Page 34 of Hashtag Holidate
The mixture of alarm and determination that crossed his face was almost worth the entire frigid trek through the woods. Almost.
Adrian stared at the axe in my hand like I was offering him a live snake. “That’s…veryrustic. Possiblytoorustic.”
“That’s the whole point of this shoot, isn’t it?” I challenged. “Real alpine experiences in rugged but luxurious couture?”
He squared his shoulders, the momentary uncertainty quickly covered up with a cocky facade. “Of course. This won’t be the first time I’ve tackled a new challenge for my followers. It also won’t be the first time I’ve put myself in harm’s way to impress a date.”
I blinked at him. “Impress me?”
He tilted his head at my camera. “Not you specifically.”
Of course. The fake date. The project concept. Not me. Him.Us.
“Right,” I said quickly, clearing my throat and fiddling with my camera settings. “The more cringe you make it, the more video shares you’ll get, so feel free to be your full awkward self. Hell, if you accidentally injure yourself with the blade, it would probably get shared even more.”
Adrian stared at me in shock before barking out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re the one who’d have to carry my bloody carcass out of here. Be careful what you wish for.”
I hid a smile as I positioned the camera to capture a wide shot of the tree with Adrian beside it. Once the shot was set, I beganrecording and walked over to where he stood self-consciously holding the axe.
“First, you need to check which way the tree is likely to fall.” I demonstrated how to assess the tree’s natural lean. “You want it to come down away from you, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he echoed, eyeing the massive spruce with newfound respect.
“Then you need the right stance.” I planted my feet shoulder-width apart. “Stable but flexible. You don’t want to be caught off-balance when it starts to go.”
Adrian mirrored my position, looking more like he was posing for a lumberjack calendar than preparing to chop down a tree. His new boots sank deeper into the snow as he shifted his weight.
“Now what?” he asked, gripping the axe a little too tightly.
I moved behind him without thinking, reaching around to adjust his hands on the handle. “Left hand here, right hand here. You want a firm grip but not a death grip.”
The moment my chest pressed against Adrian’s back, I realized my mistake. The faint scent of that cologne I’d caught a few days ago—something expensive and subtle—filled my senses. I was suddenly acutely aware of how perfectly my height matched his, how easily my arms fit around him.
“Like this?” Adrian asked, his voice oddly tight.
“Yeah,” I managed, forcing myself to focus on the task. “Now, when you swing, it’s all in the hips and shoulders. Let the weight of the axe do the work.”
I guided him through a practice swing, my hands still covering his on the wooden handle. He was warm despite the cold and more solid than I expected. His body moved with mine through the arc of the swing… and his ass rubbed against my dick.
Even through forty-seven layers of outerwear, I felt it… and, god help me, I responded. A flicker of heat flared in my core, and all the blood in my body rushed south.
“I, uh… I think I’ve got it,” Adrian said quickly, stepping away.
“Yeah.” I took a deliberate step back, too, grateful for the cold air on my warm face. “No, yeah, absolutely. Just, ah, remember to aim for the same spot each time. You’re creating a notch, not randomly hacking at it.”
Adrian nodded, focused now on the tree rather than our uncomfortable proximity. He took a deep breath, raised the axe, and swung.
The blade connected with the trunk with a dull thud, barely sinking in before bouncing off.
“That was… pitiful,” I said, unable to hold back a laugh.
His eyes narrowed. “Test swing.”
Three more swings, three more underwhelming results. I bit my tongue but couldn’t keep from saying, “Not sure you need this many test swings.”
He bit out a curse and made a fourth attempt. This time, the blade finally bit into the bark with a satisfying thunk. Adrian’s face lit up with triumph, making my breath catch a little in the thin air.
“There you go,” I said. “Turns out, you just needed to be needled a little.”
