Chapter 6 – Remi
Six
Remi
“Inexperienced idiots need supervision. Your little friend should never have been allowed to hold a gun, let alone fire one,” I say, skipping the elevator and taking the stairs with Thiago right behind me. “You’re lucky she didn’t put a hole through your face or one of my other patrons.”
He tuts under his breath. “She’s not a friend. Never met her before today.”
I glance over my shoulder, annoyed by the flicker of relief that hits me at his answer.
At least he’s not reckless enough to bring someone who can’t handle a firearm to a gun range.
When we reach my office, I turn to face him and finally get a better look at the blood running down his arm.
“Are you sure that’s just a graze?”
“It’s a gnarly one, but mostly superficial.”
There’s a hint of a smile on his face, which makes me question whether he’s lost his mind, because he barely seems bothered by the fact that a bullet just tore through his arm.
“As long as you don’t bleed all over my floor.”
Thiago follows me through the office and into the connected bathroom. It’s not the biggest space to begin with, and having someone his size in here makes it feel a hell of a lot smaller.
“Sit,” I say, nodding toward the toilet.
He does, and I reach for the first-aid supplies beneath the sink as I finally ask the question that’s been nagging at me since I saw him downstairs.
“So what are you doing here anyway?” I straighten and look at him. “Are you stalking me or something?”
“You weren’t the only one surprised back there. You work here?”
Of all the ranges in Philadelphia, he expects me to believe he stumbled into mine by coincidence. I’m not buying it, but calling bullshit now won’t tell me why he’s really here.
“What do you think?” I ask, blotting the blood from his arm with a wet towel.
He hisses when I press a little harder. “I think you’re enjoying this.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Take your shirt off.”
Thiago stills, and a smirk pulls at his mouth as his eyes meet mine. “That’s twice now you’ve asked me to strip.”
“Yeah, well, don’t flatter yourself. Both times were extenuating circumstances.”
He tugs the T-shirt over his head and balls it up. I try to focus on his wound, but the man looks damn good without a shirt, and fuck if he doesn’t smell good, too.
“Better?”
I can feel his gaze on me as I clean the graze and reach for the skin glue.
“Just hold still and give me your arm.”
It’s only then that I realize I’m standing between his legs. There’s barely any space between us, and when I look up, he’s already watching me, but I turn my attention back to his arm and finish sealing the wound.
“We have something you can wear downstairs. I might not carry your size, but it’s better than a bloody shirt.”
“Well, I might have to take you up on that offer.”
“Good. That’ll be $24.99 plus tax.”
He tips his head back and laughs. “No discount, huh? Not even because I was shot?”
“Exactly because you got shot. You probably did bleed all over my floors and let a bullet punch a hole through my wall.”
His laughter fills the small bathroom. “Oh, so you’d rather it had lodged inside me instead? That’s cold, Remi.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I say with a grin, backing away as I toss the soiled towel in the trash.
“I don’t believe that.”
“You’ve seen me pull a gun twice, and you still have doubts?”
He stands, towering over me.
I’ve never liked being crowded, especially in a confined space. Usually, I’d already be putting distance between us. For some reason, I don’t.
“Thank you,” he says, bracing a hand on the doorframe above me as he leans closer. “For helping me out. You didn’t have to do this.”
My back meets the wall. “Well, I guess you didn’t have to stop that night either, so consider us even.” I slip past him into the office before I can find out what happens if I stay there.
I’ve never been one to play coy or shy away from what I want when it comes to men. Thiago shouldn’t be any different. He’s gorgeous, built like a damn brick house, and I know exactly where this kind of attraction could lead.
But walking away with him tonight feels a hell of a lot more complicated than taking him home.
“You have your own office?” he asks, wandering around shirtless with his arms folded across his chest.
I watch his biceps flex before dragging my attention elsewhere. The urge to reach into my pocket hits hard enough that I curl my fingers into my palm instead.
“I told you, it’s my place.”
“Nice. You must get a lot of target time, then. Are you a pretty good shot?”
I scoff. “I thought that was obvious by now.”
“Fair.” He looks through the large window overlooking the range. “Maybe we could shoot together someday.”
“Oh, so you’re a masochist?”
His laugh comes easily, and damn if I don’t like the sound of it. “Why, because you think you’ll bruise my ego?”
I push off the desk and join him by the glass. “No. I know I will.”
“Talk is cheap, Remi. Unless you’re scared I’ll outshoot you even with one arm down.”
The way he says my name is distracting enough without him attaching a challenge to it.
“Are you trying to bait me like I’m some kid? What’s next, calling me chicken?”
His eyes shift to mine, and without warning, he clucks.
The man actually fucking clucks.
I stare at him for a second before I burst out laughing. “What the hell was that?”
I never would’ve imagined a sound like that coming from a man standing about six foot six. He does it again, somehow worse this time, and I laugh even harder.
“You’re an idiot.”
“And you’re avoiding the challenge.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I look through the glass at the empty range, already imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that smug look off his face.
Then I remember I still don’t know why he showed up here tonight.
I brought him upstairs because he was bleeding, patched him up, and that should’ve been the end of it.
Instead, I’m standing here laughing with him and considering spending even more time with a man I’m not entirely sure I believe.
I should tell him to leave. The problem is, I don’t want to. That realization bothers me enough that I almost do it anyway.
But I spend so much time questioning people’s intentions lately that I’ve forgotten how easy it can be to enjoy someone without knowing what comes next. Thiago makes me laugh, and for tonight, maybe that can be enough.
“I haven’t eaten,” I say.
His eyebrow lifts. “Are you asking me to dinner?”
I guess I could have phrased that better.
“Absolutely not.”
“Sounded like it.”
“I’m hungry, and you put a hole in my ceiling. You can buy me food.”
“I didn’t put the hole in your ceiling.”
“Minor details.”
His smile widens as he reaches for his bag. “All right. Where are we going?”
My gaze drops to his bare chest before I can stop it.
“You’re not going anywhere like that.”
He looks down at himself, then back at me. “I thought you liked me like this.”
I roll my eyes and head for the door before my face gives him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right. “Come on.”
He follows me out of the office and down the stairs. I could still walk him to the front door and forget this entire idea before it becomes anything. But I lead him toward the shop.
One meal isn’t going to kill me.
By the time we reach the retail floor, I’ve committed to my questionable decision and move behind the counter to scan the shirts stacked along the shelves. At the very least, I’m about to get some entertainment out of it.
I grab the biggest navy Sloane’s T-shirt we carry and toss it at him. I’m not convinced it’ll fit, but he better make it work, because a shirtless Thiago is becoming a serious liability.
He catches it and holds it up, giving me a skeptical look. “This is the biggest you have?”
“Is there a problem?”
His eyes narrow slightly before he tugs it over his head without another word.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
Just like I expected, the fabric stretches across his chest and arms like it’s fighting for its life, and the hem stops several inches too high, exposing a strip of skin above his waistband.
Somehow, this is worse.
I let my gaze linger long enough to appreciate my terrible idea before forcing it back to his face.
Head in the game, Remi. Not in his pants.
My eyes immediately betray me and drop lower. When I look up again, Thiago is watching me with a grin. That cocky fuck knows exactly what I was looking at.
“Where to?” he asks.
I grab my bag from beneath the counter and walk past him. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That doesn’t inspire confidence.”
His laughter follows me outside.
The rational thing would be to take one vehicle, but fifteen minutes alone with him in an enclosed space seems like an unnecessary test of my judgment.
When he follows me into the lot, I stop beside my car and turn to face him. “Think you can keep up?”
He nods, catching the message without making me spell it out, then looks over the car behind me. “Where’s that sweet GT-R? Still giving you problems?”
“The car is fine,” I lie.
“Good. I was starting to think I’d have to rescue you twice.”
“Careful, Texas. You’re already wearing a shirt three sizes too small. Don’t embarrass yourself any further.”
The drive to my favorite spot passes quickly. Thiago stays a few cars behind me, his headlights remaining in my rearview mirror most of the way.
At the first red light that separates us, they disappear. I check the mirror, then I check it again. His truck eventually comes around the corner, and I turn my attention back to the road.
Ridiculous.
I wanted space, and apparently even an entire car between us isn’t enough to keep him out of my head.
I pull into the lot and cut the engine, pushing the door open before the sudden silence gives me another chance to question what I’m doing. Thiago is already out of his truck, parked closer to the front doors than I am, but instead of waiting there, he jogs across the lot to meet me.
“Mexican?”
“What? Are you surprised?” I ask without slowing my stride.