The CEO and Her Driver

Chapter 17

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 life— 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.