Page 12
CHAPTER 12
DYLAN
T he atmosphere in the club has changed. I feel it like a live wire, buzzing between us, humming under my skin. The tension between me and this incredibly attractive man is thick, electric—like it’s only a matter of time before one of us takes the plunge.
We’re still bantering, pushing, testing, but the pull between us? Undeniable.
I refuse to let him rattle me. So instead, I tilt my head, smirking. “So, what’s your deal? You just collect women like trophies, or do you actually have a personality?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re awfully mouthy for someone who hasn’t even beaten me at anything yet.”
I raise a brow. “Oh? You think you could beat me at something?”
His smirk deepens, his eyes glinting. “I don’t think—I know.” Then, he shifts his stance, something playful but deliberate in his posture. “Alright, let’s see if you’re all talk or if you’ve actually got some game.”
I cross my arms, intrigued. “Game?”
He gestures toward a high-top beside the bar. He places a coin in the middle of the table, ready to be flicked across the surface. “Coin rugby. First to three goals wins. You in?”
I scoff, unimpressed but definitely interested. “That’s it? Childhood nostalgia instead of actual skill?”
He raises a brow. “What, scared I’ll smoke you?”
I snort, already pulling up a barstool. “Please. I haven’t played this since school. They put me up a grade in math, and the only available class was for kids who weren’t great at math, so we spent the whole time playing coin rugby instead of learning quadratic equations. I was a champion. Don’t underestimate me.”
He laughs, low and rich, as he sits across from me. “I have a feeling it would be foolish to underestimate you.”
I roll the coin between my fingers. “And what do I get if I win?”
He leans in, his voice smooth as silk. “Anything you want.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Anything, huh? What’s the catch?”
His grin sharpens. “No catch. I’m just confident you won’t win.”
I take a slow step forward, challenging him. “And seeing you’re wrong, when I win, what will you owe me?”
His eyes flick over me, amusement curling at his lips. “I think you’ll find out.”
Filthy thoughts run through my head as I gaze at his muscular physique and the gorgeous tattoos that wrap around his sculpted biceps. Heat licks at my spine, but I smother it quickly. “You’re on, Pretty Boy.”
The rules are simple. Each turn starts with three controlled pushes to maneuver the coin just over the edge of the table. Once it’s hanging over, you have to flick it back to yourself and catch it cleanly. Only then can you take your shot, flicking the coin through the goalposts which are formed by the other person’s fingers.
“Losers first,” I say, nudging the coin toward him.
He shakes his head and chuckles, but takes the coin.
He takes the first push, guiding the coin expertly toward the edge of the table.
One.
Two.
Three.
It juts over perfectly, and he flicks it back to himself, catching it with ease. He lines up his shot, aims, and sends the coin sailing cleanly through my goalposts. “One-nil, baby.”
I roll my shoulders. “Not bad. But watch and learn.”
I push the coin forward?—
One.
Two.
Three.
On the third nudge I get it to hang off the table’s edge before flicking it back to myself. I really haven’t played it since school, so it’s been decades, but coin rugby is a bit like riding a bike.
The moment I catch it, I don’t hesitate. I flick it fast, sending it right through his fingers. “One-one.”
He just smirks. “Lucky shot. Don’t get cocky.”
The next round is faster, sharper. He scores again.
I narrow my eyes, focus, and even the score. Two-two.
A small crowd has formed around us by now, intrigued by our curious game, and the group leans in. It’s sudden death.
I take my time, adjusting my angle, lining up the final shot. With one last flick, the coin slides cleanly through the goalposts. The bar erupts.
He leans back, exhaling as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Well, well. Guess I underestimated you.”
I lift my drink, taking a slow sip, savoring his reaction. “Huh,” I muse. “Guess that means I win. Looks like you owe me.”
His grin falters just a little. I relish it. Then, he tilts his head, his smirk returning—slow, deliberate. “Not so fast, Trouble. You forgot to name my punishment.”
I tap a finger against my chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. I could make you buy everyone a round…” I gesture at the sizable crowd around us, “but that’d be too easy.”
I glance around for inspiration. “Or I could make you admit I’m better than you, but that’s obvious.”
He grins, watching me closely. “You done stalling, or do you need me to name my own punishment?”
I huff a laugh. “Fine. Go ahead, genius. What’s your price for losing?”
He leans in, his voice dropping low, smooth and dangerous. “Easy. I owe you a night you’ll never forget.”
For the first time tonight, I hesitate. I wasn’t expecting that. My pulse quickens, the tension between us so thick, I can’t tell if it’s a warning or a challenge. “A night I’ll never forget?”
His lips curl, and he leans in slightly, his breath brushing my skin. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
My first instinct is to overthink. To talk myself out of this. To keep my guard up. This is just a game, right? I don’t need complications.
But then something inside me makes me stop. For once, I’m going to take the plunge. For once, I’m going to say yes without second-guessing.
I meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle between us. “Fine. But no funny business.”
His smirk widens, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Oh, don’t worry, there’ll be nothing funny about it. You won’t forget this night. I’ll make sure of it.”
A sharp shiver rolls down my spine. Not what I was expecting. My brain stutters for half a second. But my body? Oh, my body likes that answer way too much.
He sees it immediately. The slight parting of my lips. The way my fingers tighten on my drink. He leans in just a little closer. “Say yes, Trouble.”
And I do.