"That's pretty much all there is to it. That, and the loser usually pays for the next round, so you're off the hook here." Kate smirks, hand planted on her hip and darts held out on an open palm, as much taunt as invitation.

About a beat later, her mouth twists into a sharper smirk, eyes flashing with mischief that outshines (hides. Look over here, nothing in my hand, nothing up my sleeve) the black mood she's been carrying around. "Unless you want to play for clothes. But I usually save strip darts for a second date activity." Lie. But she's not hitting on this chick anyway.