She chuckles. “Like you’ve ever shot a pink gun before.”
I snort. “Only purple.”
She bites her lip. Probably to hold back laughter. “This I gotta hear.”
I pause, focusing on the gun and buying time to decide how I should respond. I hadn’t meant to bring up Bree. Too late now. “The last lesson I gave was to a woman with a purple gun.” I slowly lift my eyes to meet Gemma’s gaze. It’s as calm as the sea before a storm.
“Your date?” she asks sweetly, as if my answer to this question won’t change everything between us.
The storm is inside my chest. “I never called it that.”
“Isthisa date?”
As much as I hate lying, the truth is that she’s more honest than I am. She’s more real. More transparent. Forcing me to be truthful with myself. “Yes.” Even though I’m taking the risk of calling this a date, I’m careful not to touch her as I hand her goggles and earplugs.
She puts on the goggles and lifts her chin in triumph, not caring if she looks goofy. Though the twinkle in her eye tells me she might even be enjoying this goofiness as much as she did with Erin’s sneakers. “Good.”
What have I gotten myself into?
She smiles and holds out her hands for the shotgun. She’s so confident, I picture her in a SWAT uniform, leading her team into battle. It scares me a little. For her and also for me.
I choose to trust her and hold the weapon out for her, barrel pointing downrange. “It’s heavy.”
The weight doesn’t make her arms droop. She’s stronger than I’ve given her credit for, as always.
“Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” I put on my own protective equipment.
“I know.”
Oh yeah, we’ve had the trigger guard talk. “Okay. Tuck the stock against the inside of your shoulder.”
She follows my directions like a pro. I advise on how to aim while I move behind her to help her position the shotgun. I angle my feet so I can step in and—
A gun report rocks me back on my heels. My heart hammers in my chest. I look at the spray of holes in the target. Bull’s-eye. She’s done this before.
Gemma lowers the gun’s barrel and spins to flash a triumphant grin. At my close proximity, she jolts away and holds a hand to her heart. “Oh no. You wanted to help me.”
My mouth hangs open. It wasn’t that I wanted to help her … Okay, I wanted to help her. “I thought you’d need help.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I ruined our romantic moment.”
I wouldn’t say ruined, though her talking about it definitely diminishes the spontaneity.
She reaches for my forearm as if to soothe my hurt feelings. The sizzle of her touch is anything but soothing.
“It’s like onSwiss Family Robinsonwhen Roberta pretended not to know how to shoot so Fritz would put his arms around her. Then when Ernst showed up, she fired the weapon expertly to keep him from holding her. I didn’t mean to treat you like Ernst when you’re a Fritz.”
I didn’t follow any of that. All I remember from watchingSwiss Family Robinsonin elementary school was the pirates and the tiger. They made the movie cool. As for Gemma’s claim that she ruined our romantic moment? “It’s okay. You’re a good shot. I’ll have to figure out another way to put my arms around you.”
Her shoulders relax and her smile turns wistful. “That’s a great line.”
A line is about trying to reel someone in. I’ve been trying all this time to set Gemma free. “It wasn’t a line.”
Her steady gaze tells me she knows. “That’s what makes it great.”
“Yeah, well …” I can handle gunfire from a suspect, but I am totally out of my element here. “Did you learn to shoot for a movie you were in?”
“Writing research.”
