There is a pounding noise on the side of her truck. It is him again, complaining that she has stolen his spot.
"I beat you fair and square," she tells him, "so I'm not moving."
He folds his arms across his chest and glares up at her. The sun gleams off of his impeccably pressed and bleached white shirt. "I was winning. You distracted me on purpose so I missed my last shot," he grumbles.
She shrugs. "Not my fault you can't throw a dart while you're being kissed."
"I want my spot back. I want a rematch."
"A rematch," she repeats. "A rematch of the darts game, or of everything?" She leans on the window ledge of her truck and cocks one dark eyebrow at him, one corner of her mouth raised wryly.
"Everything," he says, a small smile crossing his pursed lips for a brief moment. "Especially that part in the alley behind the bar."
She lets out a dry bark of a laugh. "You know you could just ask me on a date, right?"
"I like this better. See you at 9." He starts to walk back to his truck.
"You're going to lose," she calls after him.
He turns to look back at her, narrowing his eyes. "I'm prepared," he replies.
"Not for what I've got in mind."