“Apparently,” I reply and then scoot closer and hook my ankle around his. “You good with that?”
Whit takes a long sip of his water and then says, “For now.”
Not sure what he means by that, but I let it go. I can dissect his reluctance later.
“What are we going to do the rest of the day?”
“Well, thought we’d go shooting.”
“Shooting?”
“Yeah.”
Whit side-eyes me. “I have a moral qualm against guns.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him and then stand up. “Finish that sandwich. You eat like you’re the Queen of England.”
“Better that than a two-year-old,” Whit replies, and I lean down and bite the back of his neck. He hisses loudly and rubs at the sting.
“Let’s go. Enough of your weird moral dilemmas. The real world awaits.”
He finishes a short time later, and then the four of us go to a makeshift range on my parents’ property, where we take turns shooting our guns.
“Why does it look like there was a fire here?” Whit asks, and I smile widely.
“Ah, yeah, we blew shit up last time I was here.”
“Seriously?”
“It was epic. I’m sure we can recreate it if you want to watch.”
“No. I’m....no, thank you.”
He’s at a loss for words.
Sem and Luke use their AK 47s and laugh maniacally like they’re Scarface or some shit as they shoot up the rusty car and wooden targets in the distance. Seeing it for the first time through Whit’s eyes, I realize we seem slightly insane. Especially for a guy who probably has lived a very sheltered life.
What did Whit do growing up? I know he traveled. Did he sit around in a ginormous home library and read? Eat with fancy silverware? Go to golf clubs? Learn how to fold napkins? I glance once more at my cousins. Damn, I don’t even know what’s going through his head right now.
Oh well. Life is all about having new experiences, right?
Whit watches my cousins for a while before Luke coerces him into trying it. He uses some backward logic to convince Whit, but all I know is that I get to wrap my arms around his waist to keep him steady while he fires a few rounds.
“You’re terrible,” I laugh, my hands resting on Whit’s hips.
He glowers at me and lowers the gun to the ground.
“I’ve never shot a gun in my life. Of course, I’m terrible.”
“Well, there’s nowhere to go but up. You can come with me to the shooting range near school, and then when we come back, you can kick ass.”
Whit shakes his head, ignoring my comment about the future. “I think this is the last time I’ll handle one of these.”
I roll my eyes and then load his gun again and place it back in his hands. Then I press myself against his delicious backside and place my palms on his thighs. The muscles flex and bunch under my palms, and I knead them slightly.
“Stop distracting me, Caleb,” he says.
“Something about you, yeah?”