Page 64 of Hate You Later
“Never!” I shake my head.
“So, we’re all in agreement? We’re going to bury the hatchet for the next three weeks and make this event a success?”
“Speaking of burying the hatchet …” An idea occurs to me. A way to blow off steam. “There’s something I need to do first. I think it might help.”
“What’s that?” Xander asks.
“The Grumpy Stump, 8 p.m. tonight. There’s a special discount forLit Lovers’listeners tonight.”
Kenna jumps up. “I love it! Let’s goooooo!”
Xander groans. He’s not as much of a fan of the place as I am. “Are you really going to make me go there again?”
“It’s therapeutic,” I say. “You can’t expect me to bury the hatchet with the Holms before I get in a few good throws.”
hudson
It’s too quiet.I check my phone repeatedly on Saturday. Almost forty-eight hours have passed since I’ve heard from Cookie. She hasn’t posted on her feed either. Something’s been off since the other day. What if something happened to my buddy? Or her funny, wise-cracking human with the tattoo? How would I even know?
After spending the day wrestling with what to do about the knockoff situation, the only answer is to take Bryce’s collection down. But I can’t do anything till the web team in back in the office on Monday. I’m at the point where I’m about to go stir-crazy. My thoughts keep obsessively pinging between a woman who hates me and my anonymous canine pen pal.
Clearly, I’m in need of a social life. I give Jackson a call.
“Hey, man, you around? Want to grab another drink at The Onion?”
“Oh shit. Look at the time. I’ve been sitting at my desk working on this damned algorithm all day. It’s a good thing you called. I’m supposed to be somewhere in thirty minutes. Have you ever done ax throwing?” Jackson asks.
“Ax throwing, you say?”
Coincidentally, the one sport I excelled at in boarding school in Sweden was ax throwing. It was a pretty common pastime there, long before becoming popular in the States. I was the reigning champion of the boy’s dorm. I don’t mention this to Jackson, however, just in case I have the opportunity to hustle him. He is a bit of a know-it-all.
“You’ll have to teach me,” I say innocently.
“There’s a newish place, not far from your lofts,” Jackson says. “It’s a lot of fun. You get a bucketful of axes and chuck them at a target. They’ve sponsored a few episodes of my podcast, and we’re doing a discount for our listeners tonight. Almost forgot I said I’d be there. It should be right up your alley, given your resemblance to Thor.”
“I believe Thor’s thing was throwing hammers.” I correct him.
“Well, you can pretend it’s a hammer, if you like. I sort of like to pretend I’m Cupid.”
“Isn’t Cupid supposed to use an arrow?”
“Arrow, ax … honestly, wouldn’t it be more persuasive if he used an ax?”
“No,” I state emphatically. “I don’t think it works that way, dude. Maybe don’t share these theories with your app backers. Or your dates.”
“Nobody ever called me subtle. I think if people could just be more direct, there’d be a lot less heartache. It’d be like, whoosh! Kachunk! Bull’s-eye!”
The idea of a chubby, winged, ax-wielding baby seems wrong on so many levels. “Somehow, I don’t think this is what the Romans intended. Sounds more like a horror film.”
“Nah. It’s more like romantic action-adventure.”
“Speaking of which, they actually serve beer at an ax throwing place?” I ask. “Is that really a good idea?”
“Probably not,” Jackson says, “but statistically speaking, there haven’t been too many accidents at The Grumpy Stump.”
Without addressing what constitutes “too many” or why the place is named The Grumpy Stump, we make plans to meet there in about an hour.
* * *
