I do this several more times until it becomes hard to tell which holes were there from the previous time.
I grow increasingly frustrated that there’s no regularity to my shots.
“How’s it going?”
I startle, dropping the bullet in my hand when I hear the male voice.
Dropping the magazine, I spin around, only feeling mild comfort when I see Jude’s smiling face.
“Hey,” I say weakly, for some reason feeling a little weird to be speaking with him without Parker or Quinten around.
“I just came to practice,” he explains when I shift awkwardly on my feet. “Do you need any help?”
“I—umm. I can’t seem to hit the target every time,” I confess.
“Well, finish loading, and I can give you some pointers.”
I do as he says, and thankfully he doesn’t step in behind me like Quinten did on Thursday. Jude stands to the side, observing as I get in my stance and aim.
“The key to consistency is finding your dominant eye. So look down range with both eyes open and pick a spot on the target. Close one eye and then the other. The eye that maintains the same position of spot is your dominant eye. Practice it now while looking down the sight lines. Good. Now which eye is dominant?”
“The right,” I answer after doing what he said a handful of times.
“Okay, now line up that spot with your left eye closed.”
“I didn’t pick the center of the target,” I mutter.
“That’s fine. You can practice anywhere on a target to get the most use out of it. That’s why those smaller targets are in the corner. When you’re ready, fire.”
I do as he said, semi-confidently shooting until the magazine is once again empty. I press the button to bring the target back to me, but once again there are so many holes from my previous shooting that I don’t know which ones are from this last round.
“Let’s get you a new target, and go from there,” Jude says, reaching in the lane next to mine and grabbing his target rather than going back out front to get another one.
“A zombie?” I ask, looking down at his target of choice.
He shrugs before handing it over. I like that he doesn’t just urge me out of the way to pull my old target and replace it with his. He’s really a sweet guy, and nothing like Quinten who is more likely to be found with a scowl on his face rather than a smile.
Too bad I don’t feel even a blip of chemistry when he’s near, no matter how much Parker tried to push him onto me that night at the bar. I know what she was thinking. He’s shy and awkward, and so am I, but that isn’t going to work out like she planned.
For some reason, I have a thing, probably fleeting, for his grouchy best friend.
“Ready when you are,” Jude says, clearing his throat and making me realize I’ve just been standing here staring at him.
My face is flushed, and I pray he didn’t take the attention the wrong way and turn back to the task at hand.
I want to bounce up and down after emptying the next magazine and counting the holes in the target. I hit it with all but one shot.
He’s grinning at my enthusiasm.
“I didn’t hit the spot I was shooting at but look!” I count them out as if the man can’t see them clearly himself.
“That’s great. My only observation is that you’re pulling up just a little before each shot because you’re anticipating the recoil. After shooting enough, you’ll no longer do that and be unstoppable.”
I repeat the process until all of my bullets are gone, and each time I get a little better. I’m not a marksman by any definition of the word, but I am more confident. By the last magazine, I hit the target with every shot.
“Thanks so much for your help,” I tell him as I place the gun back in the basket to take back to the front. “I owe you a couple targets.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his hand going to the back of his neck as his cheeks turn pink.
Oh God, what do I say if he asks me out?
“So, umm… Your friend, Parker, the one that was at the bar the other night, isn’t here today?” he asks as if I have a million friends and need the clarification.
I roll my lips between my teeth to fight a smile. Of course he’s going to ask about Parker. Sadly, my best friend would chew this sweet man up and spit him out.
“She had to work,” I tell him. “But maybe you’ll get the chance to see her Thursday at class.”
He nods, his eyes darting away.
“Have a good night.”
“Stay safe,” he says to my back when I walk away.
The dread I felt walking into the building hits me in the face the second I step outside and rush to my car. The sun has fully set and instead of creepy shadows bouncing around, I’m met with total darkness. I’m left feeling cold and scared once again.