“Hold the hatchet as you would a baseball bat,” he tells us. “Step forward, lift the axe straight above your head, and release as it comes down to eye level. Step. Lift. Release. And remember, the point is not to throw it like a brick. You’re looking for a single rotation. And it’s all about timing.”

Peter, the only person not wearing jeans, asks, “What about scoring?”

His competitive instincts are kicking in early. Figures.

Guillermo points to a metal bin attached to our lane’s chain-link fence. “Pads are over there. Points are on the board. You can go for the blue balls on the fifth and tenth throws.”

“Why are heteros so obsessed with blue balls?” Nia asks.

Solange shrugs. “That’s a fair question I don’t have an answer to. Personally, I’m not a fan.”

Guillermo’s mouth twitches—he’s as entertained by Solange as I am—then he rubs his hands together. “Okay, who’s up first?”

Nia bounces on her toes and thrusts a hand in the air. “Me!”

After Nia’s first few unsuccessful tries, Kimberly says, “You need to bend your knees more, N.” Standing behind Nia, she lightly places her hands around her partner’s waist; Nia sways ever so slightly on her feet.

“Like this,” Kimberly says. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” Nia says, turning to lock eyes with Kimberly, her voice strained.

The chemistry between them is palpable, even when they’re nowhere near each other; standing close as they are now, though, their connection is downright electric.

Not surprisingly, Kimberly takes to the sport like a pro, and much to my annoyance, Peter’s relatively skilled as well. I hang back, hoping the novelty will wear off for everyone by the time I’m up, so they’ll talk among themselves while I embarrass myself.

“Your turn, Dean,” Solange says, cupping her mouth to announce that fact to everyone in the place. She pats my stomach in encouragement, then her breath catches. “Oh.”

Earlier she suggested we touch more; I assume more flirting is warranted too, so I waggle my brows. “Felt the abs, did you?”

Her eyes flash with . . . something. Whatever it is, I’m greedy enough to want more of it.

“I . . .” She clears her throat. “I certainly did.”

“It’s not supposed to be a surprise, though, remember?” I whisper. “In this alternate world, you have an open invitation to run your hands over my stomach whenever you want.”

She stares at me blankly, then nods. “Right. Got it.”