Page 89 of The Book Club Boyfriend
“I thought you were going to wine and dine me.”
“I thought about it. But I figured that wouldn’t impress you.”
“Smart boy.”
He grins. “Plus, I like my eyebrows. Didn’t feel like getting them burned off by your death glare over duck confit.”
It’s an interesting choice.
My only clue was when I texted him to ask about the dress code for tonight; he’d told me to wear sensible shoes.
It was a strange request. Not one I’d ever had from a date before. Not that I’d dated much in the last decade. But still.
He ushers me inside, and it’s… actually kind of cool? Exposed brick walls, strings of Edison lights, and about six lanes of people hurling axes into wooden targets like it’s a totally normal Saturday night.
“I swear to you,” I murmur as I pick up a waiver, “if this is some kind of elaborate plan to off me, I hopeyou know I’ve texted my location to multiple people.”
“Please,” he says. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d at least have the decency to wait untilafterdessert.”
“You’re a real gentleman, Remington.”
“So they say,” he hums, signing his own waiver with a flourish.
We’re given a rundown by a very peppy employee named Jasmine who has safety goggles and the enthusiasm of a camp counselor on Red Bull. She walks us through the basics, shows us the right stance, and then hands us each an axe.
“Ready?” Chase asks, twirling his like it’snota literal weapon.
Jeez.
My stomach does a weird little flip.
“Born ready.” I adjust my grip and square my shoulders, trying to remember what Jasmine said about follow-through.
“Ladies first.” He gestures for me to begin.
My first throw goes wildly left.
“Okay, that was a warm-up,” I say, brushing my hair out of my face.
“Sure it was.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“I’m literally just standing here.”
He steps up, winds back, and sticks it dead center.
Of course he does.
Iscowl. “You practice this in your off time?”
“Nah. I’m just naturally talented.” He winks.
I hate how attractive I find that wink. Seriously…annoying!
I throw again. It thuds into the board but falls off.
“Form’s solid,” he says, stepping behind me. “You just need more momentum.”
