Bullets & Bonfires

by Autumn Jones Lake

  I roll my eyes even as I laugh. It’s so good to see her smiling and teasing. Happy. This is what I want for her every day. “I’d like you to be familiar with multiple weapons and you don’t have a pistol permit.” What I don’t say is that I feel today’s lesson is a priority in case Chad’s released from jail before her pistol permit gets processed.

  Setting aside the threat of her ex, learning to shoot takes some skill and could be a good confidence booster for her. She’s been attending group therapy and now I want to show her my version of group therapy—a target with a grouping of bullet holes dead center.

  We start with the spinners. They’ll give her the instant gratification of whirling around when she hits them, rather than having to jog out to check the paper after each round.

  I pick up the gun closest to me. “This is a .22. Perfect for plinking, but it will also stop someone in their tracks. Might not kill them unless you get the right shot, but it’ll hurt,” I explain.

  She takes it, weighing the weapon in her hands, studying each feature I point out.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  She blows through a lot of ammo in a short amount of time. She’s laughing and having fun. Especially when she gets the little orange forest creatures to spin like crazy.

  After she’s used every bullet, she sets the rifle down on the bench. “I like this one better because it has the scope. It’s so much easier.” She glances at the empty boxes of ammo. “I can’t believe we kicked two boxes.”

  “You were having fun. Ready to try Vince’s shotgun?”

  She pushes her bottom lip out. “There’s no scope on that.”

  “I know. But I think you should learn how to use it. Plus, with birdshot, there’s less collateral damage because the pellets won’t penetrate through walls. And in a home defense situation, you can do a lot of damage with a shotgun in a short amount of time.”

  She seems uncertain for a moment, as if she realizes we’re not just out here for fun.

  “Think of how surprised Vince will be when he comes home and you can outshoot him,” I encourage.

  Her eyes light up. “Ooo, yes. Let’s do it. Show me.”

  I pick up the Remington 870. “This is a pump action shotgun. All the same safety rules apply. Always assume it’s loaded. Never point it at anything you don’t intend to kill.”

  “Got it.”

  While we’re out here for fun and because I want to boost her self-confidence, I’m glad she also takes this seriously.

  “Safety is here.” I hit the release and pull the pump back to show her how to load it. “Keep the safety on to load the shells into the tube. Once it’s full, you’re going to rack a shell.” I take a second to show her each of the steps. “Push it forward with authority. Don’t short stroke it.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “That sounds dirty.”

  “Trust me, I don’t short stroke anything, sweetheart.” My voice comes out low and rough.

  “Oh,” she purrs. “I’m well aware you’re all about the long and deep strokes.”

  I close my eyes and groan. “You’re killing me.”

  “Come on, continue,” she urges, all serious again.

  “Pull the trigger, eject the shell, keep going until you’re out of shells. It’s that simple.”

  “Got it.”

  She takes a few shots at the metal gong my dad has set up about fifty yards out. It’s fun, but after a few minutes I notice her losing interest.

  When she runs through the shells already loaded, I hold up my hand for her to stop. “Leave it open so you know it’s empty. I’m going to go grab something. Stay here.”

  I return with the watermelons and line them up on a board about fifteen yards out.

  “Wait, are we shooting them?”

  “Yup.”

  “Waste of good watermelon,” she mutters.

  “I left one in the house for later.”

  I stand back and watch silently as she picks up the shotgun and carefully loads each of the shells on her own, pleased she’s already comfortable with the process.

  After taking her time, she aim and fires. The first watermelon explodes. Bits of green and pink flying everywhere.

  “Holy shit!” She pumps her fist in the air and then blows the next three melons off the board.

  “Good job.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Her gaze drops to the ground. “I didn’t save any for you.”

  The intense way Liam watches me sends a quiver of excitement up my spine.

  “You’re sexy as fuck when you’re concentrating on hitting the target.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes.” He hooks a hand behind my neck and draws me closer, giving me a deep kiss. After a few seconds he releases me and I sway on my feet.

  “Help me clean up?”

  We pick up the brass shell casings scattered around the area, take down the paper targets, and place the moveable targets into the shed. When we’re finished, I run into the house to use the bathroom, then meet Liam in the kitchen.

  “Mom said she left steaks in the fridge if we wanted to grill outside.”

  “Sounds good.” I rub my hand over my stomach. “I worked up an appetite.”

  He flashes another simmering look my way. “So did I.”

  I don’t think he means for dinner.

  Together, we prepare the steaks and a salad, taking everything outside to eat at the table on the patio.

  “Want to start a fire?” he asks after dinner.

  Yes. Yes, I do.

  While he lights the fire, I slice up the remaining watermelon and find a blanket. I carry both back outside with me.

  “The lone melon that survived that massacre,” I announce, holding the bowl up. Liam chuckles and takes the blanket from my arms, spreading it a safe distance from the fire.

  I kneel down next to him and feed him a chunk of watermelon. The cool juice runs down my hand, over my wrist and Liam chases the trail with his tongue.

  “You’re getting me all wet.” The protest is weak.

  He raises an eyebrow and draws a piece of watermelon from the bowl, holding it to my lips. “Open.”

  I take it in one bite and he snaps, leaning in closer and gently brushing his tongue over the corner of my mouth. “Bree, Bree, Bree,” he murmurs, moving to my mouth. Kissing me over and over. He slides his hands under my T-shirt and strips it off, tossing it in the wet grass.

  There’s a tug at my waist as he fiddles with the buttons on my shorts. “Bree.” His voice drops into the deep, commanding tone that quickens my pulse. “Get these off.”

  I undo the button and he works my shorts down my legs and throws them on top of my shirt.

  Nervous about being almost naked in his parents’ backyard, I cross my arms over my chest. He yanks me closer and slides his hands under my ass, lifting me into his lap. His fingers dig into my flesh urging me to wrap my legs around his waist, and bury my face against his shoulder.

  Ohmygod his scent. Bullets and grass and burnt summer air. He smells like my Liam.

  He falls back against the blanket, leaving me straddling him. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, straining against the lace of my bra. “I like this,” he whispers. “I can see how hard your nipples are for me.”

  Reaching back, I unhook my bra and drop it on the ground.

  “Even better,” he groans.

  Underneath me he tilts his hips, tipping me forward. His arms wrap around me and he rolls us until I’m completely covered by him. “Take your shirt off,” I demand. “I want to feel you against me.” My hands slide under his T-shirt, fingers trailing over hard muscle and hot skin. I help him drag it up and over his head.

  “I need you, Bree.”

  “You have me.” Does he ever. Wound tight and desperate to come.

  The rough fabric of his shorts brushes against my bare legs as he undoes his fly, freeing himself.

  I gasp as he slides my underwear out of his way and
slowly pushes his thick shaft inside me. My hips rock, angling for more. He presses in deeper, filling me. His hands slide underneath my shoulders and lower back, protecting me from the hard ground underneath us.

  “So good.” He pulls back and slowly pumps in and out. Hip lips brush my jaw, stopping at the side of my throat where he places an openmouthed kiss, then gently sucks.

  Under the weight of him, I thrash, working my hips against him. He lifts his mouth from my skin to stare into my eyes. “Need to come?”

  “Fuck, yes. I’m so close.”

  All afternoon, he’s had me dancing on the edge of orgasm. The intense way he watched me. Standing behind me to give instructions, so close I could feel his heat. Who knew target practice could be so exciting? A few minutes of his hips pistoning back and forth might be all I need.

  Oh, the sweet, sweet friction. My muscles tense and a scream tears from my throat.

  He moves faster in response, giving me the right rhythm to draw out my orgasm.

  Our skin is slick with sweat but he holds onto me as he groans and comes in long, hard jerks.

  When he’s finished, he drops his sweaty forehead to mine for a second. We stay that way, holding onto each other until our breaths slow and our hearts stop racing. He releases me and rolls to his back and we both stare up at the sky. “You all right?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  He comes into focus, gazing down at me. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. “You know, I used to fantasize about doing something like that with you all the time when we had these bonfires.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Did I live up to your fantasy?”

  I nod vigorously. “Oh yes.”

  “You’re gorgeous all naked in front of the fire.” His fingers trace the lines of my shoulders, down my arms, over my chest and down to my belly. “You’re so soft.”

  “Weird, since I like it when you give it to me hard.”

  He bursts into laughter. “Careful, sweetness or you’re going to get it hard again.”

  We trade silly jokes laced with sexual innuendo until I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe.

  “Let’s go inside before you get eaten up by mosquitos.” He reaches over and plucks his shirt off the ground, slipping it over my head. “We can sleep in my old room,” he says, picking himself up and pulling on his shorts. He leaves them unbuttoned and it’s such an unconsciously sexy thing to do, I can’t help running my fingers around the edge of his waistband. “That’s a good look for you, Hollister.”

  He nods at the T-shirt I’m wearing that hits me at mid-thigh level. “You look damn fine in my shirt, Avery.” He holds out a hand and I take it.

  I follow him around the house while he sprinkles flakes of food in his mother’s small fish tank and does a few other tasks.

  “You’re such a good son,” I blurt out. Liam glances at me as if he thinks I’m making fun of him, but I’m not. “I mean it.”

  He gives a quick shrug. “They’re good parents.”

  Is it possible to be any more in love with this man?

  With Liam, I can vividly picture having a family. He’ll be a wonderful father and protector.

  “Hey.” His hand taps my shoulder. “What’s going on in your head?” He opens the door to his bedroom and leads me inside.

  I doubt he wants to hear about my primal you’re-a-good-baby-making-candidate instincts, so I go with something more lighthearted.

  “Wow, I finally made it into Liam Hollister’s bedroom. The best wide receiver Johnsonville High has ever had,” I tease, glancing around the room that hasn’t changed all that much from when he was a teenager.

  “It’s weird when you say my full name like that.”

  “I doubt I’m the first girl to say it.”

  “You’re the first one to say it in here.”

  I decide not to pull at that thread. Nothing before us matters. Only our future.

  He drops down on the bed and pulls me to stand between his knees. “I spent a lot of time in this bed thinking about you.”

  “Really? I thought I was like a sister to you?”

  “No. Not at all.” He cocks his head. “I told you I had a crush on you the first day we met.”

  I try to recall the conversation he’s referring to. “You rescuing me from the playground bully?”

  “Yes.”

  “I figured you were just trying to make me feel better.”

  He sighs and shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you?” His hands skim up the back of my legs, up under my shirt, and he slowly lifts it over my head. “You won’t be needing this tonight.”

  The next morning, sunlight stabs me in the eyes much earlier than I usually prefer. I grumble and roll back over, shoving my head under the pillows.

  Cold air rushes over my skin as Liam rips away the covers. “Noooo. It’s too early,” I whine.

  Liam’s warm body replaces the blankets. His hands roaming everywhere. Over my hip, my belly, up to cup my breast and nuzzle my neck. “Time to wake up.”

  I open one eye and peer up at him. “You kept me up half the night. I’m still sleepy.”

  “Come on. I want to take you to my apartment. We can stay there until Kimber’s back from the vet. You can take a nap after I leave for work.”

  My lips push into an unhappy pout. “Do you have to go to work?”

  “Yes, baby girl.” He gives my butt a few affectionate pats before rolling away from me.

  “I would like to finally see your apartment.”

  “Good. I’ll go make breakfast while you get ready.”

  After breakfast, we tidy up the house and grab the mail, leaving it in a neat stack on the counter.

  “First, let’s stop at your brother’s so we can get your things,” he suggests.

  “I do need some clothes,” I grumble, staring at my grass-stained shorts and the shirt I borrowed from Liam since mine was damp with morning dew from sitting outside all night.

  He settles his hand on my leg. “Bring anything and everything you want with you.”

  “Careful, or I’ll move in with you.”

  He glances over. “Fine by me.”

  My stomach flutters and I rest my hand against his.

  Everything seems exactly the way we left it at Vince’s. Liam still stalks around the perimeter of the house to check.

  Excited because I’m finally visiting Liam’s apartment, I blow through the house like a tornado tossing stuff in my backpack and duffle bag.

  Liam’s footsteps thud over the hardwood floor and I glance up to find him standing in the bedroom doorway.

  “Got everything?” he asks.

  I pat the bag I have crushed to my chest and motion to the other bag strapped to my back. “Ready.”

  His mouth quirks. I probably look as eager as a kid headed to summer camp. Heck, I almost feel like one.

  “Follow me over in your car. I don’t want you to feel stranded.”

  “Works for me.”

  It’s a short drive to the complex Liam calls home. His apartment is on the second floor. He gives me a quick tour. One bedroom. Nothing fancy.

  “It’s so neat and tidy.”

  My observation makes him laugh and he places his hands on his hips. “It sounds like you expected my place to be a pig sty.”

  “No, but you are a single guy.”

  He drops the teasing smile. “Not anymore. Never again.”

  Wow. I don’t have time to fully absorb and appreciate his words before he pulls me against his body. “I can’t believe I finally have you at my place and I have to go to work.”

  “I’ll be here when you come home.”

  “I like that,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss against my lips.

  After Liam leaves, I unpack a few of my things. I brought tea and decide to make that before flicking on the television.

  At least I feel safe here. I didn’t want to admit to Liam that after the last freaky occurrence, I was scared to be alone at Vince’s house. Her
e, I’m safe. No one should be able to find me.

  My phone beeps and flashes red, telling me it’s almost out of juice.

  Crap.

  In my hurry to pack up my stuff, I forgot my cell phone charger. After rummaging through Liam’s drawer of electronic odds and ends, I still can’t find one to fit my phone.

  “Shit.” I need to charge it soon. My brother was supposed to call and let one of us know when he’s finally coming home.

  Will he flip out when he finds out Liam and I are together? Or will he act like an adult and be happy for us? I’m ashamed to say, I don’t really know my brother that well anymore, so it could go either way, although I’m leaning toward flip his shit.

  Never mind Vince. If Liam calls later and he’s sent to voicemail, I don’t want him to worry. I also don’t want to miss any of the texts he might send me tonight.

  I won’t be the cause of any more stress in his life. His job is hard enough. So, I grab my keys, shove my almost-dead phone in my pocket, and trot downstairs to my car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “I need coffee. Stop at the Stewart’s at the bottom of the hill,” Brady directs, waving his hand at the windshield. As if I don’t know which store he’s talking about. Or why he really wants to stop there.

  “Coffee my ass. You want to flirt with what’s-her-face.”

  Brady chuckles, not offended because we both know it’s the truth.

  “I’ll wait in the car. Don’t want you to be embarrassed when you get shot down again.” While he’s busy getting the brush-off from the checkout girl, I plan to call my girl and make sure she’s comfortable at my apartment.

  She wants her independence, but the urge to protect her isn’t ever going to go away. She might as well get used to it now.

  Through the store window, I can see Brady chatting with the girl he’s had his eye on for at least a month. With the way I’ve seen him go through women, watching him get shot down multiple times has been entertaining as hell. For me, anyway. Today, he’s clearly working the Irish charm hard. If I had to guess, he’s laying the accent on thick. Poor girl.