Page 37 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

What did they know? Gabby hardly dated because she was focused on her career, and Ryan could have any girl of his choosing. They didn’t understand what it was like to be overlooked and overshadowed by practically every other woman in town. They didn’t have to cope with the memories of the popular guys in high school calling them “porpoise.” Yep. An aquatic animal similar to a dolphin but more closely related to belugas. They’d follow me around, barking at me like a seal. I bet Remi had been the same as my tormentors.

I kept that memory close to remind me never to try to be like those popular kids or to date anyone like them.

Ryan let his breath hiss through his teeth. “It’s a big moment. The meeting.”

“Bring pepper spray in case he wants to make a coat out of your skin,” Gabby said.

Ryan looked down at Gabby with his eyebrows creased together, nodding in agreement.

“Gross. You need to stop watching horror movies.” I finished reading the note on my twins from the day shift.

Gabby looked at the monitors. “Oh, shit.” She pointed to the screen. “I better go check on Baby Reynolds. Her oxygen sensor probably slipped off.”

The busy nature of our job took over, and the three of us had little time to sit. I loved how fast nights like these flew by. But the pressure of farming season hung over me, waiting for me at the end of my shift, with Remi-related disasters hiding around every corner.

Chapter 14

Angie

Onceagain,Idoubtedmy choice of outfit.

I sat on a cold metal stool, listening to the thud of axes slamming into wooden planks. The hem of my black skirt only reached mid-thigh. Every time I bent over, no matter how many times I told myself to think positively about my body, I couldn’t help but be self-conscious of the exposed cellulite on my upper legs. Plus, my thighs kept sticking to the stool. I’d paired the skirt with my cream blouse and hoop earrings, but I should have picked a more suitable pair of shoes other than my black wedge boots; they didn’t help with stability when throwing a hatchet.

Remi had told me to wear something comfortable, jeans and a printed tee. He’d been overruled by Gabby. I never should have consulted her about my wardrobe. Maybe this was her sick, twisted payback for bailing on theImagine Dragonsconcert.

Before she’d gotten involved, I’d followed most of Remi’s advice and, according to her, put on an outfit that made me look like a lumberjack.

I’d responded I’d rather be Paul Bunion than be out of place dressed like a Kardashian. It fit the part. After she pointed out Paul Bunion lived alone in the forest with a big blue ox, I’d gone back into my closet and changed.

Remi walked in the door with a black bag slung over his shoulder, and his gaze scalded me from my toes to the tip of my head. He wore a fitted T-shirt, matching the lighter shade of brown in his eyes, paired with loose-fit jeans. After sliding cash to the teenager running the cash register, he walked to my lane.

“Well, you’ll definitely get his attention.” He quirked his lips into a half-smile. “It’ll be difficult to throw axes in a miniskirt and those boots.”

My half-smile froze in place, and I sagged a little. Though I hadn’t admitted it to myself, I’d been waiting for his approval. Why? I had no idea. He’d proven on a daily basis his judgement couldn’t be trusted.

“Gabby …” My voice trailed off. I didn’t have to explain myself to him. I was a grown woman. I glanced back at the place where, a decade and a half earlier, Brady had stood taunting me. No, not tonight. I wouldn’t let him, or any man, affect my confidence. “I like what I’m wearing.” I grabbed the hatchet with a duct-taped handle hanging on the wall and swung it toward him. “You’re here to teach me how to stick this,” I gestured with the axe to the wooden planks with a target painted on them, “—to that wall.”

“Whoa.” He held his hands up. “Put that thing away.”

I clenched my teeth together and returned the weapon to its place. Walking back to the table where Remi had set his bag, I folded my arms and waited for further instruction.

“First, someone who does this regularly doesn’t use the throwing axes provided. They bring their own.” Remi pulled two brand new, sharp hatchets from his bag. He handed me a belt with a metal loop on it. “Here. Put this on.”

I slid it around my waist and cinched it to fit. He then passed me an axe, which I placed in my belt, securing the snap over the protective holder. With it strapped on my hip, my nervous energy ebbed, replaced by a general feeling of badassery.

Remi took the second axe in his hand and toed the throwing line. “First lesson. Stand twelve feet back from the planks. Second. Hold your elbow in front of you, lining it up where you want to throw. Third. Throw with a smooth motion from your elbow and a little flick of your wrist.” He threw the axe, and it landed with the blade centered on the bullseye.

My eyes moved from the target to him. I blinked. Who the hell was this guy? Some reincarnated Viking god?

Remi smirked. “Your turn.”

I straightened my skirt and stepped to the line. Sliding my brand-new axe from its holster, I lifted my elbow in front of me like Remi had.

“Eh-hem.” Remi cleared his throat loudly.

“What?”

“You might want to remove the protective cover before you throw.”

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