“I’m too tired.”And heartsick.
He squints at me as if not quite believing I’m giving up. “This isn’t small-town Texas or Tennessee. We live in a dangerous city with an incredibly high murder rate. I consider it a matter of safety to own a gun.”
“How about leaving things to the police? You know, people adequately trained to use firearms?”
“Iamadequately trained to use a firearm, and I’ll protect what’s mine. I won’t apologize for it.”
“‘I’ll protect what’s mine’?Listen to yourself! This isn’t caveman times.”
At my use of the forbidden wordcaveman, his eyes narrow to slits.
“Calm down, crazy eyes. I didn’t callyoua caveman. I was simply referring to cavemantimes, where men used to go out and hunt and gather their dinner. They also protected their little women with clubs. I thought we’d moved past that mindset in the twenty-first century, but I guess not.”
He scowls at me. We’ve slipped back into our old personas: foe versus foe, enemy combatants once more. It’s helpful, really; a reminder I obviously needed. We’ve been getting entirely too close lately, our battle lines so blurred I’d almost forgotten how thingsreallystand between us.
Like clouds parting in a stormy sky, his face clears and a diabolical smile spreads across his face. I can only describe it as the type of fiendish grin Wile E. Coyote sports after he’s hatched yet another plan to catch the Road Runner.
“What?”I snap.
“I know what you’re doing for our bet.”
An avalanche of dread tumbles over me. “Whatever you’re about to say, the answer is no.”
“You’re coming with me to the gun range, and you’re going to learn how to shoot.”
I vault out of my chair. “Absolutely not!”
He stands too. He can never let me have a height advantage, even for a minute. “You’re going. And you’ll see it’s different than you think.”
“Nope. Definitely not going.”
He peers at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t decipher, then makes a noise likehuh. “You’re scared. I didn’t think you were scared of anything.”
“You’re damn right I’m scared! I’m scared of bungee jumping and skydiving too, if you’re keeping track.”
“There’s no reason to be scared. I’ll be right there the whole time and I know what I’m doing. I’ve been handling guns since I was a kid.”
“Oh, that makes me feelmuchbetter.”
“Kate, do you honestly think I’d let anything happen to you?”
We stare across the desk at each other in charged silence. Looking into his eyes like this makes my brain fuzzy. He has a very unfair advantage, this one.
“No,” I finally concede.
He crosses his arms. “Look, I’ve seen what can happen to someone when their guard is down. Youneverwant to find yourself in that position. You have a responsibility to keep yourself safe, and if you won’t do it for you, then do it for me.”
I blink, startled by the sudden change in his voice, the sharp vehemence I hear there. I study the rigid set to his shoulders and the taut, tense line of his jaw.
“Why is this so important to you?”
A shadow passes over his features, his expression darkening, before his eyes shutter and he looks away. “I have my reasons.”
It’s the clearest sign yet there’s more to his overprotectiveness than meets the eye—something I’ve long suspected—but if I’m ever going to find out what he’s hiding, I need to do this his way.
I exhale. “Fine. I will uphold my end of this bet and go to the range with you. But I don’t like it,” I add, retaking my seat at the desk.
He grins in triumph, showing off his perfect white teeth. “Excellent. When can you go?” Like we’re negotiating dinner plans.
