Well, he’s not wrong.
I still have a hard time keeping the bitterness away. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Taking a pair of black earmuffs from the desk, he puts them around my neck. Next are safety glasses he places on top of my head. “You’ll wear both while you shoot. But first, some basics. Most is common knowledge, but better safe than sorry.”
“Okay.” I nod. This is definitely not something I want to screw up, so I stay quiet and give him my full attention.
“Treat your gun like it’s loaded, even if it’s not. Which means, always point it in a safe direction and not at anyone. And keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. We’ll start small with a twenty-two, since it only has a light recoil and is relatively quiet too.” He stares at me. “You ready?”
“Mmmm.” I rock back and forth on my heels, wondering if the excitement or the nervousness in my blood will win out. It’s a lot to take in.
Putting both weapons on the desk, he walks over to me and grabs my face in his hands. “Can you do this for me?”
My eyelashes flutter out of rhythm. “For you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Any time I’m with you, no one will ever get close to you, but I want to know you’re safe no matter what.” His chest lifts as he inhales. “And I think it would be good for you to feel safe too.”
All the air in my lungs dissipates at his words, and I gasp. When was the last time anyone ever thought about what I wanted or what was good for me?
I swallow and fresh oxygen rushes through my body. “Okay.”
His thumb caresses my cheek. “Good girl.”
Then he leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. I close my eyes and bask in his gentleness.
Thankfully, he pulls back before I embarrass myself because I’m weak in the knees for him.
“Let’s do this.”
He walks me through the whole process, showing me how to hold the gun steady, how to aim, and how to shoot. Then he demonstrates how it’s done, and I watch him in amazement.
His posture, his stance, those tight muscles while he focuses on the target. Is this supposed to turn me on? It’s like this man has spiked my drinks and food with endorphins for all the ways he makes me feel alive.
Once his magazine is empty, he sidles up next to me. “Your turn.”
I blow out a loud breath.
“You’ve got this.”
My slightly shaky hands say otherwise, but I nod anyway. I step on the spot he showed me, with my feet shoulder-width apart, find the right grip with both of my hands and align the gun at the right level for the target. Or at least what I think is right. I pull the trigger, surprised when my finger hits the trigger break Matteo told me about, but I push past the pressure point. The gun jolts a little to the side as it fires, and I almost drop it. Well, now I know what to expect for next time.
I catch Matteo’s gaze, and he winks at me.
With renewed determination, I turn back to the target and try again, and again, until there are no more bullets left.
Matteo puts both of our guns on the desk and activates the target retrieval system. With his earmuffs around his neck, he steps next to me. I slide mine down too, and wait for the papers to reach us. My whole body is tingling, and I’m two seconds away from bouncing on my toes. This nervous energy that’s running through my veins from shooting a gun is definitely unexpected.
The papers reach us, and I stare at them.
“Well,” Matteo clears his throat and hands me the paper, “you hit it a couple times.”
“I did? I did.” I grin because I really did hit the paper . . . twice. The holes are so far on the outside they barely grazed it, but they’re there, and that’s all that matters to me.
Matteo’s eyes are on me, but I’m too giddy to directly look at him. I don’t want to see any disappointment in his eyes and ruin this moment for me.