14. Adele
Adele
Friday. Thank Jesus. An entire week of Finn Goddamn Hebert up in my space. My shop was my sanctuary. The place ran efficiently, and I loved my team. We had our routines and our checklists and our traditions.
But now we had a surly Viking in our midst, and everything was being destroyed. He barely spoke, and he spent all his time either playing with his drone outside or talking to Henri. But I couldn’t shake the feel of his gaze on my skin, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything but him.
I had started wearing mascara to work. It wasn’t a conscious decision. Not at all. More like a subconscious compulsion. And I hated myself for it.
I was not that woman. I did not wear makeup at work.
This was my safe space. In this building, I was the boss. I was capable and powerful. I could escape the bullshit that tainted the rest of my life. The depressing dates, my ticking biological clock, and that crushing feeling of loneliness that sometimes crept in when things got tough.
Mascara was a betrayal. Like an admission that he was here. And there was a part of me, deep down, that felt like a coat of shit on my eyelashes would help me face him day in and day out.
Shit, I should go back to therapy. Clearly, I was cracking up.
I’d cut the crew loose at four. It was a beautiful mid-July night, and we were, as usual, ahead of schedule. Plus, I desperately needed some time alone.
I left He-Man sleeping on his bed in my office and headed out back, past the puppy play area, to one of the shipping containers.
A few years ago, I’d converted it. I’d run lights and I’d set up a makeshift gym here. But recently, I’d added something new.
My axes.
Once in a while, Henri came out and threw with me. He was good. Not as good as me, but he put up a fight. He was the one who’d convinced me to replace the old particle board with proper wooden targets, complete with regulation-size bull’s-eyes.
A rack with the throwing axes, a stone for sharpening, and a whiteboard for keeping score were mounted along one wall.
Phone in hand, I flipped on my “Angry Feminist” playlist on Spotify, then set it on the floor near the wall and warmed up.
Some people did yoga, others took baths, but me? Throwing bladed instruments was what calmed me. This was my Zen time.
Focus and precision were paramount. Controlled breathing was an absolute must as I prepared for each throw. It forced my body into a state of calm clarity, thus easing my mind and all the tumultuous thoughts swirling inside it.
Tonight, I needed it more than usual.
“You’re really good at that.”
Turning, axe still raised, I came face to face with Finn Fucking Hebert. As if my day hadn’t been shitty enough.
He took a step back and threw his hands up to shield himself. “Easy, She-Ra. I come in peace.”
Lowering my axe, I scowled at him. Dammit. There went the sense of peace I’d just harnessed. “Do you need something?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “No. I forgot my phone charger, so I came back. Found He-Man, but not She-Ra. Then I heard a noise back here and figured I should investigate.”
I hmphed, annoyed. Maybe more with myself than I was with him.
My brain was sending signals reminding my body that he was intruding on a sacred moment for me and that I should want nothing more than for him to skedaddle his way out of here, but my heart was a little bruised.
Because he wasn’t here for me. He’d only returned because he’d left his phone charger behind.
“It’s me. You can go away now.”
“Can I watch?”
“No.” I flipped my axe in my hand, refusing to look at him and willing my body not to react to his desire to be near me.
“Why not?” he asked, taking a step forward and crowding the entire space.
As a woman, I was constantly being reminded that the world believed I should take up as little space as possible.
Finn Hebert clearly believed he’d been given the opposite instruction.
The container was only eight feet wide, and his massive frame practically filled every inch, leaving me surrounded by his maleness.
It was annoying, and it totally ruining my planned meditation.
And he had the absolute audacity to show up wearing jeans.
Old jeans, all worn and smooth and clinging to his thick and powerful thighs.
Asshole. The way he hovered, arms crossed and grinning at me, made my body light up in ways it definitely shouldn’t have been.
I hated this man. And even though it was a bit of a relief to see shades of the cocky bastard I used to know—before his father’s arrest, and before the town had turned on him—these interactions had to stop.
Because being stuck in a steel box with him, at night, with an axe in my hand, spelled disaster.
“Leave.” It was a demand. Without waiting for him to acquiesce, I walked up to the line and took aim. Slowly, I pulled my elbow back and threw. Holding my breath, I watched the axe make one perfect rotation before hitting the target.
Behind me, a low whistle rent the air.
“You’re still here?” I huffed, whipping around again.
He walked closer, ignoring my comments. “You’re pretty good at this.” Without stopping, he skirted past me and yanked the axe out of the wooden target. “Mind if I give it a try?”
“Yes.” Planting my hands on my hips, I shot him a glare. “I do mind.”
Turning the axe in his hand, he studied the handle and hefted it, getting a sense of its weight. Completely ignoring my dirty looks, he stepped up to the line.
As he brought his arms up, I shuffled back, giving him space, and watched as the axe spun wildly, bounced off the target, and fell to the floor.
“Not as easy as it looks, eh?” I said, smugness building in my chest.
He turned, wearing a grin. “Still fun to try.”
I took another axe from the small rack and elbowed past him. Once I’d lined myself up, I breathed deeply, focusing on the weight of the blade in my hand and looking directly at the bull’s-eye. Then I let it fly.
“Fuck,” he said when it hit the red bull’s-eye.
“What? You surprised a woman could throw an axe like that?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That’s some deadly aim.”
I picked up another axe and turned toward him. “Thank you. And if you ever ma’am me again, I’ll slice your balls off and feed them to Clive.”
He ducked his head and chuckled, as if my threats of bodily harm were amusing. “What’s the deal with that moose? Why hasn’t anyone shot him yet?”
I gasped and pulled my shoulders back. “How dare you malign Clive? He is a valued member of this community.”
Finn mirrored my movement, taking a step closer. “He’s a semi-domesticated moose who loves to fuck shit up and cause property damage. He should be made into jerky.”
“Do not ever repeat those words,” I warned. “You think the town hates you now? Mess with Clive, and they’ll run you out of here with torches and pitchforks.”
He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t get it. He’s a menace.”
“We keep you around, don’t we? It’s obvious our standards are set pretty low.”
Ignoring me, he sauntered to the other end of the container, giving me a wide berth on his way past. He studied the target, then picked up the spray bottle I kept on the floor and sprayed it down thoroughly.
My heart lurched in my chest again. Dammit. It might be time to get that checked out. How would he know to do that? Keeping the wood moist made it softer, in turn encouraging axes to remain lodged where they hit. But what was he doing?
He wiped his hands on those damn jeans and raised one brow. “Let’s play a game.”
Heart thumping against my ribs and suspicion rising, I regarded him. “Do you want me to explain the rules? The scoring?”
He shook his head, picking up an axe. “Nah, I’ll learn as we go.”
Narrowing my eyes, I studied him, searching for any sign that he was messing with me, but his expression remained passive, innocent.
Must be an idiot. So sure, why not make things interesting?
“Bull’s-eye is six points. The next ring is four, and then three, two, and one. You get ten throws. Best score wins.”
“Like I said, I’ll figure it out.” He shrugged.
“How about a friendly wager?” I asked, my voice dripping with honey.
He nodded and took a step closer. “Great idea. If I win, you let me take you out.”
The embers still heating my belly caught fire, and the heat rose up my chest and into my cheeks.
I could not let that happen. But I couldn’t deny a teeny, tiny frisson of excitement coursed through me at the thought that he wanted to take me out. Clearly, I was in dire emotional straits if the interest of this miscreant was making me feel good.
I had to extinguish this.
“When I win,” I replied, “you will never ask me out again. You’ll refrain from all flirting, and never, ever mention that night.”
His grin almost split his face in half. “You mean the night I kissed the shit out of you in my truck?”
His cocky expression made me want to throat punch him.
“Do not speak of that.”
“Why not? It was amazing,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling.
It was moments like this that I wished I had actual superpowers. What I wouldn’t have given to shoot lasers at him.
“Amazing?” I giggled. “It was fine.”
In an instant, all the cocky arrogance drained from his face. “Fine?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged, picking up an axe. “Like five out of ten.”
He coughed, as if the thought of being average had made the air evacuate his lungs. I was enjoying this. Maybe a little too much.
I thought he’d retreat with his tail between his legs, but clearly, I underestimated Finn Hebert. “Let’s do this,” he said, picking up his own axe. “Now I’m definitely going to win. I will not accept five out of ten. I’m earning my second chance.”
“You have no chance. I’m going to embarrass you, and then you’ll be forced to leave me alone, do your job, and stop being a pain in my ass.”
He tossed the axe in the air. It made one perfect rotation before he caught the handle cleanly.
“Sure thing, She-Ra. Ladies first.” He gestured for me to step up to the line but didn’t back away.