“I’m not sure about this,” I say, wishing my voice wasn’t so goddamned breathy, even if the words are true.
I’m not sure about any of this.
About his gun in my hands.
About his arms around me.
About the way my heart is racing inside my chest.
His mouth brushes my neck and I shiver.
“We should’ve done this a long time ago,” he says, voice husky.
“Wha… We… Wha… What?!” I gasp out finally.
My brain has officially stopped working.
“Shooting lessons,” he clarifies.
Right. Shooting lessons. What did you think he was talking about, lunatic?
I swear, he’s laughing under his breath as he drops his arms and steps away from me. Pushing a button on the side of the booth, he activates an overhead pulley to bring the hanging paper target closer, until it’s less than ten feet away.
I glance at him, somewhat offended. “Really? I can almost lick the bullseye from here.”
He smirks and pushes a button to move it farther out, until it’s about fifteen feet away. “Better?”
“Slightly less insulting, yes.”
He moves in close again, eyes on mine. “Focus on the target.”
I turn my head back, pulse pounding.
“Take aim.”
I narrow my eyes down the sight of the gun, focusing on the tiny red circle at the center of the paper.
“Don’t forget to breathe, West.” He chuckles. “If you pass out from lack of oxygen before you get off a single shot, the bad guys win. Got it?”
I force a breath into my lungs. “Got it,” I mutter.
“Don’t forget—”
“You don’t have to lecture me!” I cut him off. “How hard can it be to hit the damn thing?”
He’s silent, but I can almost feel waves of amusement rolling off him into the air around us.
Whatever. I’ve so got this.
I steady my arms in preparation for the recoil, cock my head a tiny bit to the left, and pull the trigger, wincing in anticipation of the loud bang.
Except… it never comes.
No bang. No bullet. No recoil.
Fine. I so don’t got this.
“What the…?”
Nate leans in until I feel his breath on my earlobe. “As I was saying before,” he murmurs. “Don’t forget the safety.”
I shoot a glare in his direction, nearly bumping noses with him in the process. Damn, he’s close. My heartbeat picks up speed again when I see his eyes are on my mouth.
“I knew that,” I snap, hoping my bitchy tone will cover the fact that I’m about two seconds from mashing my lips against his.
Down, girl.
“Uh huh,” he says, leaning back to give me room. Then, he grins. A real, genuine grin, with teeth and everything. The sight makes about three trillion butterflies burst into flight in my gut.
“I… uh…” I swallow hard, trying to convince myself to look away before I start to drool. “I…”
The grin widens. “You gonna shoot me or the target, West?”
I pivot swiftly so he won’t see the blush creeping across my cheeks. Adjusting my stance once more, I lift the gun back to eye level, lock my arms, and adjust my grip.
This time… this time I’ve totally got this. I’ll show him.
Him and his stupid, sexy, grinning mouth. And biceps. And dear god, those leg muscles…
Focus!
I swallow, move my thumb along the barrel of the gun like Nate showed me earlier, and grin victoriously when I find the small raised lever.
“Ha! Found it.”
“West, you—”
“Shh! I’m concentrating. You don’t need to baby me, Nate.”
An amused sound rattles in his throat. “Whatever you say.”
I ignore him, mouth twisted in a smug smile as I press the button to release the safety.
…Which makes it really freaking embarrassing when the magazine drops out the bottom of the gun and clatters to the cement floor.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I didn’t hit the safety at all. I hit the clip-release button.
“Frack!” I yell, stomping one bare foot against the cement. I yank the shooting glasses from my eyes and toss them onto the booth.