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“Ready to shoot something?”
I don’t know why the sound of someone else there startled me so much. Of course someone was there, manning the front desk.
Maybe it wasn’t his presence, but more so the deep, sexy sound of it. One of those voices that rolled over you, you know?
Hot.
Not, as it turned out, even as hot as the guy himself, though.
Tall, fit under that well-fitting tee of his, dark-haired, and deep blue eyes. God, those were the kinds of eyes you could stare at endlessly. Something like the ocean at dusk.
Oookay then.
That was more than enough of that.
“Yes,” I said with a definitive nod.
“You wanna come a little closer?” he asked, shooting me a smirk that I was sure had melted panties all around this town.
“Right,” I agreed, moving over toward the desk, already reaching for my license, and passing it across the counter.
“Perfect… Lana. How about you make yourself a cup of coffee and look over this paperwork while I make a copy of this?” he invited, passing me a folder and pen.
I knew I was supposed to say that I didn’t need the coffee, but I did, so I walked over there and made some.
This place even had syrups.
Syrups.
If I was a betting woman, I would put money on some female being a part of the design of this place.
Coffee in a to-go cup in hand, I went over to the seating area to flip through the paperwork and fill out the standard forms.
Did I maybe take a little extra time doing so? Enjoying the expensive-tasting coffee with a little extra cream and sugar and toasted almond syrup? You bet I did. And I was determined not to feel guilty for it.
It wasn’t long, though, until the coffee was gone, and the paperwork completed.
It was time to shoot.
That little thought in mind, my nerves started to jitter again as I passed the hot guy the paperwork, then took my license back.
“It doesn’t look like you came with your own weapon.”
“No,” I said with a small smile.
I didn’t have one.
Yet.
“So, you need to rent,” he said, waving toward the wall. “We have—“
“I’d like a compact 9mm,” I said with a little nod, which I hoped made it seem like I knew a thing or two about guns.
I did.
What I learned online.
“A woman who knows what she likes. Okay, before I get that for you, I gotta give you the lowdown about the prices.”
“Right. Of course,” I agreed, reminding myself that this, too, was something I was not going to feel guilty about. I needed this practice. I had to spend the money. No matter how little of it I had to throw around.
“It is thirty dollars for one hour, plus the twenty dollar rental. Or you could become a member. Three hundred for the year. Unlimited use, but only for you. For the first visit, ammo is on us. ”
“Oh, okay. Well, let’s start with an hour, and see how that goes,” I said, not wanting to admit that three hundred dollars sounded like my monthly grocery budget, and I couldn’t drop all of that at once.
I was going to have to find ways to make up the range fees, but that was an ongoing problem I was trying to work on.
I figured even if I could just get one session in, that was better than nothing.
“Perfect,” he said as I passed him the cash.
Everything had to be in cash these days.
“And your gun,” he said, turning, and unlocking the case. “Why don’t you come with me?” he said, keeping possession of the gun as he walked me down the hall and into a much darker space.
No windows.
I mean, of course.
I knew there wouldn’t be.
But I hadn’t been prepared for how trapped I was going to feel as we moved deeper into the space.
It was exactly what you’d expect, what you’d probably seen in a dozen TV shows. A row of little separate lanes, each with a table, and a set of eye and ear protection.
In a corner of the room, watching over everything, but with a book at his side, was the man from the SUV.
Objectively, just as hot as the other guy, but in a different way. Huge, a bulky kind of strong, very silent and intimidating.
He gave the guy escorting me a nod.
“That’s Amos,” he said. “If you need anything, have any questions, you can ask him for help.”
“Right. Got it,” I said, giving Amos a smile that, again, he nodded at.
“Pick a number,” he said, waving at the lanes.
Four.
Four was my number.
So that was where I went.
“Okay. Eye and ear protection at all times, no exceptions,” he told me, waving toward them, then waiting for me to put them on. I did, but left the headphones off my ears slightly, so I could listen to him. “Good. Now down there’s the target,” he waved. “And here is the button to pull it closer or send it back out. If for some reason, you want a new target, Amos has a whole stack of them.”
