She does smile then, her eyes twinkling with pride, before she leaves them to play a video game in the corner.
“You’re up next.” He hands Addison a shotgun.
“Do I have to shoot my dinner tonight?” she jokes.
“Yep, and then you gotta make sausage out of it by yourself.”
The shotgun gives her a wider berth of accuracy, even if the positioning is tricky. He gets behind her to lift her arm and tugher shoulders back. All easy enough, except for the part where she smells so damn good. All they got is old slivers of green soap at the house, but he may as well be in a Disney movie on a summer day when that scent wafts up his nose.
“Whenever you’re ready,” his words come out weird and strangled like he forgot how to speak.
There’s a hint of a smirk on her lips that he can see from the corner of his eye. It vanishes when she pulls the trigger, and the kickback pushes her into him.
He should have given her some space. He’s crowding her. Why didn’t he move away?
Reflex lands the palm of his hand on her hip to brace. He freezes at the slightly intimate contact, unsure of what to do or say. He missed his window of opportunity to back up without making it weird. Now he’s stuck, plastered to her without an exit strategy.
Can’t think of anything except how soft her shirt is where he’s touching her and the warmth seeping through the fabric. This isn’t appropriate, but here they stand, motionless as if time stopped and welded their options shut.
The machine in the background whizzes and whirls, Addison’s breathing grows faster, and her breasts heave in his periphery. Alarm bells go off in his head as his dick begins to perk up, betraying him.
Panic flares, and he forces himself backward. He doesn’t look where he’s stepping and trips on a box, letting out a squeak before landing square on his ass.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” he groans, lying there like this is his permanent resting place.
“Are you gonna get up?”
“Nope,” he deadpans.
She smiles, holding out a hand and helping him to his feet.
He’s never blushed so hard in his life. His brain imploded the moment her ass pushed against his crotch and hasn’t recovered yet.
“It’s got some thrust to it.” She palms the shotgun with a straight face that leaves him uncertain if she’s fucking with him or not. She doesn’t seem the type to tease, but the way she’s stroking the barrel with her fist can’t be an accident. Then, her neutral stare cracks while her whole face glitters with mischief, blowing her cover.
“Shit,” he scowls.
Apparently, she’s exactly the type to tease, and he just didn’t realize it until now.
It’s only then that they become aware of Emma staring at them from across the room. Algebra may as well be floating above her head like she’s trying to figure out a math puzzle.
He’s overcome by the feeling of being caught, even though they hadn’t done anything wrong. He was clumsy, and she helped him up. That’s all, but he still fidgets without reason.
Emma points to the screen exploding in fireworks. “I got all the ducks.”
* * *
“You’re good with her,” Addison finds him in the kitchen once Emma is asleep.
“I’m not. She was crying back there ‘cause I’m an asshole.”
“She knows the difference between someone who’s angry with her and someone trying to help. She isn’t used to this yet, but she will be. Going easy on her won’t save her life later.” She grabs a potato chip from his offered bag. “Momma, he said I did a good job.It was all she could talk about tonight. It took me forever to get her to sleep. You’re better at this than you think.”
He figured Emma tolerated him at best or was afraid of him at worst, so it’s surprising that she values his opinion at all.
“She’ll be a good shot soon. So will you.” He deflects, remembering how easily Addison nailed the headshots after only a few tries. “Already are.”
