Page 44

“So this is a competition?” Her eyes narrowed as she grinned. “Care to make things interesting?”

“We are not betting money,” I told her. I’d brought her here for a reason, because I’d had a few sessions of axe throwing with some of the guys I worked with. I figured I could show her how to do it, snuggle in close, and?—

“Nope, but…” She tapped her chin. “You could come to family barbecue when Mum and Dad arrive. Shit, if you could run interference, that’d be amazing! Like talk vaguely about a future with a home and 2.5 kids, but never really commit to anything.” I’d have done that for her anyway, something she didn’t understand, but I agreed to her terms. “OK, so what do you want if you manage to beat me?”

She didn’t want to ask me that. I moved closer, knowing exactly what I wanted for my prize. I’d thought about it all too often, the curve of her lips as she smiled and chatted at my family’s dining table, watching her laugh with Millie. I wanted to kiss Jamie and I was willing to win a bet to get that chance, but when my mouth opened to answer her, that’s not what came out.

“A favour,” I replied, wincing at that, but I’d already screwed things up, so all I could do was forge on. “Just a little one.”

“I don’t usually gamble on unspecified rewards, but…” She snatched up an axe and marched over to the end of the lane. “I’ve thrown a million spanners at Clinton, so how hard can this be?”

“Did you hit him?”

She grinned. “Every time, then he complained to Brock…” Her smile faded when she mentioned my brother. Her eyes slid down to her drink, running her finger through the condensation forming on the glass. “He made me promise not to do it anymore as it was an OHS issue.”

When her eyes met mine, I knew what was going on. She was waiting for me to make a fuss about mentioning Brock’s name, but that wasn’t what tonight was about. Right now I wanted her to forget he even existed.

“OK, you have the basic idea.” I grabbed one of the axes we’d hired and hefted it in my hand, feeling the weight, its balance. “So you need to?—”

“Throw it at the target?”

My arms crossed my chest as she stepped up to the line at the end of the lane and then just lobbed the thing at the wall. It was not going to hit the target, I knew that as soon as I saw it leave her hand. No momentum behind it, yet thrown way too hard, it spun and spun, her face lighting up, right until the back of the axe struck the wall and it bounced off and onto the ground.

“Something like that,” I replied, grabbing my axe, and in a fluid motion, I stepped up to the line at the end of the lane and then let it fly. It spun through the air and then struck home, a bee’s dick away from the bull’s eye.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” She was wearing a beautiful dress, but as her hands went to her hips, I saw the same scrappy kid that was always at our house and it made me smile. “You know how to do this.”

“It’s a date,” I told her. “I figured I could teach you how?—”

“And what?” She stepped closer with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “Show the poor, weak female how it’s done.” I watched her retrieve both axes, shoving the handle of mine into my hand. “No, I’ll work it out.”

And that was all Jamie. Her dad didn’t seem to know what to do with a daughter, so he just treated her the same as his sons. No, worse. Her mum thought she knew exactly what to do with Jamie, treating her daughter like a bonsai plant, trying to brutally cut back all her branches to shape her into a form satisfactory to Majorie. But my girl? She forged her own path, learning when no one else would take the time to teach her, and that’s what she did now. The cogs of her mind whirred as she frowned slightly, imitating my process, my form, before letting the axe fly. The blade lodged itself into the bottom edge of the target and she turned to me in triumph.

“Yes!”

She threw her arms up in the air.

“Well done,” I replied. “So should we start scoring from the next round?”

“No way. You can count that round because I got the axe onto the target.”

“But not in the rings, so you get a zero and I get a twenty.” I heard her little growl as I scribbled that down. “OK, my turn.”

Her eyes upon me, watching my every move even if it was just to work out how I was doing it, I liked it a whole lot. I may or may not have flexed a little as I threw the axe. It landed right in the bullseye this time, but when I turned around, I was met by a pair of narrowed eyes.

“How the hell are you doing that?”

“I can show you…” I said, moving closer, but she took a step backwards. “Or you can work it out yourself. One bit of advice. Don’t throw it so hard. The target isn’t Clinton. It hasn’t been making sleazy comments all day. You want the axe to spin about three times before it hits, no more.”

“Three times. Got it.”

I watched her approach the lane with a look of determination, but then she stumbled when her skirts got tangled around her ankles.

“Stupid dress…” I was about to say something when she laid the axe down on the table and then hitched the skirts up into her underwear. I felt like some Victorian rake in a period romance, staring at her ankles in rapt fascination, but before I could inspect them thoroughly, she moved. Using her momentum rather than the strength of her arm, I knew this would be a good throw, and sure enough, it spun through the air and landed inside the lines of the target.

“Whoo!” When she cheered, I did too. “So now what’s the score?”

“Twenty to five,” I replied, trying not to smile.