Chapter 57 #2
He's like a peacock. Proud and beautiful and not at all ashamed or shy about showing who he is. It's that confidence I find so attractive because there's no arrogance in it. Just certainty in what he knows and what he can do.
"Is that bragging, I hear?" I tease as he comes forward, slipping earmuffs onto my head. He checks that it fits right.
"Comfortable? Hearing me all right?"
I nod, and he slips it around my neck before heading to the window where the instructor was when we walked in.
He waves me forward and slips a Luger into my hands, already prepped with a magazine of full metal jackets.
He grabs another set of earmuffs and puts it on, stepping in behind me, his hands sliding onto my hips.
"By the way, I don't brag. I just do," he says into my ear, honeyed and sultry.
I almost drop the gun, but his hands clasp around mine preventing it from clattering to the ground. Slowly, his hands slide along my arms as he fixes my posture, trailing up my shoulders and over my neck, fingertips dancing along the headband of the earmuffs.
"Show me what you've got, Conner." As he says that, he slips the earmuffs over my head, securing them into place.
It's been a long time since I was here. Years, in fact, because when Mom brought me here, usually on Saturdays, I was about twelve.
I came here every Saturday for nearly two years and then high school started, I joined the basketball team, and suddenly, going to the shooting range with Mom paled in comparison to basketball practice and hanging out with my friends and girlfriend.
I never expected I'd come back here with Sky Daniels of all people.
Let alone as his boyfriend.
The exercise starts off slow. It takes some getting used to, adjusting to the weight of the gun in my hands after so many years, and regaining the confidence my fingers need to pull the trigger.
I miss the targeted areas on the canvas on which sheets of paper with the silhouette of a figure is printed.
Miss after miss after miss.
By the end of the first hour, I'm ready to give up. Ripping the earmuffs off, I put the gun and headset down, sounds of frustration bubbling out of my mouth.
"This is useless. I'm never going to hit that damn canvas!" Exasperated and feeling like utter failure, I begin pacing the spot near the window when my path is suddenly intercepted and a pair of polished black Chelsea boots enter my field of vision.
Slowly, I look up, gaze traveling over jean-clad legs, silk-covered waist to muscular arms crossed over a broad chest. Only this time, it's out of embarrassment and fear of disappointment that I take my sweet time rather than an appreciation of Sky's physique.
The earmuffs hang around his neck, and my gaze settles on his mouth afraid to rove higher.
What if he thinks I'm a complete loser? I was so confident when I mentioned learning how to handle a gun and now, over an hour, I've yet to hit a single marked spot on the canvas.
"Didn't take you for a quitter, Conner," he teases. Except, it inflates that sense of disappointment.
"Coming here was a mistake. I'm never going to hit a target and I'm never going to get better at this."
I won't have enough time.
"It's useless!"
"It's not useless, baby," Sky chides firmly, gripping my shoulders.
He gives me a small shake that urges me to finally meet his gaze and what I find there doubles my regret over coming here, over agreeing to visit a shooting range as a first date. It amplifies how shitty I feel – all bark, no bite – mentioning that Mom taught me how to shoot.
Never before have I felt so out of my element. Sky has no idea how completely out of my league he is. That I'm figuring out shit as I go hoping I'm enough.
When I reflect on all the ways he has been there for me, and what he's done to comfort and defend me...where do I stand? What can I possibly offer to someone like him?
He saved me and parents from a break-in on two separate occasions – by himself. He's defended and protected me against my former friends. When I fell sick, he never left my side. To top it all off, he easily sheds thousands of dollars on our first date and calls it the bare minimum.
In comparison, I've given him nothing worthwhile.
Conflict brews in the depths of those blue eyes and they soften, realization flickering. "This isn't about target practice, is it?"
"How could you know?"
"Because I know you." He cups my face between his hands and leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. It lingers, somehow crumbling my defenses that keep my insecurities locked away. Now I have the urge to divulge what plagues me.
"I just want to be able to protect you like how you protect me."
He blinks and stares, dumbfounded, as if the idea of someone wanting him safe is a foreign concept. And then he's kissing me. Deeper and more passionate than before; it's better than the kiss he gave me this morning.
When he breaks away, he slips his earmuffs back into place and I do the same, watching as he picks up the Luger and aims. His stance and posture is perfect as he grasps the gun in both hands, his grip confident and relaxed.
He pulls the trigger and the bullet zips across the distance into the canvas.
A perfect headshot.
Sky turns back to me and there's no trace of amusement. I don't get any witty quips in return.
"I didn't master that in two hours. It took weeks before I was able to accurately hit a target."
He takes my hand and positions me back at the window, slipping behind me and returning the gun. His hands on my hips, his mouth at my neck.
"So, keep practicing. Every day. Every week. For as long as it takes. If that's not enough, I'll teach you something different. But I'm here with you, every step of the way." He shifts behind me, leaning away. "Take the shot, baby. Be confident and aim true. You've got this."
Taking a deep breath, and because I genuinely want to believe I can get better, I do as he advises and pull the trigger when I'm most confident.
The bullet goes flying hitting the canvas about an inch below the point Sky hit earlier.
My jaw drops and my eyes widen. No way!
The deep rumble of Sky's quiet laughter booms in my ears. "I told you. My baby's got this."