Page 77 of Wildest Dreams

I keep Aisling tucked into my side as she frowns warily at the bipod stationed in front of us.

“Why’s it so long for?” she whispers, fingers tentatively reaching out, but closing into a fist before she can touch it.

“It’s a rifle, not a handgun. They look different on the outside but they have some internal similarities.”

She gives me a suspicious little side-eye as if she’s waiting for me to turn that into a metaphor. I huff out a laugh and shake my head, silently telling her that that is not gonna happen.

She increases the intensity of her scowl but then cuddles closer to me as she looks at the weapon again. I wrap both of my arms around her shoulders, a physical reminder that I’m here to help her through this.

“So what are the similarities?” she asks.

“Both of the barrels have rifling to put a spin on the bullet, which helps to increase the accuracy of the shot. And they both have thick walls so that they can deal with high pressures.”

I shrug, and my biceps brush snugly against her shoulders.

“Also, they’re typically used for stationary targets, unlike a shotgun which is for a moving target.” This range only offers riflepractice, but seeing as we aren’t here to actually shoot – we’re here so that Aisling can try to conquer her fear – that works fine.

“I can’t believe that my fingerprints are on some cowboy’s gun,” she whispers, her fists clenching at the hem of my shirt.

I squeeze her tighter. “It’s okay, mine are too.”

“But what if, like, the gun was involved in something bad? And then the police came after me?”

“Aisling, if the police ever came looking, I would take the fall for you.”

Her head whips around, staring up at me in surprise. I give her a half-smile before pressing a kiss against her temple.

“You don’t mean that,” she says when I pull back, enormous eyes going all sparkly when I look down into them.

“Yeah, I fucking do. Why do you think I told you to hand it to me in the first place?”

Her jaw drops open and warmth begins spreading through my cheeks. Uncomfortable with how fucking obvious my feelings for her are, I release her from my arms and look away.

“Okay. Before you touch that thing I need to grab a bullet-proof vest.”

Aisling rolls her eyes. “I hardly think that I’ll be so incompetent that I’ll accidentally shoot myself.”

I give her a smirk of my own. “I meant forme.”

Her jaw hits her sandals and I snicker as I tug one of the vests from the back of the booth.

“Kidding,” I murmur, grinning as she flushes bright red. Then she turns her back to me, huffy as hell. I tuck my chin in the warm crook of her neck. “Lift your arms, baby.”

“Asshole,” she mumbles, before sulkily lifting her arms.

I grin and nuzzle into her as I slip her arms through the holes, pulling back when the suit is covering her front so that I can fasten her up at the back. It’s not compulsory at the range, because it can affect a shooter’s balance and stance, but it’savailable anyway as a ricochet precaution. Even though I have no intentions of us shooting anything, I want to keep Aisling as comfortable and protected as possible.

When I’m finished, I pull her back against my chest and walk us to the rifle.

I reach around her and gently adjust the positioning of the weapon on the bipod.

“You wanna touch it, or just have me point each part out to you?” I ask her quietly, wanting to keep this as calm as possible while giving her the information that could help keep her safe in the long-run.

“Um, I can… I can touch it,” she whispers.

I nod and take her delicate hands in mine. Her golden nail polish sparkles in the early morning light, and I brush my thumb over hers, feeling her preen as I admire her.

“Pretty,” I murmur, and she tries to hide her blush. Then, getting down to business I say, “Feather-light touches, okay? We’re gonna use a gentle touch.”

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