by Marie James
He’s in the front of the class, acting as if neither of us exist by the time the other women start piling in through the door.
Several in the group look in our direction, appearing unhappy that we’re back, but I’m used to that sort of thing when I’m with Parker. She’s got the looks and the confidence that draw men in by the hundreds. Less confident women take issue with that, and it makes it difficult to make friends.
The woman she spoke with so easily last week ends up sitting a little closer to the front this week. As I look around the room, I see all the spots up front filled, whereas last week there were gaps between some of them.
We’re in the back, a location of my choosing because although I would normally sit up front in an educational setting, I needed to be as far away from that man as possible. I know I should take the class seriously, and I will as far as the safety aspect is concerned, but I don’t honestly see myself ever buying or carrying a firearm.
I don’t think I have it in me to actually pull the trigger, even if someone is threatening me.
“Jesus,” Parker mutters when he turns his back to the class and begins a crude drawing of a handgun. “Do you see how big his hands are? I bet he could palm my entire ass in just one of those things.”
“Shh,” one of the women sitting at the table in front of us hisses.
Parker cocks an eyebrow, but she snaps her mouth closed.
I don’t answer that I have in fact noticed how big his hands are because the woman shushed us, but because I have no clue why I’ve even noticed something like that in a man before.
Plus, his flexing forearms and big hands don’t discount his surly attitude.
All the good traits, including those pretty blue eyes lined with lashes women all over would be jealous of, don’t matter if he’s going to open his mouth and say something rude. Even one of those growly grunts I’ve heard from him more than once is too much, too irritating.
Now, if he could just stand there, maybe slowly turning in a circle every so often without making a sound, then I might consider getting excited like my best friend.
The women in the group, my best friend included, are enthralled as he draws arrows to each part on his drawing and explains what they’re called and their purpose.
“And what’s that near the tip?” Parker asks in a sweet voice.
He looks from her back to the board before using the side of his fist to erase it. “That’s just a smudge.”
Several of the women snicker, and I roll my eyes. Parker has a quality check she does on men, and Quinten not playing into her ditzy woman trap by wasting time explaining why a smudge was on the board like he’s talking to a child just rocketed him up a little further on her scale.
I swear if he calls someone ma’am or holds a door open, I’ll never hear the end of it from her.
***
“You’re going to need to find a handgun that feels comfortable in your hand. Grip is very important,” he explains thirty minutes later. “I want you to move around to the different stations to see which one feels the most comfortable. If none of them do, let me know and we can find something that does.”
We’ve moved to the actual gun range part of the building. It’s a long, narrow room sectioned off to make seven lanes.
“Not on the trigger,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear through the earmuffs we’re all required to wear in this room.
I push the flimsy glasses back up on my nose, knowing I look just as silly as everyone else in the room wearing these stupid things, but still feeling singled out each time he looks in my direction. Of course, he has on super cool looking glasses and sleek black earmuffs, whereas we’re all wearing either bright orange or bright green ones, looking like we’re getting ready to go into the woods to hunt for food.
I scowl at Parker when she tries to hand me the gun.
“Place it down on the table in front of you. Do not hand over a gun to someone else. Do not move a firearm from one lane to another. When we’re in here, I will do that for you. When at the gun range, the range officer will do that.”
Obediently, Parker lays the black gun down on the little table at the head of the lane we’ve been assigned, and I just look down at the thing. Never in my life have I held a gun. Not a real one anyway, and I don’t think this is going to have the same feel of the Nerf power blaster I used once at a party in college.
“So hot,” Parker mutters. “Look at his forearms. Damn, I could just take a bite out of that man.”
Chapter 5
Quinten
“Here,” I tell Rachel. “Now you try it.”
I place the Springfield XD back on the table at the head of the lane and take a step back.
“Good, now position your hands like this.” I show her with my empty hands how to stack them around the grip.
“Like this?” She moves her fingers, but they’re still in the wrong position.
“Like this.” I turn to the side so she can see my hands better. I’m not going to touch her, and I don’t get the vibe that she even wants that.
“Like those jeans should be illegal. Do you see his ass, Hayden? That man does squats.”
“Both thumbs pointing forward like this,” I say while trying to ignore Parker Maxwell.
There are two things most newbies in a gun range don’t realize. One being they talk several levels louder because their own hearing is muffled. Two, any person that knows their way around a weapon is going to wear a pair of electronic compression earmuffs. That means I can hear what everyone around the room is saying even though they can’t hear each other unless they speak louder. Hayden’s friend Parker is practically yelling at this point.
“Better,” I tell Rachel. “This seems a little big. Is it comfortable? Nope, finger off the trigger.”
“Maybe something a little smaller?” She scrunches her nose as she places the weapon back down on the carpet-covered table.
“There’s a Ruger at lane four that may be a better fit. Go try it out.”
I step back even further as she heads in that direction.
The women are excited. Some are apprehensive, never having touched a gun before and some are anxious to load up and send some shit down the lane. One woman, Gayle, I’m going to have to ask Wren about because she seems like she’s ready to take someone down at the knees, and there may also be a little hint of vigilante justice in her eyes.
“Strong thighs. I bet that man could go for hours without tiring. His feet. Geez, what are they like, a size thirteen?”
Fifteen, but who honestly cares?
I could tell Parker that I can hear every word she’s saying, but where’s the fun in that?
“How are we doing over here?” I ask as I approach the pair.
Parker is busy ogling me, and Hayden is frowning down at the Glock 43/42 like it’s personally set out to ruin her week.
“How does it feel in your hand?” I ask when she doesn’t answer.
“She hasn’t picked it up yet,” Parker explains, her eyes trailing up and down my body unabashedly.
I focus all of my attention on Hayden. “Are you afraid of it?”
“No,” she answers swiftly.
“Next week we’re going to be shooting, so you’ll need to know which one is most comfortable.” I pick it up and hold it in my hands. I could never use a gun this small. “Hold it like this.”
I demonstrate the proper hold even though my hand is much too big to do it the right way.
“Now you try.”
I place it back on the table and take a step back.
“Excuse me,” I mutter when I bump into Parker.
“My pleasure. I mean sorry.” Parker bites the corner of her lip, and I’m sure any man looking for her kind of trouble would find it appealing, but it doesn’t faze me.
“Go ahead.”
Hayden mutters something about watching TV as she reaches for the Glock.
“Like this,” I say when she finally has it in her hands. I lif
t my hands and show her the proper grip just like I did for Rachel a few minutes ago.
“It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” she says before putting it back down.
“It’s less than a pound and a half, but it will weigh a little more when it’s loaded. Maybe the Sig Sauer P238 would be better? There’s one down in lane six. Go check it out.” I step out of the way as Parker drags Hayden to the other end of the room, keeping an eye on her as she approaches lane six. She’s still not enthusiastic, but she picks it up, turning it from side to side rather than just glaring at the thing like it personally offended her like she did in lane one when I first approached her.
“What size bullets does this one take?” one of the other women asks.
“Caliber,” I correct. “This one and the Glock in lane one use 9mm rounds.”
“I want something with a lot of power,” Gayle says from lane three.
I head over and explain the difference in ammunition to Gayle but keep my eye on Hayden. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be here. It’s also evident that her friend is beginning to frustrate her with all of her sexualized comments about me. At the same time, I can tell she doesn’t care that I’m even around.
I don’t notice Hayden throwing sly glances my way or looking at me from under her eyelashes. She seems to have a chip on her shoulder about something, and it makes me wonder if there’s more going on in her life than a house break-in. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a serious violation of someone’s life, but she doesn’t seem too enthusiastic about taking back that power and control of her safety.
I regret not looking into her more and reading her entire file, but then I have to remind myself that I’m here to teach a class, not to situate myself into her life beyond these concrete walls.
“You’re not Dirty Harry,” I tell Gayle when she mimics a fast draw from the table, making popping noise with her mouth. “Finger off the trigger unless you plan to shoot. If you do that while it is loaded, then you’re sure to hurt yourself or someone else.”
“No fun,” she grumbles, but she sets the gun back down.
Once everyone has made their way around the room and have all nodded—except for Hayden, of course—when I asked if they found the one they want to start with, I guide them back to the classroom.
“Next week we’re going to start practicing on loading and unloading as well as a short session on shooting,” I begin. “I don’t want anyone to go out and buy a gun until after you’ve shot more than one. You won’t know what you’re most comfortable with until you fire a couple of them. Targets as well as the ammunition is provided, so you don’t have to worry about bringing anything extra to class.”
There’s an air of excitement spreading through the room as I continue to discuss the plans for next week, but Hayden has her eyes focused on her fingers, messing with her cuticles as I speak. If Wren and Deacon could see how unmotivated she is to learn and interact, maybe they wouldn’t have made such a big deal about her being in this class.
“Any questions?”
Eyes dart all around the room as the women wait for someone else to speak up. I hate that some of them have gone through things in their lives that make them uncomfortable to ask a question.
“Anything?”
“Will we have gun powder on us when we leave?” Gayle asks.
“You will have lead particles on you, but there’s D-Lead soap in the bathroom to wash your hands after we’re done. Any other questions?”
“What about our clothes?” Gayle asks.
Hayden looks toward her, forehead scrunched between her eyes.
“Yes, particles will be on your clothing. Just wash as normal.”
“But like, what if we get stopped by the cops and they test our arms and clothing?”
I tilt my head to the side, knowing I need to speak with Wren sooner rather than later about this woman.
“I’m not following. Police don’t just randomly test you during a routine traffic stop.”
Too many women in this group are blinking up at me as if they have the same questions in their own head, and it makes me reconsider the benefit of this group. Are we training them to defend themselves or hurt someone who hurt them?
“What if I’m questioned?” Gayle continues. “You guys keep a log of when I’m here and for how long, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Ladies,” Parker says with a humor-filled tone. “It ruins your alibi if you have to ask for an alibi.”
Hayden rolls her lips between her teeth, and I know she’s trying not to smile. Her eyes sparkle and damn if it isn’t a good look on her. Does it make me a misogynist asshole to think that she should do it more often? I guess I actually want her to find more reasons in her life to smile.
“Any other questions?” They shake their heads. “See you ladies next week.”
They all move to stand as I gather my things from the table at the front of the room.
“Hayden can you hold back?”
Her friend smiles whereas Hayden has lost the glow of happiness she had a moment ago. I can admit she’s even pretty when she frowns.
“I can see if they have a Walther PPK if you want to test the grip before you leave.”
“The last one I had was good,” she says.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Anything else?”
“No,” I answer.
“We’re going out for drinks,” Parker interjects. “Would you like to join us?”
I don’t miss the slight shake of Hayden’s head, but even if I were in the mood to get her riled up, I wouldn’t accept the offer. I have plans with Jude tonight that include a six-pack of beer and a hockey game on television. Being around fifteen women for the last two hours has managed to drain me.
“I have plans,” I tell her. “But maybe another time.”
“Sure thing,” Parker says, running her hand down my arm in a friendly gesture. Suddenly, I realize I was wrong about Hayden and her lack of attention in my direction because her eyes flare a little at the sight of her friend’s hand on my arm.
“You ladies be safe,” I say as I step away from the touch.
Parker assures me they will be, and Hayden just turns around and walks out of the classroom without saying a word.
Chapter 6
Hayden
“Wanna join us for drinks?” I mimic sarcastically in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like the one Parker used just a few minutes ago when we were standing in front of that man.
“Are you jealous? If you want to flirt with him, I’ll step back, but the man is fine. If you don’t go after him, then I’m going to,” she warns.
“He’s not a painting at an auction, Parker. Maybe the man isn’t interested in either of us.”
“That’s not a no or a go ahead and take your shot, Parker,” she says with a wide smile. I get the feeling she’s up to something, and I’m idiotically playing right into the middle of whatever it is.
“Do we have to go for drinks? We could just grab a bottle of wine and hang out at your apartment for a while,” I say, changing the subject as quickly as I can. It won’t distract her for long, but it will divert her attention long enough that I can think of how I want to respond.
I hate wine, but I hate the idea of going home alone again even worse. I never thought my quaint little house would give me the creeps, but it hasn’t felt like home since the night it was broken into. I shudder at the realization of what could’ve happened to me had I not stayed late at work that evening.
“Drinks,” Parker insists. “You need to live a little. You’ll never find a man if you stay holed up at home all the time.”
“I’m not looking for a man,” I remind her. “And I suggested your place not mine. That’s a change of scenery for me. I have no interest in a bar.”
And it’s true. She always comes to my place because before the break-in, I never wanted to leave. I was comfortable in my space. I hate that someone took that from me.
“I’m not afraid to be around people. You make me sound agoraphobic. I don’t like loud places, especially ones where people are drinking and acting like idiots.”
“You’ve been going to the wrong places.”
“I’ve been going to the places you drag me to,” I remind her.
She gives me a quick smile and a simple shake of her head as if I’m acting ridiculous. I know there are lots of people like me in the world. Not wanting to be in a crowd or having to yell over loud music isn’t a concept I created.
“I read reviews online about this little place down the street. You may find that you like it. Come on.”
Begrudgingly, I follow her to the car. The gun range is somewhat isolated on the edge of town, so walking isn’t an option. It probably wouldn’t be safe either.
“Oh, look!” Parker beams with her finger pointing to the front of the bar as we get out of the car. “It’s half-priced drinks for ladies’ night, so that means mostly women.”
Maybe she thinks I’m an idiot, but I’m well aware that ladies’ night means the men come out in full force in hopes of flirting with the women trying to get a discounted drink. We’ve been down this road before.
I don’t want to ruin her fun, so I plaster the best fake smile I can manage and follow her inside.
The place is small, and thankfully the music isn’t playing very loudly. I’d say the ratio of men to women is about equal, and although most people are talking and having a good time in small groups, several heads turn in our direction when we step over the threshold.
This is another thing I’m used to. Parker turns heads with her tall, svelte frame, long blond hair, and pouty lips, and if she doesn’t catch someone’s attention with all of that, they’re a goner once they look into her stormy-gray eyes.
“I like this place already,” she says with a wide smile as we cross the room and head to the bar. “Do you want a beer?”
I tilt my head and roll me eyes.
“Two martinis,” she tells the bartender, ordering our preferred drinks before turning back to look at me. “I’m only having one, but feel free to cut loose.”