Page 105 of Three Bossy Boyfriends
I step into the shower stall with Evan and decide that we don’t have time for sex, so quickly begin soaping up before I’m further tempted by his naked body.
If things go well at the bar with Finley, I’ll have plenty of time withbothof my favorite partners tonight.
“What are those two important details?” Evan prompts, having the same idea about postponing sex as his gaze wanders over my body while he soaps his own body just out of reach.
Thank goodness my shower is big enough to fit six average-sized people.
Which also means we can easily fit a petite brunette and a big, hulking contractor in here with us.
“One, Finley does like to be shared,” I say.
Evan nods. “True. That is important.”
“And two, if Tucker really cares about her, he’ll care about what she likes and wants.”
Evan nods. “Yes, those are both very good points.”
“Points we need to make to Finley and Tucker,” I say.
He grins. “We might even need toproveit to them.”
“Exactly.”
Less than an hour later, we walk through the doors ofAn Axe to Grind, the new bar that features ax throwing, craft beer, and cocktails with names like Axe Me Nicely and Funny You Should Axe.
I roll my eyes, but Evan is already grinning and ordering an Axe-ing For Trouble. I lean back against the bar next to him, taking in the plethora of plaid and the laughter and constant thunking noises from the axes hitting the wooden targets.
It only takes me a minute to find Finley.
And fuck. The woman takes my breath away in pencil skirts, but damn, those jeans instantly make me hard, and the simple black tee she’s wearing molds to her gorgeous breasts delectably.
“Um,” Evan says, sipping from the martini glass filled with a dark brown concoction. “Are we sure we want to mess with a woman who can throw an ax that well?”
Finley just pulled an ax overhead and then let it fly, driving it directly into the center of the bullseye painted onto the wooden plank several feet in front of her.
I grin. “Yes. We’re sure we want to mess withthatwoman.”
Evan takes another drink, then nods. “Ourwoman.”
And fuck, that makes me hard.
“Let’s go.” I head for the cage where Finley and Tucker are throwing.
The bar has high, round tables to the left of the walkway where people gather between throws or to watch others and set their drinks when it’s their turn. On the right are the ax-throwing cages. They resemble large horse stalls, honestly, withwood on the lower half and what looks like chain-link fencing on the upper half. There’s a painted line where the throwers start and then a wooden plank at the end with a bullseye for them to aim at.
Tucker is at the line, ax in hand and Finley’s standing at the table watching him with a big grin.
She looks like she’s having a good time.
Good. She’s happy. That’s priority number one.
She spots us just as Tucker’s ax flies.
“Christopher! Evan!”
The ax thunks into the wood, perfectly in the center of the bullseye.
He turns.
