Page 26 of Seizing Mack
Chapter Twelve
~ Mack ~
Mack only hesitatedfor a moment before agreeing to his terms. First, as good as he claimed to be, she was damn sure she wasn’t going to lose. He wasn’t the only one at the top of his class. And even if shedidlose, most of her underwear consisted of boy shorts and full coverage, minimizing sports bras anyway, not the lacy thongs and push-up bras he was probably envisioning.Ha!
She stuck out her hand. “Deal. I’ve got a standing reservation booked at the range every Tuesday, six o’clock. Oh, and would you look at that? Today just happens to be Tuesday.”
He grinned, enveloping her small hand with his much larger one. She tried not to jolt at the sudden and unexpected rush of energy that flowed between them, intensifying the tingles already present because of his close proximity.
“I’m there,” he told her. “But don’t you want to insist that if I lose I have to take the class inmyunderwear?”
Mack pictured him in a tight pair of boxer briefs, hugging his nice ass and with her luck, a nicely wrapped package as well. No way in hell she wanted to flaunt that in front of a class of women high on endorphins. Not because she was jealous (that sudden spike of aggression she felt was definitelynotjealousy) but because the good detective wouldn’t stand a chance in a class of she-wolves.
“No, Detective,” she told him with a wicked smile. “I was thinking more along the line of cheetah-print spandex...”
Absolute horror flashed briefly in his eyes before being replaced by smug confidence. He actually believed he could win. It was cute.
Mack took her leave, feeling rather pleased with herself. Was this what flirting felt like? A sense of buoyancy and anticipation for what might come next?
No, she corrected herself. This wasn’t adate, not in the true sense of the word. It was more like a friendly competition for bragging rights. Dates didn’t take place at firing ranges. When a couple when out on adate-date, dinner or a movie or something that didn’t include the use of firearms was usually involved.
But maybe, just maybe, after she kicked his ass, she’d suggest a stop at Ground Zero for a coffee or something...ifhe wasn’t a sore loser.
The rest of the afternoon dragged by. Despite her efforts not to read too much into their wager, she was looking forward to seeing him. Lusty secret fantasies aside, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.
After work, she rushed home, wolfed down a quick salad, then grabbed a shower and put on her best pair of jeans (the ones that made her ass look great), form-fitting tank, and a short-sleeved cotton overshirt (which she kept unbuttoned). The outfit wouldn’t win her any commendations by the fashion police, but it had the benefit of flattering her figure while remaining within her narrow zone of comfort.
Not that she was trying to impress anyone. Much.
She pulled into O’Malley’s fifteen minutes early and scanned the vehicles already there. She had no idea what Nick drove, but since she recognized every car in the lot, she knew he hadn’t yet arrived. That was good. It would give her a few extra minutes to warm up.
She greeted the regulars, ignoring their questioning looks as they took in her nicer-than-normal appearance, and pulled out her favorite handgun, a P320 X-Five Full-Size.
What kind of gun did Nick prefer, she wondered? Was he a Glock man? A .45 ACP? 9mm? A man’s weapon of choice said a lot about him. She hoped he wasn’t the flashy, look-at-my-big-gun type. They were the ones usually overcompensating.
She didn’t think Nick was overcompensating.
At 6:30 pm, Mack took a deep breath, then held it, her body as still as a marble statue. She fired off another round at the target, alternating kill shots to the head and chest. She wasn’t angry, and she wasn’t disappointed. Because if shewaseither of those things, then it would mean that she had, on some level, actually been expecting him to show.
Which would have been really, really stupid.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Chaz grinned when she removed the ear protectors and handed them back to him. Mack smiled back at the sixty-something retired Ranger who ran the place. “Probably a good idea.”
“Do I know him?”
“Who?”
He shifted the ever-present cinnamon toothpick to the other side of his mouth with a well-practiced movement. “Whoever’s got you shooting like that. Shit, Mack. You’d make one hell of a sniper, you know that?”
She grinned and shook her head as she signed the spent targets. “You’ve got it all wrong, Chaz. There’s not a man alive with a pair of balls big enough to think he can handle me.”
He laughed. “If only I was thirty years younger, Mack, you wouldn’t be able to run far or fast enough.” He shook his head. “Don’t know what’s wrong with these guys today. Can’t handle a real woman.”
A small pang shot across her chest. He had no idea how much his words meant, even if he was just saying them to be kind. Kindness for kindness’ sake was just so rare.
“You know it,” she said, smiling through the sudden, unwelcome wash of melancholy. “I’ll be back next week, yeah?”
“Hey, Mack,” he called as she was about to head out the door. “Mind if I hang a couple of these up? Show these posers how it’s done?”
Mack looked at the spent targets he held in his hand, allowing herself a tiny ribbon of pride. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”
