“Have you ever shot a gun before?” Her lack of an immediate answer is answer enough. She just stares at me momentarily as she swallows, noticeably looking like a deer caught in the headlights. I continue before she can recover. “Look, you’ve got to get used to the sound of them if we’re going out on a mission, so it’s easier like this rather than by surprise outside the city’s walls. C’mon. It’s not as scary as you think. I’ll show you.”
She nods cautiously before following me over to where Sarge has a table set up with ear protection and a Glock resting there for our use. I’m not allowed to bring mine on base, so he’s let me use his gun the few times he has granted me access to the range. This special privilege seems to be his way of thanking me for giving him information in quid pro quo fashion.
Beaux’s nerves start to show as she stands there fidgeting while I check the weapon for safety measures. I know from experience with having a sister that if I feed into her fears, it will most likely only make them worse, so I don’t glance at Beaux when I hand her the electronic ear protection. “Put these on.”
The fact that she does as she’s told without arguing tells me she really is nervous about the whole setup. I remove the gun from the table, then glance over to where Sarge is gearing up to shoot some targets. When I look back to Beaux, I motion with my index finger for her to follow me. Despite the hesitant look on her face and the fact that her eyes keep flickering down to where I hold the weapon at my side, she obliges without any attempts at resistance.
“Put your feet here,” I instruct as I put my hands on her shoulders and turn them square with the target on the opposite end of the lane where we stand. So much for ignoring the desire to touch her. I guess I didn’t think through this part of my plan very well; although I don’t want to touch the woman, I’m going to have to do just that in order to teach her to shoot. Trying to put a bit of distance between us so that I can find my equilibrium again, I use my foot to kick hers a little farther apart into a wider stance. She turns to look at me, but I point to where the target is. “That’s where you’re aiming. I’m going to stand behind you and help you hold the gun the first few times so the recoil doesn’t surprise you.”
If she responds, I miss it, because I’ve stepped up against her, and the temptation of her body flanking mine, my front to her back, distracts me momentarily. I can feel the heat of her body, feel that electric jolt of chemistry between us ten times stronger than when it was just my hands, but I shove the thought away as quickly as possible.
“Put your arms in front of you like you’re firing,” I instruct, and she complies, lifting her arms in front of her at chest height with her palms together. I lift my own to mimic her, but I have the Glock in my left hand.
My chest is pressed against her back, my chin brushing just over the crown of her head so that the scent of her shampoo fills my head, and my arms frame hers so that we are literally touching in every possible way. And sure, my mind is focused on the task at hand, but in the silence from the headphones, everything my senses capture is magnified: her perfume, the warm breeze blowing so that her hair tickles my cheek, the feeling of her back expanding as she takes in a fortifying breath for the first time since we’ve been touching. And there’s something about my touch causing her to hold her breath that takes hold of me and doesn’t let go.
I lower my mouth to her ear so that the electronics can pick up my voice. “I want you to replace my hands on the gun.” She hesitates momentarily. “C’mon, rook. Take it from me,” I encourage her.