“We’ll get to that later,” Wren says. “So like nothing? Never gotten a blow job, never given a girl head, like nothing?”
I walk out and leave my friend right in the middle of the spotlight he flipped the switch on and turned in my direction.
I’ll apologize later, but for now, I need a little distance from it all.
Chapter 10
Hayden
“All night,” Parker says as she presses the bullets into the magazine. “I was talking to him and he was watching you. I’m telling you, the man has it bad for you.”
“What? No, he wasn’t.”
He was, and apparently I wasn’t the only one to notice his undivided attention despite not really engaging with him last week at the bar.
“Besides, you like him so even if he was, it doesn’t matter.”
“What are you talking about? Like him? I don’t like him.”
I glare at her. “Seriously?”
“Has that been what’s holding you back?”
“I’m not holding back. I—”
“Hold that thought.” Parker turns around and fires the gun, hitting the target several times. “Don’t tell me you don’t like him. The man is fucking gorgeous.”
“You ladies okay down here?”
The air feels thick and I know it has more to do with Quinten’s approach than the slight haze of smoke from so many guns being fired at the same time.
I flinch when the woman in the third lane takes her first shot, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Quinten.
“Have you picked it up yet?” He looks over at the gun that felt the least uncomfortable in my hands. It’s still in the basket the attendant at the front handed to me in when I checked it out.
“I’m just not feeling it,” I tell him with a raised voice.
“Is it awkward? Because it always is at first. Pick it up and let me check your grip.”
“Maybe show us how you hold yours,” Parker suggests, and the flirty tone in her voice makes me want to step on her toe just to get her to back up a few inches.
Quinten nods before pulling his own gun from the holster on his hip. He pops out the magazine and does this sexy thing where he pulls back the top, making the bullet inside it fly out. He catches it gracefully.
“Are you watching?” I nod, catching myself a second too late, before biting the corner of my bottom lip.
His eyes track the movement before he shifts a little further away.
I watch as he pops the single bullet back into the clip before sliding it into place in the gun. He pulls the top back. Crap, if I were paying attention to his words in class instead of the sure movements of his hands, I would know what that part is called.
“Like this. Keep both thumbs facing forward. Stand like this so you’re more stable. The gun you picked out doesn’t have the power to knock you over, despite what you might have seen on online videos.”
I nod, watching his strong legs bend ever so slightly at the knee.
“So just a little bend?” Parker asks. “Or a lot. What’s too far?”
“You want to be like this.” Quinten turns to face the target before squatting a little lower. “Going this far down isn’t practical, and it’s not something you’d do in a real-life situation.”
“Jesus,” Parker says before biting her fist. She pulls it out quickly, looking down at her hand like it tastes disgusting.
I huff a laugh at her ridiculousness.
“Jesus, Hay. Look at that. I bet he could squeeze a gala apple between those cheeks and make pulp free apple juice.”
“That’s enough,” Quinten says. He reholsters his gun and turns to glare at my friend. “This is a serious class, and the commentary isn’t needed.”
Parker’s mouth hangs open. “What?”
“You aren’t exactly whispering, and it’s clear you don’t know this, but,” he points to his headset, “these are electronic, which means I can hear you just fine. Even when you think you’re whispering.”
My lips twitch as I try to keep from laughing. It isn’t often that my best friend gets embarrassed. She hasn’t said anything to me that she wouldn’t say to his face, but she very rarely gets called out.
“Hayden.” Quinten sweeps his hand in the direction of the basket holding my rented gun. “Your turn.”
“I’m not ready to shoot.”
“Okay. That’s fine. I want to see you practice your stand and hold.”
I move to the head of the lane and pull the gun and clip from the basket.
“Check and make sure it’s loaded.”
“It’s not,” I tell him.
“Because you already checked it?”
“Because the guy at the counter wouldn’t give it to me that way.”
“Humans make mistakes. You can see the magazine isn’t in. Now to check the chamber, pull back on the slide and look inside. Good. Is it empty?”
“Yes,” I answer, wishing he was a little closer to me. For selfish reasons, of course, not because of fear of the gun or anything.