Chapter 11
Eleven
Jameson
Picking Lane up for a date is at the top of the list of things I should not be doing. I’m aware of how fucked up it is, considering why I’m here and who she might be; but I can’t find it in me to give a fuck right now.
I bring my Bronco to a stop in front of her house and cut the engine.
It’s a modest one-story house tucked behind neatly trimmed hedges.
The white siding is accented by bold black trim.
The bold red door gives it a pop of color.
Plants line the railing of the porch, and two white rocking chairs sit side by side, giving it a warm, homey feel.
She’s made it her own. Her safe place.
Grabbing the bouquet of wildflowers from my passenger seat, the same flowers she has inked on her beautiful skin, I exit my truck and follow the walkway to her porch, my boots scraping across the worn stone.
I wrap my knuckles against the smooth red door twice before I hear her yell from the other side.
“I'm coming!”
The door swings open, and I have to bite back a groan. Lane is beautiful on a typical day. That natural kind of beauty, but tonight she is a pure temptation wrapped in lilac.
Her sundress hits mid-thigh, and she’s paired it with a pair of tan and black cowboy boots that make her tanned legs look incredible. Her typically wavy hair is done in soft curls, and she’s wearing the same red lipstick I’ve imagined myself smearing. Maybe tonight I’ll get the chance.
She chuckles, a low, melodic sound. “You might want to pick your jaw up off the floor.” The smile she’s wearing damn near knocks me on my ass.
I wet my bottom lip. “Damn, Wildflower. You look amazing.”
Her cheeks flush, turning a pretty shade of pink. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she smirks, her eyes raking down my body.
I grin, basking in the heat of her gaze, and hold the flowers out. “These are for you. I took a wild guess and figured you’d prefer them over roses.”
“You guessed right.” She steps aside, letting me in. “I’m gonna put these in some water before we head out. Where are we going?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder as I follow behind her, taking in her space as I go.
“It’s a surprise, but I promise you’ll like it.” I glance around the kitchen. It’s warm like the rest of the house. Cabinets painted a deep navy blue pop against the white tiled backdrop and the marble counters.
She grabs a vase from under the sink and fills it. “You’re not going to blindfold me or anything like that, are you?” she asks, raising one perfectly arched brow as she artfully arranges the flowers.
“Not unless you ask me to,” I murmur, voice low.
Lane stares at me for a beat, eyes glazed over, before clearing her throat. “Ready?”
I grin, gesturing with my hand. “After you.”
We pull into the parking lot of a huge one-story brick building with a backlit sign over the entrance. The words Axed Out are in bold letters.
Lane looks from the building to me, a smile tugging at her lips. “Ax throwing?”
I nod. “How did I do?”
Her lips pull into a full, pleased smile. “You did good.”
The smell of beer and fried food hits me as we walk through the entrance. Rock music is playing from the speakers above, mixing with the sharp thuds of metal meeting wood.
Lanes similar to those of a bowling alley, with wooden targets instead of pins, take up the entire left side of the space.
Safety barriers separate each lane. To the right is a small bar, liquor bottles lining the back wall.
Small round top tables litter the space between the bar and the ax-throwing area.
A hostess with braces and a bouncy blonde ponytail leads us to an empty lane. She rattles off the rules, then demonstrates a throw that tells us she didn’t land the job based on her throwing abilities, before leaving us alone.
Lane’s eyes sparkle with mischief as she grabs an ax from the wall. “Want to make a wager?”
I bite my lip. Fuck. This woman.
“You’re on. What do you get if you win?” I ask, eyes trailing the soft sway of her hips as she crosses the space.
She steps up to the giant red X painted on the floor. “If I win, you let me pay you back for my tires.”
Not happening.
I close the distance, invading her space. “Fine, and if I win?” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her scent, lavender and bergamot invading my senses. “What do I get?”
Her breath stutters. “W-what do you want?” she asks, looking up at me through her lashes.
She’s flustered. Good.
I lift her chin gently, fingertips warm against her skin. Her eyes lock with mine. “I want to kiss you, Lane.”
Her pupils go wide, but she doesn’t say no.
I step back, hands sliding into my pockets, and nod toward the target. “Let’s see what you got, Wildflower.”
She blinks a few times, probably mentally telling herself to get it together. I smile at the thought.
She hefts the ax, giving it a few practice swings, lining up the target, before letting it fly. It spins through the air, end over end, the soft whoosh of air slicing past, before landing in the outer ring of the target with a thud.
She turns, and gives me a cocky smirk, her eyes dancing with delight. “Not bad for my first try.”
I select an ax off the shelf, testing its weight. “Pretty good, Wildflower.”
I take my place on the X, and draw my arm back, giving Lane a wink, before letting the ax soar through the air. It sinks dead center with a sharp crack.
I turn, a smug smile pulling at my lips.
Her mouth falls open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Wanna back out of our bet?” I ask, eyes linger on her mouth.
She bites her bottom lip, eyes narrowing. “Never.”
I grit my teeth against a groan as she approaches the target and yanks her axe free from the wood. She strolls back to the X, eyes fixed on me in challenge.
“That was just a practice throw.” She faces the target, breathing steady as she draws her arm back and lets the axe fly.