“Right?” I turn. “I had no clue.”
Jay turns to Spencer and grins so big that his face wrinkles up. “I like her.”
“You won’t like me when I tell you your five-forty-five accuracy isn’t super impressive. Like I said, I know what the bang-bangs do, and I know a better shot than you.”
His eyes narrow. “You lie, Little Red. You’re just trying to bruise me.”
It’s strange that he wanted to impress me, like it matters what I think, but in exchange, all I do is spout off my words and try to impress him back. This isn’t what I do. I much prefer not being noticed at all, but now I find myself standing inside a man’s shooting range after spending the night in his bed, and I’m arguing with his equally big, equally scary, also-holding-a-gun friend, like I think maybe they would care that I know what a gun is.
I’m such a fool, but I want them to like me. I want to be strong and capable, not the little girl that my brothers insist on tucking away from danger.
“Not trying to hurt you, but I can’t tell a lie. I know a better shot, so…”
“Kane…?” He lifts a brow and turns to Spencer. “She means Kane, right? Because nobody is a better shot than Kane.”
Spencer shrugs.
“I don’t mean Kane, though I’m certain he’s good too.” Slowly, I move around the men and wander toward the lane where Jay left his unloaded gun and a box of ammunition.
I should stop, I should go the heck home, but instead I work on firming my shaking hands as I walk, because I know both men watch me. I need to sit down and stop making a scene, but Spencer made me feel grown up and strong last night. He made me feel powerful when I’m so used to feeling weak.
I turn to the guys and smile. It’s not a smirk like Jay was wearing, and it’s not a grin like Spencer had. It’s shaky and pathetic as I set my coffee down and pick up the gun. Their eyes widen. They think I’m going to blow my foot off, no doubt, so they move forward like a couple of wranglers trying to box me in. Hands up, slow movements, wide stances, they come closer as I fumble the bullets and push one into the revolver.
I’m certain Jay normally works with an automatic handgun. He seems to be a Glock kinda guy, but the gun he left on the counter is a Colt Diamondback, with the long barrel and woodgrain handgrip. It’s heavy, but comfortable.
With shaking hands, I push one single bullet into the barrel and swallow down my nerves.
I’ve come too far. I’m going to mess it up and look like a total dummy.
“Abigail, put the pistol down, baby.”
“No, I got it.”
The guys continue to stalk closer, but I turn and aim at the target Jay has already torn apart. I swallow to lubricate my dry throat. My heart hammers in my chest, but instead of making me scared or doubtful, it heightens my senses and makes me smile.
“Just one shot, guys, then I’ll put it away.”
“This isn’t a game, Priss. If you wanna learn, I’ll teach you. I’ll tutor you personally until you have perfect aim, but going in like this just to shut up big mouth Bishop isn’t how it’s done.”
“Nope, it’s fine.”
I close one eye and poke my tongue out for concentration. Jay is closing in on my right, though he doesn’t move too fast. He doesn’t want to spook me, so he’s gentle with his movements, but I know I’m two seconds from a body tackle, so I aim and concentrate on the target, then I bring my finger to the trigger and squeeze.
The guys jump, and before I have time to inhale, the gun has been removed from my hands and disassembled, but Jay watches the target with his mouth agape. “She hit my target.” He turns to me. “Woman, you put it through my pattern.” He hurriedly yanks the Glock – I knew he was a Glock man – from his hip holster and passes it to me. “Do it again. Prove that wasn’t a lucky shot.”
“Dude! We just got the Colt from her. Why the fuck are you giving her another gun?”
“Because she’s bluffing.” He points at the target. “Again.”
Grinning and riding the adrenaline that fires through my blood, I check the magazine, though I should have known it would be full. I aim, then I fire–one, two, three, four, five.
They’re not perfect, but they hit the target and make a cute little grimace for Jay’s paper man.
“Get the fuck outta here!” Jay snatches his gun and re-holsters it. “She’sthe five-eight-five.”
“No, I’m not.” I laugh and willingly step into Spencer’s side when he pulls me closer. His heart pounds beneath my ear, which is kind of cool in a way. “My brother is the five-eight-five, but there’s no way in H-E-double hockey sticks he wasn’t going to teach me.”
“Hoooo shit.” Jay watches me like I performed magic. “Her brother is a five-eight-five. Where is he?” He spins, as though I keep men tucked away in the corners. “Where’s the dude?”