Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Crack. The axe buries itself halfway through the wood, but it doesn’t split cleanly. It sits there, mocking me like the universe wants to test my patience.
“Better,” Annabelle says, her tone somewhere between encouragement and pity. “We might make a lumberjack out of you yet.”
I doubt that.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead, laughing under my breath. “Or I’ll be the cautionary tale for future recruits.”
She taps the clipboard in her hand, smirking. “Either way, you’ll be remembered.”
Little does she know this will probably be all over the evening news, once people realize who it is making an ass of himself.
The guys around me are still going strong, splitting logs like pros, while I contemplate whether to throw my axe into the lake.
“Wally is a fucking show-off.” I can’t stand that dumbass.
Huffing, I swing the axe again. This time, it grazes the log and sends a sharp vibration up my arms. I grit my teeth as Wally splits another log effortlessly and grins over at me like he’s the king of the goddamn town festival.
“I hate that guy,” I grumble to Annabelle as I shoot him a glare, tempted to tackle him as a reminder to him who the real athlete is—then remember no one knows I am who I am.
These dudes do not follow football, or they would be fawning all over me, period.
That oughta give me some satisfaction, but it doesn’t.
Annabelle laughs, grinning as she marks something on her clipboard. “You know, if you hate him this much, maybe you should beat him in the axe-throwing competition. Show him who’s boss.”
I smirk at the thought but quickly shake it off. “If today’s any indication, I’d probably end up killing someone in the crowd by accident.”
Annabelle waves me off. “Nah, you’ll figure it out. You’re built for this, Harris. Just a little rusty.”
Rusty. That’s putting it kindly.
I pick up the axe again, ignoring the ache in my arms and the growing frustration settling in my chest. Normally, I’d thrive in an environment like this—competition, adrenaline, all eyes on me. But right now, the only person I want to impress is the one blowing up my phone with texts.
Speaking of . . .
My phone buzzes. I pull it out and skim the new message from Lucy, the corner of my mouth lifting.
Lucy:
So this might seem random, but . . .
Lucy:
I was wondering if you want to come to my place. Tonight, specifically.
I can barely believe my eyes!
Her invite settles deep in my chest, igniting something primal—something that makes me want to drop this axe right here and sprint to my car. My fingers hover over the keyboard, thoughts racing as fast as my pulse.
“Get this,” I tell Annabelle, knowing they’re friends and excited to have gossip to share. “Lucy invited me back to her place tonight.”
My boss’s brows shoot straight up into her hairline. “For real?”
I nod. “Yup.”
Cocky now, I swing the axe, suddenly mastering the skill of wood chopping, blade connecting perfectly with the log, splitting it clean in half. I let out a triumphant “WHOOP!” of victory, standing taller. “Hell yeah!”
“Thank God.” Annabelle says with a chuckle, jotting something down on her clipboard before palming her phone and reading the screen. “If you’d missed again, I was going to have you stacking logs.”
She of little faith.
“Not today, Satan.” I toss the axe to the ground like I’m ready to retire undefeated. “I have a date tonight.”
“Maybe she’s your lucky charm,” she teases, leaning her clipboard against her hip. “I knew the two of you were texting but didn’t realize you were at the point where you were hanging out.”
“She was at my place last night,” I inform Annabelle with a satisfied grin. “We watched a movie.”
And fooled around.
Then I begged her to stay, and she turned me down, so I jerked off after cleaning up and climbing into bed.
“Let me get this straight—Lucy was at your place last night—and now she’s invited you to hers? What world am I living in right now?”
“Why are you saying it like that? In that tone?”
Annabelle shrugs. “There’s no tone. I’m just shocked! This is so unlike her.” She pauses to study my face. “Are you bringing her wine, flowers—or just showing up?”
“Probably wine?” Did I answer correctly? I feel like this is what she’s looking for—but I’ve had the invite to Lucy’s for all of five minutes, so Annabelle can climb down off my nut sack about hostess gifts. “Yes?”
“Yes.” She taps her pen to her lips. “And make sure it’s a good bottle. Nothing with a screw cap, unless you want her thinking you picked it up from the gas station.”
“Noted—no screw cap.” I chuckle. “You should be my dating coach.”
She gives me a sly grin. “Trust me, you don’t need a coach.”
Aww. I’m flattered.
“Every so often I could use the help,” I say, grabbing my water bottle. “My friends are assholes.”