Give Me a Shot

Chapter Eleven Jess

Chapter Eleven

Jess

The next day, after pulling into the very busy parking lot at the Folk School, Jess got out of her fresh-smelling, nicely running car and grabbed her compound crossbow and gear bag. She’d checked the schedule before leaving and saw that there was a blacksmithing class that morning, but it was being taught by Rick, the other instructor, not Mo. All the better because she was there to get out of her head a bit and wouldn’t have been able to do that with him around. She couldn’t help but glance through the open door of the smithy as she passed it. Her heart stopped beating and her stomach dropped.

There was just enough space between two students for her to have a clear view of Mo at the front of the room, standing beside one of the fire-things, the flames in it roaring, Mo holding the end of a thin piece of metal he was heating up. He removed it, turning to take it to an anvil. Jess took a half step, craning her neck to see what it was, but couldn’t. Mo brought his hammer down, and Jess no longer cared about the metal. His forearms, corded and veined, shone as they flexed with his effort. Her breath caught. His forearms had drawn her attention when he’d picked her up, but this was an entirely different category of sexy. She caught a glimpse of his biceps straining against his dark green T-shirt and the intensity of the look on his face, the control…Her heart snapped into overdrive as she gasped.

Go.

She swiveled quickly—too quickly—and rushed out to the range, set up a target, and got suited up. With shaky hands, she pulled her hair into a high ponytail.

Stop it, stop it. That’s exactly what you’re not supposed to be thinking about right now.

She stretched her hands.

Time to get out of my head.

—

She needed a break after the first twenty minutes, which greatly irritated her. Even with the reduced need for effort due to the construction of the bow, her arms and shoulders were screaming. As she paced back and forth, she windmilled them and stretched her neck from side to side, pushing the Mo images out of her head. She thought about stopping but hadn’t been there long enough to make the drive worth it.

At least the pain has me more in my body than in my head.

After picking up the bow again and loading it, she grimaced but decided the pain wasn’t going to stop her. She had targets to kill.

—

Another thirty minutes later, with the pain between her shoulder blades adding to the cacophony in her arms, she decided that was enough. Emotionally, she felt eons better, and a hot shower once she got home would help physically. Passing the smithy, she glanced in, and Mo was still there, talking to a young woman with a backpack on. He glanced up, and his initial expression of surprise was replaced with a smile. He waved. Jess waved back. The young woman looked over her shoulder at Jess, then quickly back at Mo and started heading toward the exit.

Should I go talk to him?

He looked down, then back up at her with a shy smile.

The reflex to just go to her car popped up, to escape from unruly emotions that could lead to places where her logic had no footing. But she was tired of doing that, tired of clinging to logic and stifling what she felt. She wanted to simply let go, to coast, to fall into the thought that was echoing in her head.

Fucking ride the unicorn.

She smothered a chuckle at Stephanie’s words and walked into the smithy.

“Hi,” she said when she was close enough for him to hear her.

“Hi.”

“Am I bothering you? Do you have another class?”

Mo shook his head and took a deep breath.

“All done. And you never bother me,” he said quietly.

“Oh,” she said as her cheeks got warm. She felt silly about getting shy like that, and she looked away for a second. He went over to a large, high table, picked up a duffel bag from underneath, and started putting his things away. She could justify staying if she was being helpful to him. She glanced around the room.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” she asked.

“Um, thanks,” he said. “I always sweep after.”

She noticed the broom in the corner and put her things on a low bench near the door.

“How’s Madison?” she asked as she started sweeping.

He smiled.

“She’s good, thanks for asking. With her uncle today.”

“You have a brother?” she asked.

He tilted his head to one side and pressed his lips together like he was hiding a laugh.

“Four,” he said.

Jess stopped sweeping and gawked at him.

“There’s five of you out in the world?” she asked.

Mo chuckled.

“Not exactly,” he said, giving her a full smile. “I’m the weirdo of the bunch.”

She narrowed her eyes and leaned into the broom a little.

“I thought we talked about the fact that I’m not going to listen to you calling yourself weird,” she said.

He blushed deep. Even the tips of his ears were tinged with red. He stopped wiping down the anvil and raised his hands in surrender.

“We did,” he said gruffly. “Sorry.” He shot her that shy kid smile, and her heart skipped a beat. Again, that urge to flee cropped up.

No.

She walked over to him and leaned the broom against the table. Putting her hands on her hips, she cocked her head to one side, observing him.

“You look like I’m in trouble,” he said, starting to clean the anvil again.

Jess bunched her lips to the side. She thought about making a joke, maybe even the easy one about getting in trouble with the teacher. But she recognized what that urge was—another way to try to hide, to cover up her fear of leaning into her attraction to him.

You’re not afraid on the range, not afraid in competitions. What the hell are you doing right now?

“I’m not attracted to weird people, Mo,” she said, holding his gaze. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t going to let whatever it decided to do stray her from her course. “So that means you’re not weird,” she said. “You’re quiet, reserved. You help people even if it costs you sometimes. You seem…” She hesitated, concerned that what she wanted to say next might offend him in some way. A buzzing charge of anxiety made her throat tighten. She cleared it. “You seem like a sensitive guy. I like that about you.”

He’d stopped wiping and stood straight.

“You do?” he asked, his neck and cheeks tingeing pink again.

He didn’t seem angry or offended. More like astonished.

“Of course.” She sighed. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I get the impression that you should hear what I honestly think. You deserve to.”

“Oh…” he said softly. “Okay.”

She stepped closer to him, only the anvil between them. Resting her fingertips on it, she looked into his eyes.

“You’re considerate,” she said. “You’re selective with your words, so when you do really speak it’s like a breath of fresh air.”

They were close enough that she could tell that he was breathing faster, as she was.

“And your voice.” She cleared her throat. “It’s…um…” She did not care for the shakiness in her hands. She rested them fully on the anvil so they would stop.

“It’s?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Your voice is delicious. It makes me weak at the knees.”

Mo searched her eyes.

“You’re confident. Determined,” he said suddenly. “And your hair. It’s sable. I love it, especially in a ponytail.”

She resisted the urge to bring the end of the ponytail over her shoulder. She opened her mouth to thank him, but he wasn’t finished.

“You, um, you named it, actually. My weir—what makes me a little different.” He looked down and let out a stream of air before looking at her again. “I’m an HSP, a Highly Sensitive Person. What it essentially means is that my central nervous system is turned up higher than most people’s. My empathy—which you got, and you named …It flipped my world upside down that you noticed. And you don’t seem to think that it’s a bad thing.”

She tucked that away to look into later, to learn more about what a Highly Sensitive Person was. At the moment she needed to do something else. She laid a hand on his chest. “It’s not,” she whispered. “Come here.”

He leaned down and caught her lips with his. For a moment, Jess didn’t know who she was or where she was. All that existed were Mo’s lips on hers, the hand he’d curled around her own resting on his chest. She felt tingly and on fire and like her legs were going to give out any second. As he opened his mouth to hers, she became enraged at the anvil separating her from him. Without breaking the kiss, she wound around it. He let out a deep moan as she pressed herself up against him. His other hand went around her waist to bring her closer, even though that was impossible. She slid her free hand up his arm, bumping over the expansive muscles, along his shoulder and up the back of his neck. She scratched her nails on his scalp as she threaded her hand into his hair. His deep groan reverberated through her. He pulled back a little to whisper to her.

“May I pick you up?” he panted.

She nodded, breathing heavily as she slid her other hand up to weave her fingers together at the nape of his neck. He bent his knees, slid his hands under her thighs, and lifted. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her over to the high table and sat her down at the edge. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, looking wild and much darker, then his lips were back on hers. It was a much better position, she was higher, so he didn’t have to bend as much. She kept her legs locked around his waist and savored his groan as she scratched a hand down his chest. She wanted to pull at his shirt, get rid of it, but there was a loud bang, and they jumped, pulling their lips apart. She looked over her shoulder and saw the broom on the ground. She looked back at him, her heart racing.

“What’s happening?” he asked, his breath ragged.

“I’m not totally sure,” she panted.

“You don’t want to,” he said, like he was certain she was going to say she didn’t. She frowned.

“You can’t tell I want you?” she asked.

“Uh…I guess maybe,” he said.

“You guess?”

“It’s…uh…been a while?” he said. He started pulling his hands down her thighs, like he was getting ready to step away from her. She grabbed them to stop them in their tracks.

“It’s been a while for me, too,” she said. “But let me be clear. I want you, Mo. I’m into everything about you. I want to get to know you more. I also want to rip your clothes off right now.”

His cheeks were already flushed, so she could tell that he was doing his shy thing only by the dip of his chin.

“Do you not want that?” she asked. His head snapped up.

“I do. Very much,” he said.

“So we should do this?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But right now, we should stop.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because this table can’t handle my weight. And I’m certainly not going to lay you down on the floor.”

A searing flash went through her and her breath caught. She smiled.

“Who said I was going to let you be on top?” she asked.

He laughed. A free, open laugh she’d never seen before. It rumbled out of him, bounced off the walls, and warmed her as it passed through her body. She began laughing, too.

“You’re right,” he said. “I should have known better. But damn if that image doesn’t turn me on even more.” He leaned in close, gliding his parted lips up her neck. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Can I call you tonight?” he whispered into her skin.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

“I don’t want to stop.” He sighed. “But anyone could walk in on us.”

He made a good point. She was a private person, and she’d already seen how mortified he’d become when someone hugged him in a room full of people. He might pass out if anyone walked in and saw her legs around him.

“You’re right,” she whispered beside his ear. “We should stop.” She nibbled on the lobe, and he shuddered.

“Not fair,” he said.

“I know,” she said as he pulled back to look her in the eyes.

He chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll walk you back to your car,” he said. “But you’ve got a good hold on me here.” He gestured at her legs still around him. She didn’t move. He laughed again. “Are you going to let me go?”

“No,” she said. “If you give me a shot, I won’t let you go, Mo.”

He looked her in the eye and understood.

“Thank you, Jess,” he said, leaning in for a quick peck.