too?
I mean, he’s sure acting like he cares more than he used to.
That has to mean something.
“Okay,” I say, walking over and picking up the gun from the broken log we had it resting on. “I’m ready.”
He comes up behind me again, reaching around, and this time I let him without my breath hitching, or my booty pressing into him. I try not to focus on his gorgeous big hands, or the way his biceps feel curled around me. Instead, I focus on the gun. I focus on the way he places my hands on it, the way he shows me how to hold it, how to aim and what not to do.
I take in every single word.
“Now, try and shoot the target without too much thought. When you’re shooting in a heated situation, you’re not getting time to line up a target and make a clean shot. You have to think quickly.”
I nod, and he steps away.
I take a deep breath, and then I aim and shoot, without thought, just like he said. The bullet misses the target, and my heart sinks.
If I’m in trouble, I’m going to die, without a doubt.
I’ll try to shoot someone only to end up being the one who gets shot.
“It’s okay. Try again.”
I do. Over and over.
Eventually, I make the shot. And every time after that, I get a little better.
“You don’t have to hit anything vital—remember that. You just have to be able to get away. Anyone who has been shot, even if it’s just a graze, will be dazed enough for you to run. That’s all you’re aiming for. Go for the biggest part of the human body, the chest. You’re far more unlikely to miss there.”
I nod, swallowing.
Then I practice some more until I’m confident that I could make a shot, albeit a crappy one.
“I think I’ve got it,” I say, turning to face him.
He nods. “Yeah, you’ve got it. That gun is yours for now. Keep it with you. Better if you keep it on you because if you have it in your purse, the chances of getting to it when you need it are slim.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, giving him a grateful smile.
He steps forward and takes my shoulders in his hands, meeting my eyes. “You don’t hesitate, you hear me? You gotta shoot, then you do it. Your life, above anything, is more important than everything else.”
My heart swells.
Maybe, just maybe, he does like me.
Maybe, just maybe, we might have something building here.
14
WAVERLY
“Thank you for coming,” Dax says the moment I walk into his large house.
He’s wearing a suit, looking crisp and clean and professional. It’s a little alarming, seeing him so tidy and calm. It means he’s come up with something, and that can’t be a good thing, because whatever it is, he’s clearly confident about.
“I was worried about you,” I say, and that’s a big fat fucking lie.
He looks at me, and I can see that warmth shimmer through his gaze. “You’re a good person, Waverly. You understand me in ways nobody ever has.”
Believe me, buddy, I don’t.
“What is going on?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Are you well? You look like you’re tired.”
Goddammit, he’s skipping past my question. “I’m just really exhausted. My ex has been calling and . . . we’ve been fighting. I took some stuff a few nights ago and it just . . . I feel like I’m weakening . . .”
I’m a liar—a filthy liar.
I don’t even know what stuff I am talking about. I just know that he thinks I’ve had a rough past and I need to keep that little act up.
“You said you weren’t going to keep using,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
“It’s hard for me. I’m living on friends’ couches and I just . . . I have nothing . . .” I put on the big sob story, letting a tear leak out and roll down my cheek.
“Come and live with me, Waverly. Come here; let me take care of you. I can give you a good life.”
Well shit, that took a dramatic turn that I really didn’t see coming. “We’re not . . . we’re not together, Dax.”
He steps forward. “We can be. I want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted another human. Let me have you. Come, stay here; we can enjoy our lives.”
“I don’t . . .” I shy away and look at the ground, because honestly, looking at him right now is making me nervous. Really bloody