Chapter 20 Olena
OLENA
Jude’s hand runs lazily along my thigh as he drives us into town. He told me our plans were a surprise, so I dressed simply in nice jeans and a fitted, button-up silk top. Remembering Jude’s promise from Monday, I told Wyatt not to expect me home tonight.
Wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, Jude looks…
edible. I can’t stop staring at him. The setting sun casts a golden glow on his face as he drives, a hint of auburn shining in his dark beard.
He glances over at me and smiles. Returning his eyes to the road, he slides his hand higher.
My eyes roll involuntarily and I exhale; I’m having a hard time keeping my composure as electricity spreads up my leg from his touch.
“That is a very dangerous move,” I say, leaning back against the headrest and turning to look at him. He grins. “Unless you’re planning to find somewhere to pull over, you’d better keep those hands in check.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
He pulls his hand away, feigning innocence.
“My sincere apologies,” he says solemnly, then smiles at me, his green eyes shining with mischief.
He pulls into the parking lot of a place I don’t remember from before I’d moved to Seattle.
In the front window, a sign reading “The Battle Axe” sits above a logo of a wooden target. I look inside and my eyes widen.
“We’re going axe throwing?” I ask, beaming at him. I’ve always wanted to try it.
“I thought we could work through some of this… tension,” he says, his eyes traveling over my body and shamelessly lingering on my breasts. Shutting off the truck, he leans over, reaches a hand to the back of my neck, and pulls me in for a kiss.
Our lips part and I smile up at him. “We’ll have to leave the truck first.”
Reluctantly, we climb out. As we walk in the door of The Battle Axe, the sound of Celtic punk music fills my ears.
I peer past the front desk to see paired throwing lanes with wooden targets mounted on the walls, each pair separated from the lanes next to it by a section of chain-link fence.
There’s a mural behind the front desk of a badass Viking woman holding two axes across her chest.
A muscular woman with pink hair and full sleeve tattoos greets us as we step up to the desk. She taps a pen against her palm and smiles at us.
“Jude, welcome back,” she smiles at him with a nod. “Same as usual? Or…?” She looks at me, inquiring.
“Ooh, do you come here often?” I tease, leaning forward on the desk and twisting up to look at him.
“I’ve been here a few times, yeah,” he smiles over at me.
“So, you’re really leaning into that whole axe-wielding lumberjack vibe, huh?” I let my gaze travel up and down over his body and grin at him.
He rolls his eyes at me then turns back to her. “Yeah, axes for both of us, thanks. An hour.” She nods and turns to collect our equipment.
Jude leans in close to me. “Keep it in your pants, MacMillan,” he teases quietly, whispering against my cheek.
“You started it,” I say, straight-faced.
He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head.
The woman with pink hair walks us over to our throwing lanes and leads us through a quick safety demonstration, showing me the correct technique.
Jude stands by, silently watching us. Watching me.
He’s distracting me and I find I’m not taking in what the woman is saying.
When she leaves, I hold the axe in my hands cautiously.
Jude leans against the fence nearby with his arms folded and his own axe propped up beside him at his feet.
“I have to admit, for some reason, I had a hard time focusing on what she was saying just now.” I give him a playfully confused look.
He smiles at me, raising his eyebrows. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, it was so weird,” I say, smiling as I sweep my hair over my shoulder with one hand, axe in the other. “I think something was distracting me.” I arch an eyebrow at him.
“Come on, I’ll show you.” Jude pushes off the fence and picks up his axe, then steps into his throwing lane.
He stands behind the red tape on the floor in the split stance I remember the woman demonstrating.
Holding the handle in both fists, he raises it over his head, aiming for the target.
His muscular arms swing slightly backward, then smoothly forward as he releases his grip.
The blade lodges in the target with a thud.
“The trick is not throwing too hard, or it’ll over-rotate,” he explains.
“Hmm, I dunno. I might need to see that again,” I say with a frown.
He gives me a look but indulges me and goes to retrieve his axe. He demonstrates for me once more. I watch his muscles working, my eyes devouring his incredible body.
I might be drooling.
“Your turn,” he says, jolting me back to reality. He leans over and kisses my cheek, then reaches behind me and gives my ass a quick slap.
Um, yes, please.
“Come on, this ain’t a spectator sport,” he adds quietly in my ear.
“Oh?” I feign surprise. “Well, it should be. Because that was… chef’s kiss, really. No notes.” I reach behind him and grab his ass.
He inhales sharply.
I let go and hold his gaze, my mouth slightly open. As I pull back, his eyes dip down and linger, and I realize he can see down my top at this angle.
I give him a half-smile, lift my axe again, and walk back to my throwing lane.
“Olena,” he says in a low voice.
“Yeah?” I position my feet behind the red line in my lane, then arch a brow and look at him.
His jaw clenches. “Remember that woman at work I’ve been seeing?”
“Oh, that’s right.” I play along, lining up my hands on the handle. I focus on the target.
“Remember how I said she was driving me up the wall?”
I glance over and catch the clench of his hands on the axe handle. “Uh-huh…” I raise an eyebrow and lift my eyes to his.
“She’s doing it again.”
I drop my gaze, smiling, then meet his eyes again with a pout. “Aw, poor baby,” I say, lifting my axe over my head. Turning back to focus on the target, I pull back and swing it forward, letting go in front of me. The blade lands with a crack on the bullseye.
Jude gapes at me as I pull my hair up in a quick ponytail, grinning, and turn to retrieve my axe.
An hour later, we step out of The Battle Axe in a more wound-up state than when we went in. Searching out some quick dinner, we walk half a block to a nearby food truck and order burgers, which we eat outside as the sun goes down.
I’m still finishing the last of my fries as we stroll back to the truck, flirting harder than ever now that we can do it openly.
A voice comes from behind me. “Olena?”
At the sound of my name, I whirl around to find Bradley standing across from me. Art gallery Bradley. Humiliating, awful date Bradley. Cue the inward cringe, outward smile combo.
“Bradley? Hi.” It takes me a few beats to get my bearings. What is he doing here? I can feel the heat of Jude’s massive body standing behind me as I watch Bradley take him in, his eyes shifting between us as if he’s trying to figure out how Jude fits into my life.
“I thought that was you. I haven’t seen you since, well… since that night at the gallery, I guess,” he says with a rueful smirk.
I’d much rather bypass that memory altogether. “Yeah, uh, we’re just… finishing up dinner,” I say with what I hope is nonchalance. I hold up my remaining fries by way of explanation. This is so awkward. I’d rather not visit the museum of my poor decisions. With Jude. In public.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Bradley asks, lifting his chin at Jude.
“Yes, sorry, Jude, this is Bradley, Bradley, this is Jude,” I say with a frown of concentration.
Jude steps out from behind me to shake Bradley’s hand. Eyeing Bradley, he doesn’t speak, just gives a polite smile and nods his head in a silent greeting.
“He doesn’t say much, does he?” Bradley raises his eyebrows at me.
Jude tenses at my side and I glance up at him. His eyes narrow ever so slightly.
“Uh, Bradley and I know each other from…” I trail off, my mind scrambling to explain our ill-advised date.
“We dated a while back,” Bradley offers, looking at Jude and straightening slightly.
Ugh, does he look proud? I want to smack his smug face. It was one date. And it was a disaster.
“Olena, that reminds me. My friend Dale is hosting a fundraiser for wildlife conservation next week at the Gareth Mason Gallery. It’ll coincide with the Basilio Domínguez exhibition.
You know, the Cuban street art photographer?
” He raises his eyebrows inquisitively, as if to confirm I know what he’s talking about.
I don’t. “Sounds… interesting,” I say weakly. Why is he telling me this? I must look visibly confused.
“You do something environmental for work, isn’t that right?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, landscape design.”
“Right, right, the little gardens,” he laughs softly. “I remember now.” He smiles, looking satisfied.
Once again, I feel Jude tense at my side.
I don’t know what to say to escape this interaction; I just know I want to ejector-seat myself out of here to avoid enduring another second of looking at Bradley’s smug face and his condescending gaze.
Or hearing anything more about modern art—especially the windbags who stand around talking about it.
“Well, thanks for the info. We’d better get going.” I grab Jude by the arm, making to pull him toward the truck.
“Okay. Nice to see you, Olena,” Bradley offers politely. “I’ll send you the details. I’ve still got your number.”
Gross.
“And nice to meet you, Jude.”
Jude lifts his chin at Bradley. “Brad, was it?”
“Bradley, actually,” he corrects him, insufferable pride oozing from his face.
This time I do roll my eyes, but I turn away first—just barely. I can’t face looking at Jude yet, knowing I’m flushing with embarrassment.
We make our hasty departure and I exhale with relief, but an awkward silence has crept in between us.