I lift a shoulder to shrug off my strange relief. “If you’re writing a different script, then you won’t need to research for a police procedural.”
Her shiny lips part in protest. “I’m still writing that one too. Only it’s become a romantic comedy.”
She must have not heard a word I told her last week about how there’s nothing romantic about my work. “All right then. Did you hear what I said we’re doing next week?”
“Um …”
Of course she didn’t hear. She’s been like this the whole second half of class.
“We’re teaching self-defense.” I glance pointedly at her fancy pants. “Wear exercise clothes.”
“Right,” she says, and I assume she’s agreeing with me, though when her gaze lifts to the bright sky overhead, I wonder if she’s thinking about a different kind ofwrite.
I dismiss her with a nod toward the front parking lot. “Go home. Your roommates are waiting.”
Gemma blinks.
I huff. “Don’t forget to pick up lemonade.”
“Oh yeah.” She waves and takes off. “See you next week.”
I’m still watching Gemma trot away when Drew’s hulking presence joins me. There’s a flash of yellow when he swings his rag over the shoulder that’s positioned next to mine, so he must be watching her too.
“She’s going to forget the lemonade,” I tell him.
“I’m pretty sure that girl has the optimism to make her own,” he jokes. When I don’t respond, he gives a contemplative murmur. “She’s the real deal, Zellner. Not fake like Amber.”
I grunt my agreement. Gemma’s turning out to be even more dangerous than Amber with the way she romanticizes my job. Which is why I’m going to give Bree a call tonight.
I wouldn’t call this a date, but having a woman over to my shooting range is exactly what I would have chosen were I on the dating showThe Science of Love. I doubt the scientists could have picked anything better. Shooting firearms comes with an adrenaline rush that’s known for creating date-like feelings. I can only hope it works.
As for Bree, she’s got her long red hair pulled through the back of a ball cap into a ponytail, and I’m instantly reminded of my childhood crush on Scarlett from theG.I. Joemovie. Of course, a soldier would never carry a purple Ruger.
“Here.” I hand her goggles and shooting earmuffs that resemble headphones.
She makes a face, then slides them on. “And I’d thought I was going to look cool while learning to shoot.”
I grin down at the gun case she brought and place it on a makeshift table at one end of the shooting range behind my house. “If you’d wanted to look cool, you wouldn’t have bought a purple gun.”
She watches me the way a student should. She’s actually paying attention to what I’m trying to teach her and not daydreaming about how she would write this scene if we were in a movie or something. “I ordered it online and didn’t know it was purple.”
I click my tongue, and the gun makes a similar sound as I use my palm to slide it open. “Lame excuse.”
A grin stretches her voice tight when she responds with, “I thought I was ordering the pink one.”
Pausing, I lift my eyes to hers and shake my head. “If your gun was pink, you’d be on your own.”
This time I’m looking at her when she smiles. There’s a twinkle in her dark eyes. “Real men shoot pink guns.”
“That’s not a thing.” I remove her clip to load it with the bullets I’d luckily had on hand, since she didn’t think to bring any.
“I feel like that should be a saying on T-shirts and bumper stickers. Are you sure it’s not?”
“Yes.”
She’s easy to be with. Why don’t I ever choose easy? “Do you have any experience with firearms?”
“Nada.”
