Page 3 of More Than Words

“What do yah want?” Adrian chuckled, his palm settling in the center of my back.

“You to quit disparaging my authors. It makes you sound like an arrogant douche when you comment about how other genres are beneath you.”

“I never said romance was beneath me, Is. I said that the market share wasn’t as deep.”

“Quit comparing the two. You stay in your lane. I’ll stay in mine.”

“But it’s so fun to veer into your lane and cause chaos.” I could hear the smirk in his voice with no need to turn around.

“What do you want?”

He paused, his fingers flexing against my back. “I don’t think you’re ready for what I really want.”

“Try me.” The smoldering look he had aimed in my direction may have worked on other women, but I wasn’t some naïve intern.

“A kiss. I’d like to see if that fire can hold up or if you’re all smoke.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned around and placed my hand in the center of his chest, pushing until he stepped backward. “Done. No tongue.”

“Deal.”

He abruptly stepped back, taking an ax from the holder and stepping up to the line.

“You mind if I have first throw, Renz?” Adrian asked before he tilted his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders back. I tried not to stare at how his dress shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his back, but his little warm-up made it difficult to look away.

With a quick wink over his shoulder, he staggered his feet and squared his shoulders, bringing his arm up to align with the target. With a snap of his arm, the ax flew, wedging itself into the center of the target with a solid thwack.

I had a feeling I’d just been played. Smug bastard.

As the night wore on, the soreness in my feet grew, but I refused to admit defeat as I stepped up to the line to throw my final ax. If I hit the bullseye, I could tie Adrian. But I knew he’d stopped actively trying to win a little while ago. He didn’t think I had a chance and was teasing me with the close score. And I was taking the bait because my competitive streak wouldn’t let me back down.

“Might as well admit defeat, Is. It’s a work night. Don’t want to keep you up too late.”

Kate and Lorenzo had lost interest, checking their phones as Adrian and I continued to bicker between shots.

He seemed to think Red Sox fans were more devout than Cubs fans, and I was educating him on how, despite their recent World Series win, the Cubs fans were diehard loyalists who would celebrate their team until their dying breath, even if they never made another series run in this lifetime.

“Oh, come on. The Sox’re one of tha originals. How can you not love the legacy of one of the first franchises in American baseball?”

“I didn’t say they weren’t loved. I said Cubs fans were more devoted.”

“Bullshit,” he chuckled as she shook his head, picking up his glass of scotch and swallowing the rest. I tried not to stare as the muscles in his throat flexed, but judging by the smirk, I failed. “Fenway is so much coolah than Wrigley. There’s history heah in Boston.”

I smirked at his accent slipping through, and his eyes widened, a frown crossing his features. “No, I get it. Architecturally, Fenway is nice, but I think it’s easier to be a fair-weather fan than one who is enthusiastic for the underdog, even when they’re beaten year after year.”

“After year, after year, after year,” he smirked, and I kicked my foot backward, my heel poking him in the shin.

“Don’t be a dick,” I laughed.

“Ah, but I’ve gotta live up to my name.”

“At some point, you could just stop being a dick, and maybe the nickname would die out.”

“And what fun would that be?” He winked. Of course, he liked that people called him a dickhead, including when it wasn’t behind his back.

“Quit distracting me.”

“You’re the one who keeps bringing up your mediocre baseball team.” Turning around one last time, I fixed him with a glare, but his cocky smile widened. “You gonna throw that ax or just tease its poor shaft all night?”

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