“Feel free to show me up any time,” he says. “I’ve got all night. I can wait.”
“Congratulations,” I say sarcastically. “You’re good at darts.”
“I know.”
“Do you want a prize?”
“I think I’m getting it right now.”
A pain shoots through my hand, and I look down, unclenching my fist from the darts. Oops.
“You okay?” Eli asks, and takes my hand.
It feels like every cell in my body is a compass, and he’s magnetic north. There’s a pull so strong that I almost step forward to be closer to him.
I jerk my hand away. I swallow hard. I stare at him, wide-eyed, my breath caught somewhere between my mouth and lungs.
For one split second, his green eyes flick to my lips. The compasses jerk, tug, and this time I take half a step forward.
Then I catch myself. I breathe. I clench my fist.
“I’m fine,” I say.
I walk away. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I need to get away from Eli Loveless before I punch him or kiss him or, possibly, do both at the same time which seems like it would be impossible, but I wouldn’t put it past myself right now.
There’s a hallway. I hurry in there, still trying to regulate my breathing, duck around a corner. The women’s room is here, but so is a door with a green glowing EXIT sign over it so I pick that, and suddenly I’m outside and in the near-dark.
I step to one side. The door closes. It’s warmer and stickier out here than it is inside, and I breathe the humid air in deep. I’m standing on grass, facing the forest that’s the constant backdrop of southwestern Virginia. I can barely see the edge of the floodlights over the parking lot, around the side, but they don’t reach back here.
Don’t let him get to you, I tell myself, but it’s a feeble attempt because he’s already gotten to me. Eli’s been getting to me since we were five years old, and platitudes aren’t going to help the situation now.
Just don’t do anything stupid, I tell myself, and that one seems much more reasonable. That one seems like something I can handle.
The door opens. I brace myself. If I had a shield right now I’d put it up.
“Violet?” Eli asks.
Goddamn it.
“Yes.”
“You okay?” he asks, for the second time in two minutes.
“I’m fine,” I say, all the pent-up anger and irritation leaning on that second word.
“I’m just checking,” he says, letting the door shut behind him. “You practically ran out of the brewery like you were going to vomit or have a heart attack or —”
“— or before I finally lose my shit with you in public for acting like I need dart-throwing lessons?”
“Well, you do,” he says.
“I don’t!” I say. “I don’t care about darts! I don’t care that I’m bad at it!”
Eli just laughs. Somehow, we’ve moved closer to each other, close enough that I can feel his laughter rippling through the night air.
“Liar,” he says. “You’re pissed that I’m better than you at something and you’re terrible at hiding it.”
“No,” I say, swallowing hard. “I’m pissed that you followed me out here to keep gloating.”
“I followed you out here to see if I should call an ambulance,” he says.
“Liar,” I say.
I could swear that neither of us is moving, but we keep getting closer by centimeters, degrees. My heart feels like it’s punching my ribcage, my pulse racing. I’m praying that he can’t hear it and that he can’t tell that I feel electrified, like if he touches me I’ll spark.
I’m furious, and I want him, and I’m furious that I want him.
“You think I wasn’t worried when you sprinted out of there?” he says, his low voice getting louder, irritation edging in.
“I didn’t sprint.”
“Do you really think I’m incapable of concern?” Eli asks, his jaw tensing, his eyes glinting, the dark making them gleam gray.
“Not incapable,” I say.
I look him dead in the eye. My heart seizes.
“So I’m not a total monster,” he says, eyes blazing, voice dangerous and low.
His anger’s so real that it’s almost palpable. I feel like I could reach out and grab it, wrestle it with my own.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s what you think.”
His eyes flick to my lips again, like they did inside, only now they stay linger there like he can’t tear his gaze away.
Please, whispers my body.
Hell no, whispers my brain.
“Since when do you care what I think of you?”
“I don’t,” he says, and his mouth finds mine.
It’s hard and fast and above all it’s hungry, his lips bruising and demanding even as I push back against him, feeling my teeth scrape his bottom lip. I want to hurt him and I want to make him regret doing this but above all, dear God I don’t want him to stop.
His arm’s already around my waist. My hands are already in his hair and then his tongue is in my mouth, our bodies a tangle, our skin sticking together in the humidity.