She was about average height, around five foot six or so, and had the body that was perfect for what my mother liked to call ‘baby women.’ Or women that were made to have babies.
Curvy hips, large breasts that would definitely sustain a child, and shapely thighs that were made for a child to sit and cuddle on.
My mother was pediatric nurse and a doula, or a birthing coach, that had helped hundreds of women have babies over the last thirty years. She knew her stuff, and this was one of the things I’d heard her talk about constantly.
My father, brothers, and I had dealt with a lot of baby talk over the course of our lives, and now that my brother was an OB/GYN and my other brothers had children, I heard it even more. More than I wanted to.
“Are you going to help me with the bags, or are you going to watch while I get all of them?”
I looked up to find Audrey loaded down with her bags. The only thing remaining was a small backpack on the floor.
I walked forward and retrieved it. “You look like you have it.”
She huffed in annoyance.
“You’re such a typical asshole man.”
And then she walked out of the home without a backwards glance.
I started to chuckle as I followed her out.
Passing her, I walked to the truck and opened the door, tossing the backpack on the backseat before walking to the tailgate and lowering it.
The moment she reached me, I picked the bags up easily and set them down in the bed before closing the tailgate once again.
“You made that look easy,” she muttered. “I’ve got more since there’s room…”
“I’ll come with you,” I said, taking a wary glance around.
She sighed. “You do that.”
***
I, Tobias Roscoe Hail, known as Fender by my fellow asshole club members, was a dumbass.
Getting out of my truck, I walked to the front door with hurried steps.
I didn’t even get a knock in before the door was wrenched open and Audrey was staring at me with an accusing glare on her face. “What are you doing here?”
I held my grin in check. If she saw it, she’d narrow those fucking eyes and then my dick would start to fill with blood.
There was just something about the woman’s anger that really got my crank turning.
“I was here to ask if you wanted to go to a concealed carry class,” I said by way of explanation.
Her mouth pursed. “Why would I want to do that?”
I didn’t answer with the obvious, ‘you are a scared rabbit who won’t even leave your brother’s house’, but chose to say, “You need to learn to protect yourself,” instead. “And I’m holding the class.”
She grunted. “How much does it cost?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s free.”
It wasn’t free. I’d already paid for her, in a way. Technically, as an instructor, I wasn’t allowed to hold ‘free’ classes. Favoritism or some shit like that.
But she didn’t need to know that I shelled out a hundred and fifty bucks to hold her spot. That was my next argument I would try if she said no. But she surprised me by nodding. “Okay.”
Too easy.
Way too easy.
But I’d take it.
“Do you have a gun?” I asked.
She tilted her head like I’d just asked her a question in a foreign language.
Sure, I knew other languages, but I didn’t ask her anything too crazy.
“You’re serious?” she asked me.
I nodded once.
She grinned. “No, I don’t have one.”
I faltered. “Have you ever shot a gun?”
She shrugged.
I started to get a bad feeling about this.
“Come on,” I gestured. “Make sure you bring your ID.”
She did, picking up a purse that looked like it was five sizes too big for her body.
“You got a jacket?”
She stopped, turned around, and grabbed a large, pink, puffy monstrosity.
I held my tongue.
“Where is this at?” she asked.
I gestured to my truck. “My place.”
Her brows rose. “You have people at your house that shoot stuff?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She pursed her lips.
“Who are you?”
I grinned.
“Let’s go,” I said, conveniently not answering her.
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