“Someonehas to be.”
A classic nonanswer. I change tacks. “How did you learn so much about guns?”
“Where I’m from boys go hunting starting pretty young, so I don’t really remember a time when I didn’t know how to shoot. But I got more into it when I was about seventeen.” A muscle tightens in his jaw.
“Why?”
“None of your business, Katie Cat. Now, focus, and let’s see if your aim improves with this one.”
He passes me the now-loaded gun, and I set up my shot, aiming for the head this time.When in Rome...
The blast of this gun is louder and stronger, and I’m knocked back by the recoil. I see now why he wanted my skin covered. The shell casings—or flying brass, as he’d called it—eject up and out, and I flinch when one hurtles toward me.
“Wait, I see what’s happening now. When you close your eye, your arms are moving. Let me show you.”
He circles behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and holding the gun out in front of me.
“Look along the sight line. Do you see it? Your feet should be about hip width apart.” He nudges my foot over a bit with his. “And you’re a little stiff.”
I wiggle my hips from side to side to loosen up, inadvertently brushing against him in the process, and that’s when I feel it:
His erection, hard as a tent pole and pressing into my backside.
I freeze, eyes pancake-wide, glancing back at him before I can stop myself. He springs away from me like he’s been scalded.
“You—it—you’re ready to shoot now. Your form looks good,” he stammers; then his face goes white. He pivots abruptly and moves to the bench, effectively obscuring his front from view.
I stare at his back for a second, unsure what to do. I’m not about to shoot this gun without him standing next to me. He appears to be shuffling things around in his case with no sense of purpose. I want to laugh, but I take pity on him and turn back around.
I’ll just give him a minute.
Chapter 22
So why do you go to a gun range in Maryland? Surely there are closer ones in the city.”
We stopped for dinner at an Italian place halfway back to DC, though what had seemed like a good idea at the time—we were both starving and inhaled our meals—is now making me pause. Our cozy corner table, replete with white tablecloth, candlelight, and Frank Sinatra crooning seductively in the background, is only encouraging my romantic fantasies. It’s easy to imagine we’re on a date.
“It has a tactical setup outdoors. Moving targets, real-life obstacles, the whole nine. I’ll have to take you back when the weather’s better.” I don’t miss his sly grin.
“Nice try. I’m a one-and-done.”
“I saw the look in your eye. You were enjoying yourself. Admit it.”
I enjoyed his hands on me, that much is true.
“I admit nothing. And on Monday, I go back to campaigning for gun control. Don’t think you’ve turned me,” I warn as I sip my wine.
“Oh, I’ll turn you. It’s just a matter of time.”
The cocksure way he says it makes me pause. Is Ben trying toconvertme? Is that his goal here?
“Icannotbe turned,” I say firmly.
“We’ll see. You know, you took to it really quickly. I bet you’d dominate in a self-defense class. I’d do it with you, if you wanted.”
“Self-defenseclass? Ben,stop. You’re so overprotective. I feel sorry for your future wife.”
I regret the words as soon as they’re out. I wish I could cram them back down my throat. He tenses and straightens, avoiding eye contact as he fiddles with the candle in the center of the table. I may as well have poured a bucket of ice over our heads.
