Page 10 of Soren the Single Dad
Our conversation continues in spurts as we dig into dinner, and I try to ignore the sounds of approval coming from across the table.
The uncomfortable bulge in my jeans proves how unsuccessful I am.
Damn…How can one woman make eating mini-cheeseburgers sound so sexy?
CHAPTER NINE
DIANA
“Ready to add a little danger to the evening?” Soren teases after we stack our empty food baskets at the center of the table. Dinner was delicious, though it was tough keeping up my side of the conversation when Soren’s every move made my stomach flutter.
The bob of his Adam's apple while taking a drink. The flex of his forearm muscles when he opened the ketchup bottle for me. Small details that shouldn’t mean anything have me practically panting in my seat.
“Danger? Has someone actually gotten injured here?” The restaurant made us sign a waiver upon entrance. I figured it was your basic legalese to cover their asses, but maybe they had a legitimate reason for the contracts.
“Not that I know of.” Soren gently guides me away from our table and offers a small axe, worn handle facing me, once we are stationed in an open throwing lane. “The blades are dull as fuck. I could never chop wood with these.”
An image of Soren shirtless, a plaid flannel tied around his thick waist, as he swings an axe down on a hefty log has my temperature rising. I’d pay good money to watch his muscles ripple and gleam with sweat.
So would a bunch of other women, I bet.
Raising the axe overhead with a flare of jealousy, I mimic the person a couple of lanes over from us and toss it toward the gouged wooden wall with a target painted on its center. The blade hits the wall, then bounces pathetically to the ground.
“Damn,” I mutter under my breath. TV makes this look a lot simpler.
“Don’t worry. Hardly anyone gets it right on the first try.” Soren grabs the axe and hands it over again, but this time he adds instructions, standing behind me to direct my movements.
“Smooth move, mountain man.”
“Just demonstrating proper technique, firecracker.” His hot breath tickles my ear as he dips his head low. There’s the barest brush of his lips on my neck before he steps back to give me room to throw.
I swing my arms forward—a brief worry of the handle accidentally slipping out of my sweaty grip and flying backwards to hit somebody in the head—before the axe flies through the air and lands with a thud on the outside of the target. It doesn't earn me any points if Soren and I were truly playing a game, but at least it stuck in the wood instead of rattling to the ground again.
It makes me feel strong to have embedded the blade in the wood, even those couple of inches.
“Good job,” Soren praises. He pats my shoulder in approval, then yanks the blade out of the wall. “My turn.”
This should be interesting…I cross my arms and watch avidly as Soren braces his feet shoulder-length apart to prepare for his throw. It's hot as hell, and I recall my earlier fantasy of him chopping wood.
“How often do you have to cut up firewood?”
“What?” he asks in surprise. The axe lands near the center of the target, of course.
“You said these blades literally won't make the cut for chopping wood. I'm just wondering how often you have to dothat,” I say nonchalantly. Like I’m not compiling a naughty cache of imaginary scenarios where my hardworking lumberjack neighbor steals me away to his remote cabin to ravage me until dawn.
“Well, I'm a mountain man like you so lovingly like to say,” he teases, “So I have to do it quite often.”
“Hmm… I'll have to visit one of those times.”
“Or I can chop wood for you at the Duncans’ place. Our stockpile at home is pretty high already.”
“Even better.” I grin in anticipation.
This first date is supposed to be a barometer test to see how well we get along. If there’s something real here. If Soren is suggesting hanging out again—this time in a sexy woodchopping fantasy—then that must mean he wants more, right?
The rest of the evening flies by with us trading flirtatious taunts and tossing an axe at a wall until Soren drives me home. As we pass his cabin and the sunflower mailbox, I ask, “Where's Sara Beth tonight?”
“At my sister Kennedy's. Her husband is away for his job at McCoy Security, so she offered to have a sleepover at her place.”
