“Well,” she hesitated, “I think so. Aren’t you?”
“I never thought about it.”
Feeling her heart pound, she placed her hands on her hips. “You never thought about it?”
He bit his lip. “Not really.”
“Fine,” she spat. “You’re thinking about it now. So, what is it? Are we friends or not?”
“I … suppose … so.”
He sounded reluctant. She glared at him.
He grinned. “I mean we’re not enemies. Right?”
Her shoulders lowered. “Right. So as your friend, I suggest we skip the shooting.”
“So I don’t embarrass myself.”
“You know guys,” she huffed. “You’re a guy, even if you’re an odd one. They can be brutal. And …”
“And what?”
She heaved a big sigh. “Look, nobody’s good at everything. There has to be something you suck at it. And shooting happens to be it. As we both know. We were both there. In Montana?”
He pulled her alongside him, following in the direction of his brothers. “Come on.”
Once they joined the group, she watched the men shoot, declined to shoot herself and felt nauseous when it was Clarke’s turn.
“How many do you have in there?” he asked the guy manning the trap.
He counted. “Ten,” he said.
“Keep ’em coming. Don’t stop at the two. Let’s get rid of ’em all.”
Is he a masochist? Does he have a shame kink?
He put on the glasses and muffs, positioned the rifle and shouted, “Pull!”
Two skeets flew through the air.
Bang. Bang.
Two more.
Bang. Bang.
And two more, and two more, and two more.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Before he shot the last one down, he held the rifle in one hand with the butt resting on his chest. Then he looked over at her and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
He did not. Just. Do. That.
Athos came up beside her. “They wanted him for the Olympic team but he couldn’t do it, not given the racing schedule.”
