Matteo turns quickly, looking me straight in the eyes. “Of course.” He nods, forcing a smile. “Catch you later, rat.” He winks at Aspen and slithers away like the snake he is.
Ren takes the booth three down from me, and the blond Russian girl from PE takes the one to my right side. I’m pretty sure her name is Hannah, or Anna, or something like that.
I glance to my left and catch Aspen looking away quickly, like she doesn’t want me to notice her staring at me. A smirk tugs at my lips as I take in the gun selection before me.
“We’ll start with the two handguns. Put your ear protection on, pick a gun, load it, fire, repeat,” Brooks instructs, and the room fills with the sound of guns being loaded and racked.
One by one, I push the soundproof earplugs into my ear canal and load my gun on autopilot. The motion is already integrated into my brain enough to where I don’t have to think about what I’m doing.
Raising my gun, I aim at the target and fire off all ten rounds. Every single one hits within the smallest ring of the target, and two are dead center. I release the clip and reload before racking the gun and taking aim once more.
I’m about to take my first shot when I hear an almost inaudible curse beside me. I tilt my head and look down through the glass separating me from Aspen. She is fumbling with the gun, trying to load it with the wrong magazine.
Shaking my head, I put my own gun down. Pulling out one of the earplugs, I walk around the small separation between booths. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m loading the gun. What does it look like?”
“It looks like you are trying to shove a 1911 magazine into a Glock 19.”
“Oh, so this is not the right one?” She looks down at the gun like it’s a foreign object.
“Are you shitting me right now?”
“I don’t know these things. I’ve never even held a gun before.”
My face slackens in shock. She can’t be serious.
“Your father is an arms dealer,” I point out. How in the fucking world has she never held a gun before?
“I wanted to study medicine.” She places the gun on the table in front of her and sags against the wall across from me. Her head is down, her shoulders are slumped, and she looks at the gun like she is about to cry.
Now I’m even more confused. The entire time she has been here, I haven’t seen her cry once. Even with all the shit people have put her through, including me, she hasn’t shed a single tear in front of anyone. She’s always held her head high, yet right now, she looks like she is about to run out crying, and I can’t figure out why. Why now out of all days? More importantly, why do I care?
“I don’t know how to do any of this.”
Shots ring out all around us, but I ignore them as I pick up her gun and load it with the right magazine. “Come here. Stand like this, right foot slightly back, shoulders squared, arms bent. Hold the gun with your right hand, then wrap your left around the bottom like this.”
I show her how to stand before stepping off to the side, handing her the loaded gun. She doesn’t move, simply stares at the gun in my hand for a few more seconds. When she does reach for it, my instinct is to pull away. I’m handing my enemy a loaded gun, after all. Maybe this is a fucking trick? If it is, she deserves a fucking Oscar.
Hesitantly, she grabs the gun and holds it in her hand awkwardly. She takes a stand like I showed her moments ago. Her aim is off, but I let her fire off a few rounds before I correct her. She pulls the trigger, and her whole body jerks from the kickback that she clearly wasn’t ready for.
She steadies herself and shoots the rest of the rounds in the direction of the target. Only five out of the ten rounds actually hit the paper.
“That’s terrible.” Brooks walks up beside us. “Who the fuck taught you how to shoot?”
“Ahh, no one. This is my first time,” Aspen admits, shocking Brooks just as much.
“All right then, you go back to your booth, and I’ll go over everything with her.” He shoos me away, grabs the gun from Aspen’s hands, and starts explaining to her the mechanisms of the gun and the different features.
I move back to my spot, making a mental note to check Brooks out later. He clearly doesn’t know who Aspen is since he’s the only instructor so far who hasn’t treated her like a traitor.
“You going to show me how to shoot now? I could use some help.” Blond Russian girl winks.
“You look like you’re doing just fine,” I say, peeking at her target, which looks a lot like my own. Actually, I’m a little impressed with her marksmanship, but of course, I don’t comment on that.
“Maybe you can give me lessons in something else then?” she asks seductively. This is the second time she’s blatantly hit on me, and just like last time, I ignore it.
I get back to my own guns, firing off the rounds I have, reload, and repeat until I’ve gone through all the weapons and four different targets. Brooks spends most of the class with Aspen, showing her how to handle the array of guns. With each passing minute, I get more irritated, and I don’t really know why.
All I do know is that by the end of the class, I’m ready to punch a hole into Brooks’s face. He walks away and talks about cleaning weapons after lunch. Aspen walks past me, obviously trying to avoid me, but I easily catch up to her.
Grabbing her arm, I pull her into my side and lean down so I can whisper in her ear. “You still owe me an hour.”
She pulls out of my grasp with a huff and storms off as if she can get away from me. Doesn’t she know that will never happen?