Page 88 of Fame and Obsession

“True, but I tend to have beginner’s luck,” I tease, shamelessly running my fingernail down his arm. “Care to put your money where your gun is?”

An indecent glint flashes in his eyes. “Baby, there’s nowhere to carry money on that Kleenex you call a skirt.”

“I’m a high roller. I say we go for high stakes.” Lowering my voice, I give him my best sultry stare. “That is unless you’re scared.”

A direct challenge is always a guaranteed motivator.

Julian settles his hand on my hip and pulls me close. “Name your terms.”

I trace his collarbone, exhaling on a soft sigh. “If I win, you have to give me a pass on a screwup.” Hell, it’s worth a shot. I have to try to cover my ass somehow.

He swallows hard. “And if I win? What do I get?”

I’ve been waiting for this part. “Whatever you want, Julian.”

His fingers dig into my hip, and a salacious grin spreads across his face. “I reserve the right to hold you to your word exactly as stated, verbatim. Anything goes—and I mean anything.” His gaze drops to my skirt.

“You’re negotiating over a sure thing? How elementary of you, Bale.”

The stakes didn’t matter. I have no intention of losing.

“Ryan, nothing I plan to do to you is elementary. Shake on it?” Julian extends his hand, his eyes darkening.

I shiver as I place my hand in his, something passing between us as his grip tightens.

Releasing my hand, he hands me earplugs and eyewear while re-loading the gun.

After inserting both plugs, I slip on the glasses and give him a twirl. “How do I look?”

He cocks his chin. “Like an extremely nearsighted stripper.”

“You’re lucky you’re holding a gun right now, or I’d kick you in the balls for that.”

“Luck is made, not given, princess.” Hesitantly, he hands me the shotgun. “Are my boys safe if I let go?”

“For now,” I muse, closing my hands around the weapon.

“For luck,” he says, sliding his blue baseball hat on my head. “It matches your eyes.”

Smiling as Julian steps behind me, I take the first launch position and aim.

“The skeets are going to be orange so look for those,” he explains. “It’s just like baseball or golf, your shooting stance requires a full follow-through...”

Time to claim the trophy and put this cow out to pasture.

“Spread your feet wide, and bend forward at the knee. You want to make sure that you... Jesus Christ!”

Leveling the gun, I aim down range toward positions one and two of the high house. Like a slingshot, I pop off a high and then a low, finishing with a double that reduces the skeets to orange dust. Not giving him a chance to recover, I blast through positions three through seven with pin-point accuracy. Finishing eight with a high and a low, I punctuate both with a self-congratulatory fist pump.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him, not sure how he’s going to take getting hustled. The look on his face suspended somewhere between shock and pride.

“Julian...”

“Never shot a gun before, huh?”

I bite my lip. “Just raccoons. Nasty little fuckers.”

“I see.” He busies himself gathering our equipment. “Well, a bet’s a bet. I’ll get this stuff back to the clubhouse and take you home.”

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