“That one.” I pointed.
Noah’s eyebrows shot up. “Axe throwing?”
“What’s wrong? Afraid I’ll show you up?” I grabbed his sleeve and tugged him toward the line. “Come on, mountain man. Show me how it’s done.”
Noah slapped a twenty on the wooden counter. “Two rounds.”
A bearded man in a red and black buffalo check shirt handed us each a gleaming axe. “Three throws per person. Blue ring’s one point, red’s three. Bullseye gets five points. Keep your feet behind the line, and for God’s sake, don’t let go on the backswing.”
I tested the weight of the axe in my hand. It was heavier than I expected, the wooden handle smooth from countless throws. The blade glinted in the early evening sun.
“We can always do that one if you prefer.” Noah bobbed his head toward the kid version, where the axes were made of foam and stuck to the target using Velcro.
“No, I think I’m good.” I hefted the axe onto my shoulder. “Want to make this more interesting?”
“What do you mean, interesting?”
“Winner picks what we do next.”
“And what exactly would you pick?”
I gave him my best mysterious smile. “Lose and find out.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Noah spun his axe in his palm, a practiced movement that was totally badass and sexy all at once. His jaw tightened. “Ladies first?”
“That’s something a gentleman would do. And since we’ve already established you’re not a gentleman, you go first, hotshot.” I stepped back from the line.
Noah smirked, then took his position. The axe spun once in his grip before he brought it up in a fluid arc. It rotated perfectly through the air, embedding itself in the red ring with a satisfying thunk, just a blade’s width from the bullseye. A three-point throw.
“Not bad,” I conceded, lining up my throw. I mimicked his stance, pretending I was Scarlett Johansen in one of her action movies.
Deep breath. Focus. Release.
The axe flew straight and true, sticking in the target just a few inches outside of his. It wasn’t as good as Noah’s throw, but it was way better than anybody expected from me, judging by the surprised murmurs from the gathering crowd.
Noah frowned. “Where’d you learn to throw like that?”
“YouTube.” I winked.
We traded another series of throws; the crowd grew with each solid hit. Noah edged ahead in the first round with a bullseye on his last throw, but the margin was razor thin.
For round two, I stepped up first. As I forced myself to relax, my throws felt stronger, more controlled. The axe became an extension of my arm rather than an awkward weight. Still, Noah matched me point for point.
The crowd pressed closer as I took my last throw. The axe spun beautifully, striking just a hair’s breadth from dead center. Bullseye. A collective “ooh” rose from the onlookers, along with scattered applause.
But Noah was well ahead, so he just needed to hit the target anywhere to win. He took his stance. Muscles tensed beneath his flannel shirt. The axe left his hand in a perfect arc … and sailed completely wide of the target, clattering against the backdrop.
The crowd erupted in cheers. I threw my arms up in victory as Noah bowed his head in defeat.
“What happened there, mountain man?” I nudged his shoulder. “Performance anxiety?”
“Must’ve been distracted.” He shook his head, but I caught a hint of a smile. “Something tells me you’ve done this before.”
I grinned. “Funny you should mention that. Urban Axe House in LA is one of my sponsors.”
“You’re kidding.”
