This Fearless Girl (St. Clary's University #2) - E. M. Moore Page 0,65
the time for this one basic act.
“Not even—”
“Not even,” he admits, barely letting the words come out of my mouth. “I was banking that it would be different with you, and I was so fucking right.” He leans forward to press his mouth against mine again, holding me there.
My skin buzzes, and my heart jumps against my ribcage, proving that there are many different types of kisses that can get me going. “So, do you find that you like kissing girls?”
He pulls back a minute fraction, his stare hard. “I find that I like kissing you, Dakota Wilder.” He runs his hand through my hair and around my ear. “I’ll see you in the living room?”
He moves me off the door, picks up his hat to place on his head, and leaves before I can get my wits together enough to respond. I brush my fingers over my lips; I can still feel all three of them. Each of them pulling at different parts of me: the sexual side, the craving side, the side that just wants comfort and love, the side that wants to conquer everything.
I swallow and head into the attached bathroom, knowing if I don’t show up in a couple of minutes, both of them will be in here to get me, and as much as that seems like it could lead to somewhere fun, training sounds like it could be important too.
When I get out there, I find Wyatt and Lucas wrestling in the middle of the living room where the furniture has been pushed to the side and interlocking rubber flooring covers the area. Wyatt grins at me as he flips Lucas onto his back and throws a punch to his face that he stops at the last second.
“Fucker,” Lucas growls.
“You want to do that?” I ask.
Wyatt gets to his feet and helps Lucas up, then turns toward me. “In a few, I want to go outside first. I’ve got a surprise.”
I lift my eyebrows at him, but he smiles and turns toward the sliding patio doors. He leads us into the pool area, then exits the gate to the backyard that I haven’t seen yet.
In the distance, targets are set up, and on a small table is a gun and several pairs of earplugs. “Target practice? You guys know I know how to shoot, right? Or else Lance would be in a casket right about now.” My heart squeezes; not because of Lance—fuck him—but because of Dickie, who is currently in a casket. I shake the thought off.
“It can’t hurt,” Wyatt says.
“Fine,” I tell him, waiting back and watching as they take turns shooting the gun. Wyatt is pretty good. Lucas needs work.
However, it quickly becomes apparent that this wasn’t for them. This was for me. So, it feels good when I empty the clip into the center of the target, one of the bullets actually penetrating the bullseye.
I set the gun down on the table and spin toward them, smiling. Wyatt looks from me to the target. “Who the fuck are you?”
“A paranoid treasure hunter’s daughter.” I shrug. “My dad always thought I should be able to defend myself if I needed to.”
“Well, that was hot,” Lucas chimes in, taking a line out of Wyatt’s repertoire.
I grin at them again. I always liked shooting. It was one of my favorite parts about treasure hunting with my father up in the Superstitions. Though, we never had as fancy of a setup as this one. We had old bean cans that we ate for supper, trying to hit them off rocks in the distance.
Each of us take a few more turns. By the time we finish, Wyatt has put a few in the center while Lucas is getting closer and closer, learning how to set up his aim and keep his hands steady as he fires.
“I think we should do this a few times a week. Just in case,” Wyatt suggests, peeking at me like he doesn’t want to freak me out.
I shrug because, hello, I’m the one who already shot someone. On purpose. It’s not like I wouldn’t do it again.
We move into the living room next. “Okay,” Wyatt starts. “You know how to shoot, but do you know any other sort of self-defense?”
“My dad taught me a few things,” I tell him. “Paranoid treasure hunter, remember?”
He holds his hands up and asks me to punch them. I do. “Harder,” he commands. I do that, too.
He and Lucas glance at each other, shrugging their