Page 7 of Meet Me on Greenwood

I paused as my eye went to two half-filled wine glasses, one of which had lipstick in a shade of fuchsia I wouldn’t be caught dead in. "Andre?" I called again, but the only sounds were muffled, all coming from the bedroom. My hand paused on the door handle. Once I turned it, there was no going back from this moment, that I knew.

As if in a dream, I pushed the door open, my eyes darting to a palm-colored woman with long curly tresses, bowed against the bed. Her legs were held in the air, his bald head the only feature visible as he lapped his way between them. The woman was moaning, not like a woman who was experiencing pleasure, but like a woman who wanted to make her man believe he was doing something. Andre had never gone down on me. To be fair, I’d never wanted it. If you can’t satisfy a woman with your dick, you sure can’t with your tongue.

I wasn’t sure what I was feeling in the moment. Not shock, not sadness. I just knew I couldn’t quiet the ringing in my ears and the blur of my vision as time began to slow. The sweetness of the wine filled my nostrils, as if they were drenched in it. My stomach turned.

I proceeded into the room past them towards the closet. That was when the woman saw me, I guess, because she screamed.

"Andre! You said she never leaves the office before nine."

There was a rustle of sheets as I turned the dial of the safe.

"Gema, honey! This is not what it looks like!" he called, sheets rustling.

The dial gave a satisfying click, and I opened the safe and emptied it of all its contents: a Glock 19/42, a Smith & Wesson M& P Shield, and a new Sako bolt-action rifle, I’d yet to practice with. I kept that Smith & Wesson in my hands and slung the bag filled with the others over my shoulder.

As I exited the closet, Andre, who’d barely gotten his boxers, leveled his gaze on the bag on my shoulder and the pistol in my hand. He held his hands up. "What are you doing?"

I rolled my eyes, racking the slide, chambering a round. The sound filled the room. Andre flinched as if he'd been struck. The woman on the floor went very still, and for one long second nobody in that room breathed, including—I realized distantly—me.

"What I should have done the first night we were together," I said.

He backed away, trying to bolt but tumbled over the woman who was right behind him. Realizing he wasn’t going to get away, he pointed to the dazed woman on the floor. "I swear I didn’t want to. She’s my intern and she seduced me. She—"

I holstered the gun in my back pocket. "I came to get my guns because I have shooting practice tonight. But I think we both know that whatever we had between us is over now."

"Over?"

I could have laughed. He looked genuinely confused. "You had your tongue in her pussy and I’m sure you were ready to dip your dick in too if I hadn’t interrupted. That means we are over. I don’t share my body with tramps."

That was enough to irritate the woman on the floor. She stood tall facing me, and to my annoyance her breasts stayed exactly where they should, her sand-colored nipples the picture of youth. "Now, who are you calling a tramp?"

My mouth quirked. "I’m not talking about you." My eyes met Andre's. "I’m talking about him. Are you ready to take a bullet for him, honey, because he was willing to let you catch one."

Her mouth fell open as the realization of that settled on her before I walked out. "Lose my number, Andre." I was almost out of the loft when my eye caught sight of the espresso maker. Before I could talk myself out of it, I unhooked the machine and hoisted it with both hands out the door. I felt nothing for this man, but I’d be damned if I left the coffee maker.

The rifle kicked much harder than I expected, and I missed the target completely. I cursed, angry at what a disaster the day had been. The range was the only place nearby I could think of to release my frustration, and it wasn’t working.

One of the regular trainers came by my stall. "You’re flinching before you fire," he said, pulling down his baseball cap. "You have to own the gun; don’t let it own you."

"Well, right now it’s kicking my ass."

The shooting range was close to my office and Maise's place, and I liked it because it was friendly to women, giving us our own spaces to shoot without being harassed. The only men allowed in this corner were the trainers, and I’d had good experiences with them. They were incredibly helpful and supportive, even when my aim was abysmal.

"I can tell," he said. "Man troubles?"

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. So much for encouraging words.

"Not everyone gets upset over men, you know. All of you are so egocentric," I turned back and pulled the trigger again, imagining General Bradley as the target, and missed the board entirely. I groaned, setting down the rifle and picking up my pistol. This gun I knew. It felt comfortable, like a glove made just for me. I squared my stance, exhaled, and released three shots in a tight cluster, hitting the target dead on.

The trainer whistled from behind me. "I’d hate to be whoever you are imagining as your target."

I turned to him and frowned. "How do you know I wasn’t imagining you?"

He cleared his throat as his face reddened. I’d meant it as a jab, but somehow it came off like a flirtation.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, saving me from further humiliation. I pulled it out to see Maise’s name and immediately sent it to voicemail. After two more calls, I finally answered.

"I’m at the range," I said.