Have you ever been so good at something that it made you incredibly cocky? Like you just knew that you could destroy any contender that dared to come your way, so there was no need to be modest. You just strutted around like an idiot, proud of your somewhat useless skill? Well, that was me and darts. And that high horse I had been sitting on for years was suddenly knocked over by a hot driver named Tate Dalton in thirty seconds.
For you see, I was in the middle of a game of darts, where Tate was one point away from getting to play twenty questions with this unfiltered mind of mine. Crap.
With a flick of his wrist, the dart landed in the most difficult spot on the board. And being the level-headed winner that he was, he began to moonwalk away from me. "HA! Take that!"
There was no point in calling him a cheater. He had claimed to be rusty, but even with his bruised face, he had managed to kick my butt. Liar.
Even playing with my dominant, uninjured wrist, it was clear that Tate had challenged me on false pretenses. The game was just an excuse to pry into my personal life like some freaking journalist writing a human interest story. "All those years of playing darts with my cousins has finally paid off!" He laughed at my irritated expression, enjoying it far more than he should have.
Tate finished his set of dance moves, breaking into a spin and popping into a hip-hop pose, coming to a stop right in front of me, a large grin plastered on his face. The dance was so utterly ridiculous that for a brief moment I forgot I was irritated. I snorted loudly and then threw my hands over my mouth in surprise. I hadn't snorted in years. At least not until Tate crashed into my lifeâ well at least not until I crashed into a fire hydrant and ruined his car.
And now I had snorted in front of him several times like the secret dork that I was. Oh my gosh, just let me die now.
Tate's smile widened. "That was awesome."
"Ask your question," I muttered from between my fingers, ignoring his warm smile.
"Hmm...." Tate tapped his chin pretending to be deep in thought. "What do I ask? What do I ask?" He paced back and forth. "It's a really big deal. I mean, after all, you claimed to be a master at this game, so I have to pick my question carefully just in case this is the only one I get."
I rolled my eyes. "Come on, just pick something."
"You mentioned that I wasn't the first guy you've hit in the face..." He reached for his glass of Whisky that was half empty and took a sip. "How many people have been on the other end of your right hook?"
I narrowed my eyes. Of all the questions for him to ask, he had to ask that one. One with a whole lot of baggage behind it. "I hate you, Tate Dalton."
"You've made that clear, Allie Winters. But that isn't the answer to my question." He took another long swig of his Whisky and smiled at me from over the glass. "Spill."
I paused. Should I give him the real answer or the one that won't scare him away? "Fifteen," I blurted after I finished counting. I guess Whisky means honest Allie is controlling the mouth functions.
Tate searched my face, more serious than I had expected him to be. "How many were deserved?"
"Thirteen," I responded instantly.
"That's a lot."
"Yeah." I picked up my glass which was nearly empty with my second pour and drank the drops that were left to have something to do. "I was a hothead in high school."
The images of my older sister being called names. Ones that cut at the soft interior that used to be Delle sliced through me. Lies and rumors, paired with bad boyfriends had destroyed the gentle and loving Delle I had known and replaced her with a pessimistic, angry girl.
The idea that others could chip away at her hope, her joy, her happiness and replace it with hurt and pain made my choice to hurt them back, easy. There was no question of whether they deserved it.
"You were defending someone," Tate said. It wasn't a question. He registered my surprised expression and continued. "You have that look on your face that my cousin gets when he's remembering high school. He fought for others too."
I nodded. "Playing hero doesn't always turn out well. Once people knew how to piss me off, it seemed to happen more and more." The names grew, the rumors spread faster. I couldn't take away the hurt.
I stared down at my empty glass. "How'd that work out for him?"
"Not great," Tate admitted. "Expelled. You?"
I hesitated for a beat, looking at Tate over the glass, ready for the look of disappointment that always came with my one-word answer. "Juvie."
I couldn't read his expression. There was no pity or disappointment. He just waited, sensing more to the story.
I swallowed, remembering the heartbreak on Delle's face. Between my grief over the parents we had just lost, and the anger at the people who were hellbent on hurting my sister, I hadn't stopped long enough to consider the consequences of my short-fused actions. "I had never seen Delle so disappointed."
It wasn't something I had ever said out loud. But it was a constant. A visual I couldn't erase. A tattoo on my soul. An image that plagued me in my waking hours in bed when I couldn't sleep. It was the image that my subconscious used to torture when guilt reigned over me.
I dropped the glass back down on the coffee table. "Delle was stuck raising my younger sister with no help from me for three months because I couldn't keep my anger under control." I laughed bitterly when I looked up at Tate. "Still haven't figured it out I guess," I said glancing up at his nose.
The look on Tate's face changed. Frustration furrowed along his brow before he winced, remembering that it hurt. "That was self-defense. You had no idea who I was. You were alone in a dark room and the next thing you knew someone was invading your space."
I rolled my uninjured hand into a fist. You destroy everything you touch, something inside of me whispered. "I should have figured it out fasterâ"
"Susan was attacked last night Allie. Your office was ransacked." His hands suddenly covered mine, his eyes ablaze with determination. "You have every right to be on high alert."
I blinked and pulled my hand away. "Let's just play," I said cutting off the conversation. I couldn't handle his strange reaction. How he was infuriatingly kind when he should have been furious at what I had done to his face. I plucked the darts from the board and we played another round.
I beat him by one point and grinned like an idiot as I pulled the darts off the board again. Serves him right for asking me personal questions. I tapped my finger to my chin, imitating Tate. "Hmmmmm...."
Tate laughed. "Why do I get the feeling that you are going to do something terrifying?"
"Because you saw me run out of a building wielding a baseball bat," I retorted. "But I've already beat you up enough today. So I'll go with a question this round. Why aren't you angry with me Tate?"
"What do you mean?"
I shook my head. "I get angry. Angry makes sense to me. But this..." I motioned to all of him. " I punched you IN THE FACE. And you are acting like it's okay. I don't get the kindness. It's... weird."
He tilted his head to the side, confusion flickering across his face. "Weird?" he said slowly, trying to make sense of the word. "Why is it weird?"
"Because..." I stammered. "Because people who get punched in the face aren't supposed to be okay with it."
"It was an accident, Allie," Tate said, his voice incredibly soft. "I'm not going to flip out on you for being scared."
The words sucked the air out of the room. An utter contradiction to everyone I had ever hurt by accident or on purpose. He was being... understanding. I had grown so accustomed to anger that any other response left me confused. It left me feeling like Jennifer Aniston in He's Just Not That Into You, when she tells her boyfriend... "I just need you to stop doing nice things unless you are going to marry me after." His kindness was made it impossible for Jennifer to let him go even when they didn't want the same things.
That was what Tate was doing. His kindness was going to melt me from the inside out and leave me with no defenses to keep myself safe when I undoubtedly scared him away.
Tate swore, his tone dark. "Who is he?"
I looked up at him, surprised by the sudden shift. "Who?"
"The guy that has left you so scared of nice things."
"Life," I replied, not wanting to discuss my love life with someone who was beginning to worm his way onto my romantic prospects list.
"Bull," he replied. "What's this dude's name. I'll give him a matching look," he said pointing to his face.
I laughed. But it sounded wrong. Fake. "It isn't your turn to ask questions, Dalton. You'll have to try and beat me in the next round."
"Fine." Tate threw the first dart and hit the hardest target on the board. "Wait ten seconds and then answer my question. I'll beat you by then." He shot me a pointed look, before throwing his next dart, eyeing me as it hit the board straight on.
And after I had failed to match his score, he raised a brow, ready for my answer. Stupid rigged game. Stupid Tate and his stupid freakishly good game playing. Stupid hot guy with hot abs that makes it hard to think.
"He's a boxer." The image of Ashton's cruel smile sent a chill down my spine. I stared at the darts, trying to push his dark smile away. "Pretty sure you'd get your ass kicked if you tried to fight him." I yanked the darts from the board, with an angry tug as the ghost's of boyfriends past trampled through my mind.
"Or there's the drag racer. He'd run you over with his car. Or there's my ex-best friend who became a lawyer. Pretty sure he'd destroy you with his words." I slammed the darts down on the coffee table, hoping to shatter the images away. "I've got more but take your pick. Who would you like to have break you? I'll give you their addresses but I won't go with you because I am sure as hell not going to drive you there and watch you get hurt."
"Is that why you know how to fight?" Tate asked, his voice quiet.
I sighed, pushing several dark strands out of my face. "Wouldn't you rather ask me silly questions?"
Tate shook his head. "Nope."
I placed my hand on my hip. "Why on earth do you care about this?"
"Because you are someone worth caring about. And I want to learn more about you."
He made it sound so simple. It was utterly adorable. I fought a smile that tried to hijack my face. "Yes... they are one of the reasons," I replied after a quiet moment. "Okay, enough of this... feelings stuff," I wrinkled my nose at the last two words.
I chucked my first dart at the board. "Last round." We played silently, and after I won, I broke out into a set of cocky dance moves. "HA! TAKE THAT LOSER!"
Tate winced at my volume. "You are a terrible winner."
I continued to dance around. "Says the loser!" I bobbed my head back and forth in a teasing fashion in front of Tate's face. "No more questions for you!"
He rolled his eyes. "Okay. Your turn."
I stopped dancing. "Oh..." I had been so focused on getting him to lose, that I had forgotten that I could get him to do whatever I wanted if I won. This could be interesting...
The dryer beeped loudly from the other room. Tate held up a hand and walked towards the laundry room. "I'll give you a second to finish your dance routine and come up with your undoubtedly evil master plan. I'll get my shirt."
After he walked out of the room, I went back to happy dancing, singing to myself.
"What to do... what to do?
So many options, to scare you!
So many ways to mess with you!"
I was mid-twirl when my doorbell rang, and I danced over to the door, enjoying the feeling of victory. Throwing the door open I came face to face with a beautiful girl with long strawberry blond hair that fell down her shoulders. She wore a sweater dress with a pair of boots with a set of black leggings tucked into them.
"Hi," she said tugging on a strand of her hair, in a self-conscious manner. "I'm here for Tate."
She looked past me and spotted Tate, who just so happened to walk past the door, attempting to yank his white tank top over his head, leaving his fantastic abs back on display for me and this stranger to see.
Okay, this looks terrible...
The girl's green eyes went wide, spotting Tate half-dressed, scrambling to put on his shirt. She looked between us, unable to hide her shocked expression. "Oh... um... should I come back later?"
"Who are you?" I asked, unable to hide my confusion that some random person had shown up at my door at 2 in the morning. She was around my age and looked utterly uncomfortable by the entire situation. I didn't blame her. I was too.
She pointed towards Tate. "I'm his ride." She shoved her hands into her dress pockets, looking irritated as she narrowed her eyes at Tate. "We had plans tonight."
I stared between them, watching Tate yank on his button-down shirt. "How'd you find me?" he asked, fingers fumbling with the buttons.
The girl held up her phone. "Find My Phone app. Tracked you here."
Whoa. Who is this girl? Stalker girlfriend?
Tate finished up with his buttons. "Remind me to change my password," he muttered.
The doorway fell into an awkward silence. "So..." the girl said after a long uncomfortable beat. She rocked back on her heels. "Are we going orâ"
I moved away from the door, letting Tate walk past me. "Yep," he replied quickly.
The girl squinted up at him, her fingers hovering over his cheeks as he stopped in front of her. "What happened to your face?" Her tone was soft and full of concern.
Tate shot me a look over his shoulder. "Lost a fight."
She sucked in a breath. "You okay?"
Tate smiled to himself. "Yeah. Not too bad."
The girl wrapped her arm through the crook of his and pulled him down the hall, calling out to me from over her shoulder, her face beaming brightly, golden strands waving out behind her. "Thanks for keeping an eye on him! BYYYEEE!!!"
They disappeared around the corner, vanishing into the night. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The pieces snapped together in my mind, painting a brutal picture I should have seen coming. Why Tate seemed uncomfortable every time we shared a heated moment. Why he hadn't wanted to model and be in close proximity to me. Why he had said no to Susan.
The single sentence rang loud inside of me, feeling harsh and carving a hole inside. He's dating someone.
I stood in the doorway, watching the girl pull Tate away, a mix of confusion and jealousy rearing its ugly head. Of course he's taken. Why hadn't he said anything?
I felt like an idiot. Tate Dalton was very taken. And I had spent the evening looking like a silly girl trying to get cozy with him at my apartment after assaulting his face. You sure know how to pick them, Allie. You really know how to pick boys to crush on.
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Thank you for reading chapter seventeen! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes!
UPDATE DAYS - A NEW CHAPTER EVERY FRIDAY!
Allie's past boyfriends sound terrible! Will we ever meet them?
Who is the girl that came to pick up Tate? Why didn't Tate tell Allie about her?
Allie never got to use her winning-round favor. Will she ever use it? What will she ask Tate to do?
CHAPTER QUESTION - Have you ever been flirting with someone and then found out they were in a relationship?