“Hey,” a soft voice wakes me up. My hand is still clutching my ring.

I put it back under my shirt and look up. It’s her. Those green eyes are so close to me now, and I can fucking smell her. I want to take her right here, right now. Though I haven’t even said a word to her.

“Hey,” I say.

She smiles.

“What’s your name?” I ask, holding out a hand. “I’m Jack.”

She takes my hand. “Elisabeth. And I know your name, Jack the Lumberjack.”

Her hand is so soft and small against my big calloused hand. I reluctantly let go.

I laugh. “I don’t usually compete. You can just call me Jack.”

“What do you usually do then?” she asks.

“Real lumberjacking,” I say. “In Oregon.”

She smiles. “Oregon? So I guess you’ll be going home after the tournament?”

“Well,” I say, licking my lips. “I do have a hotel while I’m here.”

Her eyes lock onto mine. I struggle not to look down her shirt. It’s low-cut, and her cleavage is calling out to me. I sneak a peek.

“I’m going to win this,” I say, “and then we can go get a drink together.”

She laughs. “Are you asking me out?”

“No,” I say. “I’m telling you. We’re having a drink together.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You do want to, that’s why I didn’t bother to ask.”

“Okay,” she says. “So maybe I want to. But if you want me to go back to that hotel with you, you had better win.”

* * *

The crowd roars as Paul Bunyan and I step up to the logs. All 10 are lined up in front of me, and Bunyan’s logs are just across from mine. This way we can see each other as we chop, adding to the tension.

I clutch my axe as the announcer goes through his spiel. I’m not listening to him. I look into the crowd and find Elisabeth. She smiles at me and blows another kiss.

It’s just lust, isn’t it? Something is off about this woman. What is she doing at fucking Choptoberfest all by herself? What kind of woman sees that a furniture store is holding a lumberjack tournament, and says, ‘That’s what I’ll do on Saturday?’

Shit, for all I know, maybe she isn’t here alone. Maybe she’s with some guy, and she’s just sadistically flirting with me. Or maybe she really just likes competitive lumberjacking? There must be women out there who are into this shit, right?

I shake my head. All I really want to do is take her back to the hotel with me. I want to win the $30,000, and I want to get my dick wet. Even if she just wants to brag that she fucked the Choptoberfest grand champion, that’s fine with me. As long as I get to fuck her. It’s not like I’m going to date her or something. I’ll go back to Oregon after this is over, and she’ll stay here.

“L-L-L-Lumberjacks!” the announcer shouts in his best Monster Truck announcer impression. “R-R-R--Ready your axes!”

I guess he wanted to save that voice for the final event.

I step up to the first block. The rules say you’ve gotta touch your axe to the first log before the whistle blows. Bunyan is about 10 feet across from me, and he glares at me as he raises his axe to his log. “You’re going down, rookie,”

“I don’t think so, Clarence,” I sneer back at him.

The whistle blows, and our axes explode in a flurry of wood and steel. Bunyan and I tear through our first logs in mere seconds. We both are using the same technique: alternating overhand and underhand chops. As soon as we cut halfway through, we both spin around and alternate to the other side of the log, chopping away again. Back to back.

I’m no longer facing Bunyan, but as my log begins to fall, I hear the announcer shout with excitement that we’re neck-and-neck.

I rush to the second log, and I swing at it even before I plant my feet into the ground. I rip into it, and when I turn around again to hit the other side of the second log, I notice that Bunyan is already taking his first swing from the other side. Fuck. He’s slightly ahead of me.

My adrenaline surges when I realize how close I am to winning--or losing--and I swing into overdrive. I make up for some lost time, and our logs both fall in half at the same time.

We tear away at log after log. By the seventh log, we’re still within a few chops of each other. Sometimes I manage to take the lead for a brief moment, but then Bunyan overtakes me just as quickly. It seems as if either of us could win.

As we reach the eighth log, our furious chops from the first log have become more subdued--more steady and methodical. We’re both drained and running out of stamina, and it’s becoming more and more important that each swing is accurate and efficient.

I reach the ninth log before Bunyan does, getting two swings into it before he gets his first. As I’m about to switch over to the tenth log, my axe sticks into the wood. I have to kick with my boot and press to pull the axe out, and by then, Bunyan has pulled ahead of me. He slays his ninth log and lets out a battle cry as he charges into the tenth and final log.

Fuck! I let out a roar of my own as the ninth one falls. Red-faced, I slam my axe against the final log. Bunyan is screaming now with each swing, as am I. The logs explode into splinters of wood, and my own sweat and spit joins the fray, as I swing with a barbarian rage. My muscles are bulging so hard that my shirt might just pop the fuck off.

I don’t even look over at Bunyan as I take the final swings. I can tell there are only two or three swings left, and I channel every last ounce of energy into those final attacks.

One. Two. Three. The third strike hits with such force that the log flips up into the air. I look over to Bunyan. Did I win?

His axe hits the log--later than mine did--and the log breaks. His last swing hits overhand, and it slams the log to the ground. Mine broke first. I won.

I throw my arms into the air and roar. I look over to Elisabeth, but she looks surprised. Then I notice that everyone looks surprised.

The announcer screams out, “Only the judge can decide now!”

Bunyan’s voice booms over toward me. He’s out of breath and red-faced. “Fucking rookie! I told you I’d win!”

I grab one of the judges by the arm. “What the fuck is going on? I know I broke my log first!”

The judge shakes his head. “Yours broke first, but the log doesn’t count as chopped until the piece touches the ground. Yours spun up into the air, and Bunyan’s went straight down. We have to look at the replay.”

The replay? Are you fucking shitting me? Did spinning the log up into the air lose me $30,000?

I grab my axe and pace back and forth. A minute or two passes, but it feels like a fucking century. I watch as the two judges talk to each other. They examine a computer screen together, pointing at it. They start to nod, then walk over toward the announcer. They’ve decided. Fuck, I better have won.

The announcer grabs his microphone and begins to speak. “The judges have decided, and it’s conclusive. Bunyan’s log hit the ground first. Paul Bunyan is our grand champion!”

Everyone cheers, and I throw my axe down into the ground.