’ll beat you even with a handicap. Makes things more interesting.”
Tanner’s face cycles through several emotions, uncertainty winning out over indignation. He grabs his next glass and downs it aggressively, amber liquid dribbling down his chin.
We push through rounds twelve, thirteen, and fourteen. The whiskey is really hitting now. My vision has that pleasant underwater quality, everything soft and slightly delayed. Tanner has started leaning heavily on the table between throws, his aim deteriorating rapidly.
Round fifteen. His dart goes completely wild, sailing past the board and embedding itself in the wall a full two feet to the left.
“That’s one legitimate miss!” Kai announces gleefully. “Two more and you’re done, my friend.”
“I fucking got this,” Tanner growls, but the words slur together into something closer to
“I fuggin godthis.”
Round sixteen. Another wild throw, another miss. This one actually bounces off the wall and clatters to the floor, nearly hitting a woman walking by. She yelps and shoots us a dirty look.
“Sorry about that!” I call out, charming as ever. “Drinks are on him.”
Tanner doesn’t even register the exchange. He’s too busy staring at the dartboard with the intense focus of a man trying to will the universe to cooperate.
It doesn’t.
