I sighed. Typical. I’d been coming here for months, and I’d only hit my target twice.
“You pick.” I gestured at the jar of paper. “I’m too busy wallowing in my lack of hand-eye coordination.”
Miguel and Gabriel had gotten all the athletic genes in the family. It was so unfair.
Kai’s gaze sparked with amusement, but he didn’t argue. He plucked a slip from the jar and unfolded it. “What’s your biggest fear?”
It was a generic question with plenty of generic answers—clowns, losing more people I loved, being alone. All things that had kept me up late at night, especially after I watched It. But the answer that came out of my mouth had nothing to do with killer clowns or dying by myself on some stranded road.
“A life without purpose.” Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. The reply sounded so generic, like something a college freshman would spout in philosophy class, but that didn’t make it any less true.
“It’s not a concrete fear, like falling onto the subway tracks or having an air conditioner fall on my head,” I said, naming two of the most common worries New Yorkers had. A faint curve touched Kai’s lips. “But I don’t know. The thought of dying without achieving something is…” Depressing.
Suffocating. Terrifying. “Stressful. Especially in a city like New York, you know? Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing or at least what they want to be doing. They live for a purpose, not survival.”
I couldn’t articulate why that bothered me so much. I just knew that sometimes, I scrolled through social media, consumed with envy over all the engagement, promotion, and insert-other-big-life-change announcements. I didn’t begrudge my friends their happiness; I was truly thrilled when Vivian got married and when Sloane landed a big client. But I wished I had something of my own to share besides jokes and gossip. Something substantial that would consume my thoughts at night and drive away the restless, amorphous anxiety that plagued me whenever I was alone too long.
The curve on Kai’s mouth straightened. “You do have a purpose,” he said. Instead of sounding annoyed by my rambling, he spoke with a familiar certainty. You’ll finish it. “It’s to share your stories.”
It was what I wanted. But if that was my real purpose, wouldn’t I be better at it?
I bit back my uncertainty. I’d shared enough of my messy internal angst for the night. I didn’t want to spend my Saturday wallowing in self-pity.
“You’re right. Anyway.” I tore my eyes away and refocused on the canvases. “Enough boring existential crisis talk. Your turn.”
The warmth of Kai’s gaze touched my face for an extra second before he faced forward. I was dying to ask him a question, but of course, his dart flew straight and true. It punctured one of the balloons with the precision of a laser-guided missile, as did his next throw, and the one after that.
Half an hour later, I’d missed all of my shots while he’d missed none.
“There’s no way.” I gaped at the paint-splattered wall with disbelief. “You’re cheating!”
Kai quirked a dark brow. “How would one cheat at darts?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it, stumped. Damn him. Why did he have to look like that and be good at everything he did? God truly had favorites.
“If I knew, I would’ve hit the target myself,” I grumbled. “Fine. Let’s switch it up since you’re clearly some sort of inhuman dart-throwing machine.” I gestured at the balloons. “If I make this next throw, you have to answer a question. It’s unfair that you know all these things about me when I barely know anything about you.”
He gave an elegant shrug. “Seems fair.”
I plucked another dart from the box and narrowed my eyes at the wall. I can do this. How hard could hitting one teeny, tiny balloon be?
I took a deep breath, aimed, threw…and watched as the dart thudded on the ground without touching a single inch of wood, canvas, or latex.
Dammit. My shoulders slumped. Not even close.
“I’m starting to think you’re missing on purpose,” Kai said, sounding amused.
I scowled. “Not all of us are gifted with…” My voice trailed off when he stepped behind me, close enough my hair brushed his chest. My heartbeat wavered. “What are you doing?”
“Teaching you how to throw so we don’t end the night with a twelve-zero score.” The crisp breeze of his voice skimmed my neck. “Landslide victories are hardly victories at all.”
The studio was so large it carried a chill despite the overworked radiator in the corner, but Kai’s body heat drove every ounce of it away. “This isn’t a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition.” Kai placed his hands on my hips and angled my body so I stood diagonally to the wall. “This is the standard stance. It makes it easier to position your center of gravity and aim.” He reached next to us for a dart and slid it into my hand, closing his palm over it so he could guide my arm up. My back pressed against his front and sent tingles of excruciating awareness down my spine. “You don’t want to grip the dart too tightly. Too much pressure will disrupt its balance…”
I usually tuned out technical explanations, but to my surprise, Kai’s calm, steady instruction clicked after a while. Maybe it was the accent. It made everything better.
“Ready?” The word grazed the sensitive spot above my ear.
Goose bumps peppered my arms. I nodded.
Kai removed his hand from mine but kept a light touch on my back while I drew my right hand back, aimed, and fired.
Close…
Closer…
Bright blue paint burst from a balloon and spilled over an empty canvas.
I stared at it, my brain too stunned to register what happened.
Did I just…
“Oh my God,” I breathed. The first prickles of realization appeared in my stomach. “I did it. I did it!”
I squealed, jubilation overtaking my shock. Without thinking, I turned and threw my arms around Kai’s neck, my chest bursting with pride. Landing a dart throw was a small accomplishment, but it felt bigger somehow. It was proof that, with a little guidance and support, I could achieve the seemingly impossible.
It wasn’t much, but after so many failures and blocked paths, I’d take any encouragement I could get.
“Careful, or we’re going to be the ones covered in paint.” Kai laughed. His hands came up around my waist, steadying me. I’d almost knocked us to the ground in my excitement. “So what’s the question?”
“Hmm?” I asked, still high from my victory. Even surrounded by acrylic, he smelled good.
Whatever he paid for his “signature scent,” it was worth it.
“The question you want to ask me now that you hit the target,” he prompted.
Right. My teeth sank into my bottom lip. I was torn between instant gratification and taking my time to come up with something good. Asking him about his fears or most embarrassing moment seemed like a missed opportunity to dig deeper.
“Can I save the question for later?”
“That goes against the rules you set out earlier.”
“They weren’t rules, they were guidelines. Besides…” I flashed an impish smile. “Rules are meant to be broken.”