Page 89 of Fame and Obsession

Damn it. I desperately needed the victory, but the disappointment on his face is messing with my head.

“Julian?”

“Yeah?”

“I would’ve caught on faster if you’d specified the gun had a thirty-inch barrel with a skeet choke wide pattern and a twenty-one-yard shooting distance. Maybe even mentioned it was a pump action semi-automatic. That’s some serious shit.”

“Huh?”

“I could shoot a gun before I could ride a bike.” Moving next to him, I whisper softly in his ear, “I win.”

* * *

“Say it again.”

If he doesn’t shut the hell up, I swear I’m going back to the range and make good on my threat to shoot his balls off.

Gritting my teeth, I blow out a hard breath and keep walking. “Shut up, Julian.”

“Just say it one more time, please?”

He hasn’t stopped gloating the entire way back to the car. After I’d handed his ass to him on the range, he sulked like I’d kicked his puppy, so I’m doing what I swore I’d never do…

I’m catering to a man’s ego.

And what’s coming Monday will annihilate mine.

I’m trying to cover my ass for the impending Vinyl feature, but I know he’ll make me feel guilty about it anyway.

I’m screwed regardless.

“I’m not hearing anything, Phoebe,” he insists.

Turning my gaze as far away from him as possible, I growl through my teeth. “I. Cheated. Julian.”

“Yes, you did,” he announces smugly.

“Fuck off.” Frustrated and now, more than panicked, I stomp across the parking lot toward Julian’s Corvette.

Just as I reach for the passenger’s side door, a shot fires, the blast so loud it’s as if it came from right beside us. I freeze, unable to move or think as Julian crowds in behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder.

I flinch.

“It was just a shot from the range, Phoebe,” he says calmly. “Relax.”

If only…

His words do nothing to calm my nerves. In fact, the catch in his voice makes me question his own confidence in them.

“Isn’t the range closed now?” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

“Always with the questions….” Shifting, Julian places both hands on top of the car, caging me in between his arms. Immediately, the familiar buzz of electricity between us hums to life.

“What are you doing?” I ask, although I already know the answer. I recognize a diversion attempt when I see one.

A low laugh vibrates in his chest. “Imagining you washing my car in a bikini.”

I whip around, glaring at him. “Why the hell would I wash your car? Even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it in a bikini.”

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