8. David #2
“Nope. I had to order it. Which is why it took a week for me to set something up.”
That explains that. “I was wondering.”
She smiles at that. “Were you?”
I probably shouldn’t have admitted that.
This wasn’t at all what I was expecting when I told her she was in charge of ways for us to see one another without her dad finding out, but it’s a little brilliant.
“And why are you driving Charlie’s truck?”
She wraps her arms around her knees. “So no one would recognize my car. Because a car out in a field by a deer blind isn’t quite as convincing as a truck.”
“So you were trying to convince someone you were out here hunting off season so they would call me and I would come out?”
She nods. “And specifically while you’re still on the clock, so they don’t send someone else, but also at the end of your shift, so you can stay.”
I take a beat and really take in all the details. Yes, she’s dressed in hunting camo and sitting in a deer blind, but the food she has, and the fact that she drove out here as the sun was setting, and no one else is around…
“So this is a date?”
She smiles. “Not just a date. The perfect date for a guy who loves to hunt and be outdoors, right?”
I’m actually suddenly not sure what to say. I had expected her to suggest we meet in Lincoln for dinner, or that I come to her house, but park my truck four blocks away.
This all took some set up. She did this because she thought I would like it.
And because she has a mischievous streak. I can’t forget that part. She looked up ways to get turned in for breaking the rules and get me sent out as an officer. There’s an undeniable sparkle in her eyes when she talks about that.
I push off the doorway and step further into the blind. “So now what? No gun, so you don’t want me to take you out hunting. It’s off-season and too dark anyway.”
She sets her phone to the side with the flashlight on, shining upward. It hits the ceiling and lends a soft glow to the enclosure. She criss-crosses her legs and leans in to grab a grape.
“I don’t need you to teach me to hunt. My dad taught me, and I don’t really like it. I wasn’t going to confess that so early into our relationship though.”
I wonder if she has any idea how hearing her call this a relationship actually shakes me. This is dangerous. But she can call it whatever she wants, I remind myself. That doesn’t change the trajectory. She’ll figure out that this is a bad idea, then she’ll end it. No matter what she calls it.
So, fuck it. I sink down onto the floor in front of her, also criss-crossing my legs.
“I’m surprised they don’t have chairs out here,” she says.
“I’m sure they do during hunting season .”
She grins and pops the grape into her mouth, chewing for a moment.
“So you know how to hunt?” I ask.
“Well, I know how to shoot a gun. And I know the general idea of hunting. But I’ve never gone.
I do not want to kill animals.” She shrugs.
“He taught us to shoot and then invited us along. Austin and Harlow went, and I stayed home. Harlow went the one time and that was it for her. Austin hunted with him though.”
“You know how to shoot though?” I press. I had no idea.
And I need to stop assuming I know anything about this woman, clearly.
“Line up some targets or some old beer cans and I don’t do too bad.”
It shouldn’t surprise me that Scott taught his kids to shoot and offered them a chance to hunt.
“I’m better with a handgun though.”
I freeze in reaching for a strawberry. “You can shoot a handgun?”
“Yep. I even own one.”
“Your dad, right?”
She nods. “For self-defense. He makes us do regular target practice. Otherwise, it is locked away safely at my house. I don’t like it, but I’m comfortable enough with it.”
“You’re a good shot though?”
“If I wanted to hit somebody, I could,” she says, tipping her chin up slightly.
“Good,” I say simply.
She gives me a faint smile. I don’t probe into what that means.
“How about a bow and arrow?” I ask.
“I’ve only shot one once. My dad’s not as into bow hunting. Do you want to teach me that?”
I want to teach her a bunch of things. None of which have anything to do with hunting or weapons.
I shift on the floor. “We can talk about that. How about fishing?”
“I’ve fished,” she says. Then shakes her head. “Also risking admitting to you that I don’t love fishing. I do like sitting on the dock or in a boat on the water. Not so crazy about the fishing part.”
“Okay. So boating would be more something you’d be into.”
She’s quiet for a moment and I look up from scraping a cracker through the cheese. “What?” I ask her when I find her watching me.
“I think I’d be up for trying anything with you.”
Her words slam into me. I have no idea if she has any idea how they sound.
Then, directly on the heels of that thought, I think maybe she knows exactly how it sounds. I have read her fanfiction.
“Okay, well then I’m going to admit something to you,” I say.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to admit that I know about her fanfiction and have read it, but instead I say, “I’m not that into hunting and fishing either.”
She gasps, then lowers her voice. “Can you get fired from your job for that?”
I chuckle. “I like it. I’ve done a lot of it. I completely understand the appeal. And I love helping other people do all of those things safely. But they aren’t my choices of weekend outdoor activities.”
She rests her elbows on her knees. “What’s your choice for a fun weekend activity?”
Again, I have to bite back my initial answer. Naked in bed, getting up only for food and water is not the right answer here.
“Four wheelers and dirt bikes,” I tell her.
“Of course. You guys have all been into that from the time you were little, right?”
Everyone knows that my brothers and I have always been regulars at the dirt bike track.
“We have. We learned to ride dirt bikes when we spent summers here in Sapphire Falls before our dad died.” God, those summers seem like a lifetime ago. I clear my throat and smile. “I’ve always liked to go fast and hard and get dirty.”
And that’s true whether we’re talking about dirt bikes…or something else.
She smiles slowly. “Now that I would love to have you teach me.”
I’d fucking love to. “To ride?”
I freeze for a second. Every fucking thing sounds sexual to me tonight and I have to knock it off.
But she nods. “I definitely don’t go fast or hard enough, and I hardly ever get dirty.”
I groan inwardly. But then, screw it—yes, even my internal thoughts are full of innuendo—and I say, “Well, it’s definitely better when you have someone who knows what they’re doing showing you.”
And honestly, that’s also true if we’re talking about dirt bikes…or something else.
“I would really like to be the one that shows you,” I add. “In fact, I think it would bother me a lot if anyone else did.”
She swallows. “I don’t want anyone else to teach me, David.”
Good. That’s very good.
Because no one else is showing this woman anything that’s going to make her smile, and laugh, and gasp, and make her cheeks pink, make her breathe faster, mess up her hair, or get her dirty.
Whether we’re talking about dirt bikes...
Or something else.