“You couldn’t hit water if you fell out of a boat.”

The woman in front of me tries once again to hit the dart board on the wall. I watch as the dart sails through the air, spins lazily, and plants itself into the wall three feet to the left of the target with a dull thunk.

She sighs and plants her hands on her hips, spinning around to face me. Her hair is yanked into a ponytail so tight her eyebrows are practically in her hairline. “It’s the air in here. Too thick. Throws off the weight distribution.”

I laugh, folding my arms over my chest. I watch as her gaze follows the lines of my biceps and linger for a few seconds. Five. I count. I try and fail to suppress how satisfied that makes me. “Oh, sure. Blame the oxygen.”

She scoffs, tossing the natural face lift off her neck. “You try throwing straight with all that smugness radiating off you. It's practically a crosswind.”

I arch a brow, stepping up to the line. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

Making a show of it, I close one eye, lean forward, and with a casual flick, my dart strikes neatly into the outer ring. Not a bullseye, but leagues better than her last attempt.

She narrows her eyes. “Cheater.”

“Loser buys drinks?” I say, already knowing the answer and ignoring that remark for the sake of what little peace we have.

“You’re on.” With a flourish, she pulls another dart from the tray, determination written across her face. “But I want a rematch. Best of three. And if I win…”

I tilt my head, hoping for something fun. “If you win?”

“You tell me what really happened in Prague.”

My smirk falters for half a second. Well. Not where I thought that was going. “You know about that?”

Her dart hits the board three rings away from the center. She turns to me, triumphant. “Dead center of the truth, darling. I always find it eventually.”