Page 35 of Her Wild Ride

“Do you really think I’d bring a real gun to an event? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“A paintball gun?”

“Johnny?”

“Yes.”

“Get off of me.”

With the gun situation sorted, I notice her curvy body under mine. I can feel her breasts through the thin material of her shirt. She isn’t wearing a bra. Her taut nipples rub my chest. Fuck, I’d like to know why they’re taut. Does playing good cop/bad cop turn her on. I know I’m turned on. But who wouldn’t be after being awakened by a sexy woman and then getting into a heated wrestling match.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“Your slumber lumber is pressing against my stomach.”

“It ain’t slumber now that I’m awake.”

“Get some control.”

All I want to do is devour her mouth, but I release her hands and sit back on my legs. She slides her legs free. As she stands up, she stumbles back on her mattress. The paintball gun goes off, and I hear a pop.

She curses.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

A crash of metal clatters from inside our tent pulls our attention back to the reason we’re awake.

“Someone’s in the tent.” I jump to my feet.

“I told you, it’s the hooligans all over again.” She shoves me as she passes by.

“Give me that.” I pluck the paintball gun out of her hand and toss it to the front of the trailer. “We won’t need it. A good ol’ beating will do the trick.”

I run out the back of the trailer and shove the tent doors open.

“You better run, my friend.” My loud bark slashes through the darkened tent.

“Shit!”

“Run!”

“Hurry!”

The shouted words are muddled. Footsteps scramble. More of my dad’s so-called art crashes.

My eyes are somewhat adjusted to the darkness, but it’s still pretty fucking dark. I catch shadows and outlines.

“That’s right, run you little shits. ’Cause if I catch you—”

Bexley launches out of the trailer. She’s wearing a glowing vest of some sort. “Not this time, hooligans!” A popping noise bursts by my ear, and a hiss follows. I don’t see where the paintball smacks. The victims. The tables. The tent. My dad’s art. But I hear the splattering pelts on impact.

“There’s a gun!” a woman’s scratchy voice screams. A familiar, older woman’s voice. I just can’t place it.

“That’s right.” Bexley shoots a string of shots hitting god only knows what. Damn it, I wish I had my phone for the flashlight.

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