Page 45 of Under My Skin

My eyes bugged out of my head as Braden pulled into the parking lot of a building sporting a neon sign that readSmashes and Axes.

He’d taken me to a local family-owned Italian restaurant earlier and asked them to seat us way back in the corner where no one would see us. And now we were at…whatever the hell this place was. Suffice it to say, it definitely wasnotsomewhere the press would follow us.

This felt way too much like an actual date. And the worst part about it was, I was enjoying myself. At least I had been so far. The jury was still out on whether that would continue to be the case.

“Uh…there are nicer places to take a girl,” I chuckled nervously.

He laughed. “Trust me?”

No,I wanted to say.No, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. And I throw like a girl.

“Of course,” was what came out of my treacherous lips instead.

“Good. Come on, sweetheart. Just give it a try. If you don’t like it, we’ll leave and go hang out with Isaac for the rest of the night,” he said, reaching over to squeeze my shoulder. “Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, letting out a long exhale as I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car.

Braden walked around to my side of the car and took my hand, threading his fingers through mine as he led me inside. And I was still just as confused as I had been a minute ago. This place almost looked like an abandoned construction site with a counter and cash register in the center, except that the décor was way more purposeful than that.

Plywood and various broken appliances, dishes, and furniture adorned the wall behind the counter, with the business name spray-painted at the top graffiti-style. Off to one side, there were several private rooms that seemed to be full of old, run-down furniture, appliances, and…boxing dummies? The door to one of the rooms was closed, and I could hear heavy metal music and occasional screams and crashes coming from behind it. And on the other side of the building, there was a sign above a hallway that readAxe Throwing.

Okay, so axe throwing didn’t sound so bad. I’d kind of been wanting to try it.

“Hey! Welcome to the rage room!” a middle-aged man wearing a tight black t-shirt, dirty jeans, and a construction hat exclaimed from behind the counter.

Whoa! Pause!

Thewhatroom?!

“Hi,” Braden said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, a silent reminder that I’d promised to trust him. “We’ve got a reservation under Braden Hicks.”

The man tapped on his touchscreen for a few seconds. “Yep. Looks like we’ve got you two down for the deluxe package. Where would you like to start?”

“Up to you, beautiful.” Braden let go of my hand and put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “Do you want to obliterate some shit first or throw some axes?”

Still completely speechless, I could only shrug.

“Let’s do the rage room first,” he said with a chuckle.

“You’ve got it. Right this way.” The middle-aged guy gestured to a much younger man, who headed toward one of the private rooms.

The one who’d checked us in grabbed two hardhats and pairs of safety goggles and gloves before leading us into one of the rooms with a bunch of old junk. After introducing us to the younger guy, who I guessed was supposed to be supervising us, he walked out and closed the door behind him.

Looking around, I noticed that there was a table set up off to the side that had an iPad in a speaker dock, along with a variety of baseball bats, sledgehammers, lead pipes, and tire irons. And that the thick plywood on the walls wasfilledwith shrapnel.

Wait a second. Did people actually payreal moneyto break all this stuff?Why?

“You’re confused,” Braden said, his lips twitching with a smile he was trying to hide.

“What gave that away?”

“Okay, so, for the record, I booked this the morning after we went to La Terrasse. Before the creepy weirdness with my rabid fangirl escalated. But after that bullshit, I need this as much as you do.”

“Um, excuse me?Ineed this?” I sassed.

What part of breaking a bunch of crap did he think I needed?

I thought he’d laugh at me, but instead, his eyes grew sad. Or at least I thought they did, not that I could tell for sure through the scratched-to-hell safety goggles. Pulling me into a hug, he pressed a kiss to the top of the hardhat I was now wearing.

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