He let the ax go with a thunderous grunt. Maria Sharapova had nothing on Ethan Powell. Despite the deep vocalization, the ax landed about two feet right of the board with a disappointing thump.
“So close,” I taunted.
He dug the ax out of the wall and handed it back to me.
“Your move, Lumber Jill. Show me what you got.” He tilted his head toward the red bull’s-eye.
And just like that, it was as though both no time had passed and years had come and gone all at once. I grinned and squared my shoulders in front of the target. With a deep exhale, I hurled the ax and watched it soar end over end until it landed dead center with an elegant thwack.
“That’s right,” I muttered triumphantly under my breath.
“Beekman!” Without hesitation, he picked me up and spun me around, his hand pressing against my bare back. “That was incredible!”
“I have a gift,” I told him with a satisfied snicker.
When he set me down, I had to adjust the hemline of my slinky dress so as not to flash the bar queue behind us. “Tell the truth. Did you study? Did you practice?”
I considered lying but then didn’t. I didn’t lie to Ethan as a matter of course. “Fine. Yes. I’ve been watching YouTube videos obsessively, because I’m a nerd who hates to lose. It’s why I’m a fantastic lawyer.”
He leaned against the plywood partition and pressed his head to the side like I was simply too much. “You’re a fantastic lawyer because you’re brilliant and you’re a badass. You’re incredible at everything you set your mind to.”
Something soft and nostalgic curled in my chest.
“So where’s the rest of the bachelorette party?” he asked.
“Paula had to break us up. We were too rowdy. Except for my work friend, Stacy, who’s by the bar taking our office’s ‘work from anywhere’ policy extremely literally.”
I pointed behind his ear, but his head didn’t move. Instead,his eyes narrowed on me as though he was weighing all probabilities. “My instinct is to assume you’re lying…” A group of a dozen or so men in matching tuxedo T-shirts bustled past. He stepped closer to my ear so his words could reach me through the increasing noise of the bar. “But the bouncer warned me there’d be a zero-tolerance policy for ‘disturbances,’ so I’m torn.”
His smile loosened a bolt in my spine. I was at ease for the first time since I’d started planning my beast of a wedding. I couldn’t help but relax into the comfort of being this close to my best friend.
“This night’s been a disaster. Start to finish,” I said, flopping my forehead onto his shoulder. “But I’m so glad you’re here now.”
“Me too,” he responded. His voice sounded uncharacteristically thready.
Out of nowhere, the faux-tuxedoed men started hollering a fraternity drinking chant. Our shoulders jumped.
“Been a minute since I’ve heard one of those,” I said, looking at Ethan’s face and noticing with a jolt how close we were standing. For some reason, stepping back felt like an admission that being near him affected me in a way it didn’t, so I kept my feet planted in place even as tension spooled in my stomach.
“I don’t think I’ve been to a frat since that night I rescued you and Laurel from one.”
“ ‘Rescued’ is…a verb. The wrong one, but—”
He leaned forward and looked straight into me when he asked, “Do you ever think about that night? Do you wonder what would’ve happened if you’d gone on tour with me?”
His face was serious, but he had to be kidding. “I would’ve bombed the LSAT and flunked out of school.”
“Naturally.”
“And then I would’ve been forced to sell my organs on the black market to make ends meet.”
His eyebrow arched in a way that looked like a question but felt like a dare. “You always go straight to organ selling. Why is that?”
“My brain is weird? I don’t know.” I clapped my hands on my face to hide my hot blush. We were too close. It was too warm. He was too nice. It all felt so familiar and, yet, exhilarating.
“I like your brain,” he said. He pushed a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. “I like lots of things about you.” His gaze dragged between my eyes and my lips, down the gauzy minidress that Laurel had forced me into earlier that night.Like sex, she’d said.That’s what you’re supposed to look like on your last night out as a single woman.
I knew I wasn’tsingle, but somehow, when she’d zipped up the dress, Ethan’s face had appeared. Only for a millisecond. It was natural to wonder, I’d reminded myself, but I never let the intrusive thought settle. Ethan Powell was nothing but a fantasy. Not even a fantasy. An impossibility. And it was normal to ruminate on impossibilities. If there’d been a chance Michael B. Jordan would waltz into this bar that promoted a special called Babe the Big Blue Tots, I might’ve imagined him reacting to my outfit too.
