Page 2 of Praised By the Lumberjack

I catch myself staring and quickly look away, busying myself with picking up an axe from the rack. It's heavier than I expected, but I manage to balance it in my hand.

I step up to the throwing line, trying to remember the instructions the guy at the front was telling people while I waited for my date, who had never shown up.Keep your grip loose, bring it back over your head, and then release.Easy, right?

I take a deep breath, close one eye, and launch the axe. It spins through the air for a moment, then clatters to the ground nowhere near the target. I cringe, but everyone else is too busy to notice.

I don't pay attention to anyone around me. I'm already reaching for another axe. I'm not a quitter, and I'm not going to let a little humiliation ruin my night.

I pick up another axe and try again, this time with a little more force. The axe spins mid-air and nearly goes into another lane before sinking deep into the floor.

My face turns red as the party next to me jumps and backs away a few steps.

"S-sorry," I mutter.

"You're doing great," a voice says behind me. I turn to see the sexy lumberjack coach from earlier walking over with a smile. He leans against the barrier, crossing his arms over his chest. "Most people don't hit the target on their first try."

I blush, almost more embarrassed that he noticed me than my poor aim. "Thanks," I say, trying to play it cool.

The hunk of a lumberjack steps closer, offering his hand. "I'm Flint. I coach for our local axe-throwing league." He gestures to the logo on his shirt, a faded emblem of an axe head with flames flickering around it. "I've seen a lot of people try this for the first time. It's not as easy as it looks."

"I can see that," I say, barely able to maintain eye contact, and not just because he’s six-foot-five. "I'm Hazel, by the way. AndI'm pretty sure I'm the worst axe-thrower in the history of axe-throwing."

Flint chuckles. It’s a deep sound that makes my insides twist in an unexpected way. "Nah, you're not that bad.

You've just got to trust your instincts and let the axe do the work," Flint says, his voice a smooth rumble that makes me want to lean in closer. "Want me to show you?"

I nod a little too eagerly, and he steps into the lane with me, his body close enough for me to smell the faint scent of woodsmoke and aftershave. He takes the axe from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine, and I swear I feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. I quickly tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans to hide their sudden trembling.

Holy crap, who needed what's-his-face Chad when I had this guy to spend time with?

two

Flint

Thehumofthebar, the clink of glasses, and the thwack of axes against wood all blended into a symphony of sound that seemed to slow down when I saw this beautiful woman for the first time.

I should be focusing on my axe-throwing client, but I can't look away.

She has perfect curves, cute little freckles that dot her nose, and her hair—a fiery red that makes me think of poker-hot embers. Her eyes are a vivid blue, like the first crack of ice on a frozen lake. She's trying to be tough, but there's a vulnerability to her that makes me want to pull her close and promise her everything will be okay.

"Want me to show you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I’ll give you a quick lesson. It's on the house," I insist, already knowing her answer.

She looks at me, her blue eyes wide. "Really? You don't have to do that," Hazel says. She tucks a stray curl behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly. I can see the war going on in her mind, the part that wants to accept my help and the part that's shy about taking the spotlight.

"I insist," I say, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'm the coach, remember? It's my job to make sure everyone here has a good time. And I know from seeing how you're gripping that axe you're not having the best time right now." I hold out my hand to take the axe from her. "It's all about the stance and the follow-through. And maybe a bit of confidence."

Hazel hesitates for a moment before handing me the axe. Her skin is soft and warm against mine, and I wonder how her hand would feel around my wood instead. But that's a thought for another time when I'm home alone, thinking of her before bed.

For now, I have a job to do.

"First things first," I say, positioning myself behind her. I can feel her body tense up slightly, but she doesn't pull away. Good girl. "You need to relax your grip." I guide her hands, showing her the proper grip. "See? Your hands are supposed to be loose, not white-knuckled."

She laughs nervously, trying to relax her fingers. "I didn't realize I was gripping it so tight."

"It's natural," I assure her. "First-timers always do that. Now, let's work on your stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent." I step back slightly, giving Hazel some space to adjust her stance. She wobbles a bit, her boots sliding against the sawdust-covered floor. I reach out to steady her, my hands resting lightly on her hips. She takes a sharp breath, her body tensing under my touch. I can feel the heat radiating from her, and it takes all my willpower not to pull her closer.

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