Page 90 of Champagne Fizz

“I’m not in the mood,” I snap, shaking my head at the pouty face she’s giving me.

Not today.

I storm out of the office before I say something really mean. Something, I’ll regret.

24

SIMON

Thwack!

The metal ax hits the wooden target with a sickening smack.

Thwack! Bang! Thwack! Clunk!

A symphony of hatchets and tomahawks sings around me. There are half a dozen other patrons throwing their weapons toward painted targets, each of us in our own aisles like at a firing range. I used to go to the batting cages whenever I felt pissed off like this, but recently I discovered Phat Ax, and there’s something satisfying about throwing a bladed weapon at the wall like an angry Viking.

It’s cathartic.

Primal.

Cliché as hell, but I really don’t care. It helps.

I walk up to the target to retrieve my weapon, turning around to see Kendall walking through the front door wearing a neon orange suit-dress. If that woman was a macaron she’d be flavored sherbet creamsicle.

Everything Kendall thinks is on her face. It’s one of the things I can’t get enough of. Her innocence and surprise are always blinking back at me in those big brown eyes. She looks around cautiously like I’ve called her to meet me at a lumberjack cult and at any second she’s going to be thrown over the shoulder of a man with a thick beard and sporting flannel.

A smile spreads across my face. She’s everything Arie hates: cuteness, sweetness, a fiery virtue.

Maybe that’s my best friend’s problem. If I was hanging out with someone similar to Arie, who was all potty mouth and brimstone, then Arie would probably have no problem with it. But Kendall is too much of a Disney princess for Arie’s world. Kendall’s the one singing to the birds, and Arie’s the dragon burning down the forest.

Kendall’s eyes hit me and a flicker of relief races through them, sayingOh good. I didn’t just walk into a lumberjack dungeon for no good reason.

“Hey,” I nod, walking up and offering her the ax. “You got any frustrations to work out?”

She looks at the weapon with wide eyes like I may as well have saidTake off your panties and show me you’re wet.

“I— um—” Her lip bobs open and closed, and now I really am thinking naughty things I shouldn’t. And that just proves IamArie’s best friend: a heathen.

“Ax throwing,” I clarify, pointing to the rest of the arena. “It’s like shooting a gun, but more primal.”

Her eyes flare with a spark of lust, and I’m starting to think Kendall might have a Viking/lumberjack/man-with-tool fetish I don’t know about.

“No, I—” she mumbles. “I know what this place is. It’s one of those trendy hipster things.” Her eyebrows pinch in the most adorable way like she can’t figure out what I’m doing here and whether that excites her or not. “So, you uh, you invited me here because … ?”

“I’m angry at my best friend,” I state. “And I kind of want to throw an ax at her head.”

Kendall’s eyes widen.

“Also …” I open my over-the-shoulder bag that’s leaning against the railing and pull out the papers Arie asked me to deliver. “These are for you.”

Kendall barely glances at them before turning her attention back up at me with concern. “You actually look really pissed.”

“I am,” I gripe, turning to the target and chucking the ax. Kendall yelps as the metal sinks into the wood with a splintering crack. When I turn back, there’s a smile on Kendall’s face.

“Are you imagining that’s Arie?” she asks, and I nod. “Do we share that ax? Or do I have to buy my own?” She holds her hand out for a turn, and I don’t know how, but her sassy posture makes all of my anger fall.

“We can share it.” I grin, but Kendall shakes her head like she isn’t going to smile about this. Oh no, living out her ax murder fantasy is serious business. “How’d you do that?” I ask, confounded. “I was in serious rampage mode a second ago and here you are in your creamsicle power suit ready to go Viking shield maiden on my best friend, and all I want to do is kiss you.”

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