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Did he set up this schedule so today would involve shooting practice? Better yet, is he watching us right now?
There’s an odd bubbling need to impress this individual. It’s different from the burning need to show Domino that he can’t go lusting over other bitches who don’t give a shit about his own comrades.
We may not have had any more confrontations with Scarlett until now, but it doesn’t mean I believe she won’t try to pull another stunt to hurt my Zander.
Okay. He’s not really mine, but fuck. We got matching carved, self-inflicted markings on our arms. That means something… in a sick, fucked-up way.
By the time the final shot is set loose, the bullet misses the final bunny target.
“Damn. Too far,” Scarlett whines. “Jeez, Coach. Why is that target so far? You have to be a pro assassin to hit that.”
“Good aiming practice,” Coach calls out and looks at the guy next to Scarlett. “Next student. Miss Barbieri hit twenty out of fifty targets. That’s a new high record for this term. Let’s see what the rest of you can do!”
Scarlett giggles and flickers her hair while turning around. She opens her arms, so her posse of men can get on removing all the protective gear, but her focus is on us, her eyes trailing up and down Domino while realizing I’m on his back.
I can see the glimmer of dissatisfaction, but it’s odd.
Not like a jealous lover or someone who’s pissed that the crush you have on someone else. It’s just ‘disappointment.’
Zander’s whistle draws my attention to him.
“How did you effortlessly climb this tree of a man, Sweet Dynamite?” he praises and pats his back. “You could have climbed mine.”
“I’m fucking taller, stupid,” Domino snaps at Zander, who just chuckles.
“Sure, sure.” He brushes him off. “Stay up there and tell us who’s winning, Gemini.”
“Okay.” I can follow those instructions. Returning my eyes to Scarlett once more, I can see the obvious scowl on her face now.
What the fuck?
I know women are hard to read, but you’d think with me being a part of the female race, I’d be able to figure this bitch out.
No. I don’t want to. She’s a waste of my skillset.
That mental conclusion helps me look away from her and focus on the shooting mayhem happening on the field as each student goes up and attempts the fifty-target course.
When it comes to Ares’ turn, I realize rather quickly he’s good at this. So good that when he reaches nineteen targets hit, I see the way he’s missing on fucking purpose.
“Why is he missing on purpose?” I whine.
“Probably wants to see you go up and try,” Zander offers.
“Why? I probably suck,” I complain, though I tap on Domino’s shoulder. He glances back, noticing how close our faces are to one another.
“What?”
“I want down,” I admit and quietly mutter, “Please.”
The look we share is an odd mix of annoyance and lust, but with a glance at my lips and back to my eyes, he proceeds to lower down to one knee so I can get off his back.
“Thanks, my King,” I say, knowing he could have been a douche and dropped me.He would drop me. I guarantee it.“Zander. You’re not going to participate?”
“Nah,” he replies and slips his hands in his pockets. “Not my forte.”
What a lie.
He’s smiling at the way I’m looking at him, but Jeremy interrupts with, “Of course he can’t shoot shit. Man has problems with his eyes.”
