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Chuckling like the asshole he is, he says, “A bit touchy for a wife-stealing wife-fucker.”
The announcer says, “Gentlemen, save it for the shootin’ contest. You have five targets ready to take these bullets of anger off your hands.”
He’s right. Delilah deserves better from me. I turn to find her in the crowd behind me, worry creasing her brow. She comes to me once the fucker is gone and takes hold of my arm. “You don’t have anything to prove, Jason. We can walk away, go ride the Ferris wheel, or I’ll get more cotton candy and we can take it into the bedroom with us for some sweet fun.”
But that giant check for five hundred dollars hanging high above the announcer’s head gets my attention. Cutler needs money, and he’s got the skills to win this. That is, of course, if I wasn’t here to make sure he doesn’t. “It’s okay.” I kiss her, and she wishes me luck. I don’t need luck. This is fun and games.
At the podium, a case is presented to each of us. The rules state we don’t get to choose our weapon, much to my dismay. I hate revolvers, but that seems to be the choice for this contest. Even worse, Cutler gets an Uberti handgun, a better handgun over the Smith & Wesson .357 I end up with. I shake my head. His is made for competition. My gun is made for collectors, not precise shooting. Fuck. I refuse to lose, but it may be harder to win with this weapon.
I take the gun out of the case and check the chambers. Five bullets. Five targets. The fastest and most accurate shot moves to the final bracket. Four winners of their brackets will shoot to win. I have to take Cutler out first. We’re led to the line. Cutler wins the coin toss to see who goes first. I cross my arms and take a few steps back.
He walks to the line and kicks up some dust. When he’s given the go-ahead, he shoots. It’s an impressive showing for such an asshole. He used to kill every can with a BB gun when we were young and took turns shooting. If he’d win one round, I’d win the next. We were always good at pushing each other.
The paper targets are changed, and Cutler’s are brought to the judges.
I’m told to step to the line. As soon as the signal is given, time stands still. The colors that once surrounded my target turn a gray gradient, allowing me to focus on the bull’s-eye. My arm flies out steady, my elbow locked to absorb the recoil. With narrowed eyes, I focus dead center on the target. The first bullet flies from the chamber, and I turn just enough to send the second toward its intended destination.
Third.
Fourth.
Fifth.
It’s too fast to process the damage done properly. I lower my arm as the gray fades away, and the sound of life returns. As if the whole damn world is muted, not like the noise and chatter from before, I look behind me and am greeted with silence. The rowdy rodeo goers are staring—some with their mouths open, some closed but with their eyes wide, and some sport both. I see the rise and fall of Delilah’s chest, her eyes meeting mine. Barging through the gawkers, she comes toward me. “Jason?”
“What?” I ask, not sure if she’s okay or if I’m in trouble.
“That was the most incredible thing I think I’ve ever witnessed,” she whispers, “in my life.”
“From my shooting?”
“Yes, your shooting.” The exposed top of her chest is flushed. “Holy damn. I see now.”
“What? What do you see?”
A sexy grin slips onto her lips. “I see why you were so good at your job.”
“Former job,” I correct.
Her hands flail. “Whatever. Do you want to leave early?”
Now I smirk, utterly amused. “You turned on, baby?”
“So much.”
“I was just messing around out there.” I try to see my targets, pretending I don’t know that I hit the center of the bull’s-eye. Every. Time. “We used to shoot BB guns for fun.”
“That wasn’t messing around, Jason. What you did was pure skill.” We return to the podium together. “Your face. I’ve never seen you look like that.”
“I wake up every day with the same ugly mug. Nothing new here to see.” I try to distract her by making a big deal about putting the gun back in the case.
It doesn’t work because she’s still staring at me. As soon as the case closes, her hand covers my forearm. “I’m serious. I want you so badly right now.”
“I would have shown you what I can do with a gun sooner if I would’ve known how turned on you are by it.”
The announcer interrupts our foreplay, “Wooooweeee. Holy cow! Would you look at those targets! Our hometown hero just might maintain that status. You’ve been cut, Cutler.” A snicker echoes across the range, causing the crowd to join in at Cutler’s expense.
