Page 7 of Vipers & Roses

He nods and rests his elbow on the bench back, dangerously close to draping his arm around my shoulders. I’m unsure how I’d feel about that if he did. His legs are spread wide, and his knee almost touches my bare leg, but those warm, mischievous eyes are fixed on the lake. “Z tells me you want to pack for protection,” he begins, and I’m aware that’s a loaded statement, so I deliberate before answering, “Yes.”

“From who?” he persists, and my stomach stirs.

“Bad people. You know, women on our own, we need to look after ourselves,” as soon as I speak, I realize I’ve set myself up.

“You’re on your own?” he asks the question I expect him to ask, dropping his eyes to my hands, probably searching for a wedding ring. It’ll be nice to go through an entire day without a man hitting on me.

“Yes.” I panic and have to double back. “I don’t live on my own. I’m in a house with five guys, but when I’m out driving at night, I worry about carjackings and walking to my car when I’m alone,” I lie through my teeth.

“Five guys?” he crows, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “But none of them are your boyfriend. There must be something wrong with them. And we haven’t seen any carjackings around these parts for a couple of years. But you’re still wise to want to protect yourself.”

I exhale, becoming irritated with this Spanish Inquisition. “I never said none of my roommates are my boyfriend. Anyway, I'd better go. I have a class I don’t want to miss this afternoon.”

“Fine,” he mumbles as I stand up to walk away.

“Thank you again,” I say, throwing the bag over my shoulder and stepping away from that smoldering artifice.

“Just let me know if you want someone to teach you how to use it,” he calls after me, and I turn back to address him.

“Someone? Like you, you mean?” I quip fiercely, standing over him.

He grins unabashedly and shrugs his shoulders. “Why not? And you’ve basically admitted that you can’t shoot.”

“No, I didn’t,” I argue.

“Yeah, you did. Do you know how to load it?” He’s enjoying making me mad, which is making me madder.

“Yes,” I snap.

“Show me, then,” he challenges. “Prove to me that you know how to load it.”

“Here in front of everyone?” I wave my hand about, realizing that the closest people are the elderly couple several feet away on the park bench overlooking the jetty.

“Look, Rae,” his voice flipped to sternness that’s difficult to interpret because I don’t know him. “If you don’t know how to maintain your hardware, then that thing could backfire and mess up that pretty face of yours. So, why don’t you sit back down and show me how you load it.”

I hesitate and glance about, pretending my concern is that too many people are around, and I don’t want to frighten anyone, let alone get arrested.

Reading my body language, “I’ll stand over you to shield you from prying eyes.” He points his Raspberry Twist to the space on the seat beside him. “Take a seat.”

My entire body is tense, split between whether I should walk away on a lie or stay to tell him the truth. Either way, I need to know how to use the fucking thing so I don’t accidentally shoot myself in the face.

“I don’t know how,” I finally confess.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hand up to his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that. Would you mind repeating it?”

I clear my throat before repeating, “I don’t know how. There, I said it. I’ve never touched a gun before, let alone loaded it or shot anything. Satisfied?”

That grin is wider than the lake he sits in front of. “Now that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

“You knew?” I clench my jaw in annoyance.

“Of course, I knew. You had gun virgin written all over ya,” he states, straightening his posture. “This is what we’re gonna do, Rae. You go to class, and we’ll meet up tomorrow at the shooting range at Milson Gun Club down by the river, and I’ll give you some shooting lessons. How’s that sound?”

“Lessons?” I’m a little dumbfounded and seriously conflicted. Part of me wants, no, needs to go, but another part doesn’t trust him. Perhaps I should speak to Zara first.

“Yeah, lessons. Tomorrow,” he states, tapping his finger on the back of the bench seat.

“Okay,” I resign. “I’ll have to check my class schedule.”

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