What I Need

by J. Daniels

  Riley doesn't react to the lady this time. Not with her round eyes or her sweet restrained giggle. She just rolls with it, concentrating on the road ahead and only giving me a slight jerk of her shoulder in response.

  “I just know you've been going a little crazy being stuck at home,” she says, most likely referring to the fort I made yesterday on the couch using a blanket and my crutches. “You've only been out for doctor appointments and now this. And I knew today was going to be tough. So I thought maybe we could go do something fun. Maybe.” Her profile tightens. “I don’t know. I'm not one hundred percent sure if this is fun or not. I've never done it before, but I thought you might like it. I hope you like it.” She clears her throat and slides her hands around the wheel. I watch her fingers tap restlessly against the leather. She's fidgeting.

  “Relax, darlin',” I say, wanting to ease her nerves a little. “You took the time to plan this out. Put some thought into it. Rest assured, whatever it is, I'm going to like it. Trust me.” She turns her head and gives me an easy smile. Getting that, I inquire further. “Seriously, what it is? What'd you plan?”

  Riley shakes her head, then puts her eyes back on the road. “It's a surprise.”

  I rub at my mouth and jaw, a smile forming behind my hand. I turn to look out the windshield.

  A surprise from Riley Tennyson. Well, fuck me.

  This should be good.

  “Dumb?” Riley asks after shifting into park and looking over at me, wincing as though she knows I'm going to fucking hate this.

  What is she, crazy?

  “Dumb?” I echo. My eyes jump between her face and the windshield where I look at the building we're parked in front of. “Your special treat is taking me to a pistol range?”

  She winces. “Yes?”

  “Are you for real?” I ask her, pointing at my chest. “Me, a guy who wanted to be a cop his entire fucking life, made guns out of everything laying around my house growing up and couldn't fucking wait ‘til I was old enough to hold a real one. You're asking if bringing me here is dumb? Babe,” I give her a look, “honest, if I wasn't worried I'd completely fuck up my leg permanently, I'd be running inside that building right now, carrying your sweet ass and hollering about how you’re the shit for bringing me here. Straight up, this is awesome.”

  A smile starts in one corner of Riley’s mouth and twists across to the other, stretching wide. “Well, I guess that means we won’t be needing my back-up plan then,” she says, cutting the engine and then leaning back in her seat. She lifts her hips to tuck her keys into her front shorts pocket.

  “Which was . . .”

  “A rubdown.”

  My brows raise. Riley starts giggling, pressing her fingertips to her mouth.

  I bite back a grin, which is really fucking hard considering how sweet she looks right now teasing me, and feign disinterest. “Nah, this is better. I’m sure I’d hate every second of that. I can barely tolerate a sponge bath from you.”

  She lowers her hand and narrows her eyes.

  Riley isn’t buying the shit I’m saying, and she shouldn’t. I’m lying out of my ass right now.

  “Oh, really? You hate those?” she questions, disbelief in her voice.

  “Twenty minutes of absolute torture,” I reply, keeping up the charade. “You’re so rough about it, and I’m a delicate man. Light, soothing touches only.” I flatten my hand to my chest. “My heart isn’t the only fragile thing about me, Riley. All of me needs to be nurtured.”

  “Oh, my God.” She shakes her head through a laugh before turning away to open her door.

  “I know you see all these muscles and think, my, God, he can handle anything, but really, babe, I’m sensitive. Don’t let all this bulk fool you,” I add as she climbs out of the car.

  “Then maybe we need to quit with the sponge baths since I’m not doing it right,” she suggests.

  I lean over the console so she can see my face from where she’s standing. “Hey, I didn’t say that. Quitters never learn, babe. And I’m patient man. I’m willing to teach you how I like to be touched.” I smirk, adding, “It’ll probably take hours of instruction. And I’ll, of course, need to touch you. This will be a hands-on process. Very hands on.”

  Riley’s cheeks burn hot.

  And really, I can't help myself at this point.

  “We won't stop until we're both satisfied,” I promise.

  Her eyes flicker wider. Then she slams the car door, turns on her heel, and moves hastily toward the front of the building, leaving me laughing in the car.

  “Well shit, look who it is.”

  I shake the hand Zeke is holding out for me, greeting him. “How’s it going, man? How you been?”

  Zeke is the owner of Heep Pistol Range. He’s a retired Army Sergeant who is always doing stuff for the community and finding ways to support the local police and fire departments. He's a standup guy. I’ve known him for years.

  “Good. Can’t complain,” he replies, running a hand over his short gray hair before grabbing his hips. He lifts his chin at me. “How are you feeling? I heard about what happened. How long are you gonna be laid up for?”

  “They’re saying probably close to five months but I’m not hearing that, you know? I told my therapist today she has three months to fix me up. I can't stand lying around and not working.”

  Zeke nods, understanding me, then looks to Riley, who’s standing at my left and keeping quiet. “You the little lady that called yesterday?”

  I watch Riley smile. “That was me,” she says, standing taller.

  Zeke gives her a grin, then looks back to me. “I didn’t know she was talking about bringing you in here,” he tells me. “I would’ve told Leon you were coming in. He would’ve liked to see you.”

  Leon is Zeke’s grandson. He runs the shop with Zeke and talks about becoming a cop someday. He’s a good kid.

  “Next time,” I tell Zeke before turning to look at Riley. “You called here?”

  She nods, explaining, “I wanted to make sure they’d let you sit while you did this. I figured you wouldn’t want to stand.”

  I smile at her, liking how she prepared for this and thought of everything. Then, putting more weight on my crutches, I bend to get closer, staring into her eyes. “You’re the shit. You know that, right?” I tell her, loud enough Zeke will hear me.

  Riley blushes, lowering her gaze before shyness turns her head.

  “Got you set up in lane one with a stool,” Zeke offers. “If you don’t like that, I got a chair I can bring back there.”

  “That should be fine,” I tell him, meeting his eyes. “I appreciate it, man.”

  “Anytime. You know that.” Zeke spins around to grab some ear and eye protection for Riley and myself, setting the headphones and glasses on top of the display case between us. “Here you go,” he says. “Let me grab you the paperwork to fill out.”

  “Oh, um . . . do I need these? I’m not shooting,” Riley announces as she picks up the pink headphones and studies them.

  “Doesn’t matter. You need to wear those. It gets loud in there,” I tell her. “Glasses too. Shells are going to be flying.”

  Riley slips the headphones over her ears and puts the glasses on. She pushes them up her nose, then adjusts the way the headphones are sitting before tilting her head up and smiling big at me. “How do I look?” she yells. “I feel like one of those air traffic controllers with the flashlights.”

  Laughter rumbles inside my chest as I lean on my crutches, steadying myself before reaching out to lift up one side of her headphones. “You look good,” I say. “And I’m sure the people at the BP across the street share that same opinion. I think they heard you.”

  Riley’s eyes widen as I set her headphone back on her ear. “Whoops,” she giggles.

  We share a laugh after she slips the headphones off.

  Zeke returns with our paperwork, and I get Riley to fill out one too even though she says she isn’t shooting—she could change her mind once
we’re in there. I’m hoping she does. I’d like her to try it out, but if she isn’t comfortable, I won’t push it. This needs to be something she wants to do. I tell her to go pick me out a target while I choose a firearm, sticking with a 9mm I’ve shot before when I’ve been here. It doesn’t have a lot of kick-back and the handle is a little bigger and easier to grip. That’ll help Riley if she wants to try it out. After getting a box of ammo from Zeke, I meet her at the door that leads to the range.

  “So, you’ve always wanted to be a cop? Like forever?” Riley asks at my back as I spread everything out on the table in front of me and take a seat on the stool.

  “Pretty much,” I answer. “I think there was a week where I wanted to join the circus but other than that, yeah.” I load the magazine, listening to Riley’s muffled giggle through my headphones. “Don’t laugh. I would’ve made a kickass lion tamer.”

  “Huh. I would’ve guessed clown.”

  “Funny.” I hang up the target and move it out to the distance I want it at using the switch on the wall. Then I look back at Riley over my shoulder, watching as she drags her finger across her smiling bottom lip. “Ready?” I ask.

  I want her comfortable with this, and I figure Riley hearing what this sounds like before I have her get any closer and possibly hold anything is the best way to do it. I know she’s never shot a gun before and I’m going to assume she hasn’t been around any either. She doesn’t know what to expect.

  Riley nods, wincing while reaching up to clamp her hands over her headphones.

  I give her a smile before I turn around, staying angled on my stool with my left leg straight out in front of me and my right leg bent, foot bracing on the wood. I rack the gun, lift it to aim at the center of the target, and fire off ten rounds.

  Adrenaline races through my blood.

  “Wow!”

  I set the gun down on the table and slide my headphones around my neck before turning my head to look back at her.

  Eyes wide and blinking and lips parted, Riley smiles big as she slowly lowers her hands and flattens one to her chest. “Holy crap, that scared me!” she says on a nervous sounding giggle. “It’s still really loud, even with the headphones.”

  “You all right?”

  She nods quickly. “Yeah. That was so cool.” She looks past me briefly, then meets my eyes again. “Did you hit the target?”

  I cock my head, face serious. Riley pulls her lips between her teeth and fights a grin.

  “If I didn’t, I'd have bigger problems than a bum leg. I’m going to need to choose a new career,” I reply. She laughs, giving me her smile. As I’m bringing the target in to take a look at it, I gesture at her to move closer.

  “Were you scared the first time you shot a gun?” she asks, reaching my side. Her headphones are around her neck now too.

  “Nah. I’ve always been comfortable with it. But I started young. My dad taught me how to hunt when I was eight.” I release the switch and grab onto the bottom of the target, pulling it over the table so it hangs without obstruction.

  Riley steps closer, putting her one hand on my thigh. She reaches out with the other and traces her fingertip over the holes in the paper. “You hit the bullseye,” she observes with wonder in her voice.

  I look down at her hand on my leg. At her black painted nails and the way her fingers curl under and grip. “Good,” I say. “I was aiming for it.”

  “Mm.” She laughs a little. “Well, that settles that.”

  “What settles what?”

  “I think you’re the shit too, CJ Tully.”

  Her quiet confession lifts my head, and I briefly meet her eyes before she’s looking down and away, hiding her blushing cheeks and pulling her hand from my leg.

  Something swells inside my chest, pushing organs and bone out of the way. I want her eyes back on me and her touch and Jesus fucking Christ, I want her mouth.

  “Riley . . .”

  “It doesn’t look real,” she says, standing closer to the table now and pushing the target back to look down at the gun, hearing me but choosing to ignore because she knows what I’m about to say—why the fuck are we just friends—and she either doesn’t want to have this talk with me or she’s not ready to have it.

  I’ve had moments with Riley like this since she moved in, where she gives me a look or her touch lingers, and the second I notice or open my mouth to question what the fuck we’re doing, she does the same shit. She looks away or changes the subject. She acts unsure. And I don’t want to rush her. I don’t want Riley hesitating with me. I know what went down with her ex was a lot and she’s still feeling that, but fuck, it kills me. All of this kills me. Her getting close and then pulling away. Knowing how she tastes and the way her body opens and moves, under and above me, her shaking limbs and quiet desires. I’m not forgetting shit.

  I get off on the memory of Riley while she sleeps in the next room. I fantasize about touching her and fucking her.

  I am the worst friend this girl could possibly have, because that’s the last thing I want us to be.

  “You know?”

  Riley’s question jars my focus and draws my attention to her face. She’s looking at me over her shoulder. Her brows are lifted.

  “I know what?” I ask, not following.

  “The gun. It doesn’t look real.”

  “Feels pretty damn real.” I shift to the edge of the stool so I can get closer to Riley and the table, then I pick up the gun and hold it out for her to see. “It’s not loaded. Here. Look.” I release the magazine, set that down, and rack the slide to show her the empty chamber. “You want to hold it?”

  She reaches out. No hesitation. Not with this.

  With me—when we get too close or look too long? Every damn time. But holding a firearm, Riley’s all in.

  Go fucking figure.

  “Can I? Just for a second.” She takes the gun from me and lets it rest in her hand, keeping her palm up. “Wow. It’s heavy. I didn’t think it would be this heavy,” she comments, curling her fingers around it and flipping it over to study.

  I could make a joke about that—something heavy in her hand—but I don’t. Instead I slide my hand along the back of hers and move her grip. “Keep your finger off the trigger,” I instruct. “Only time your finger should be there is if you’re ready to shoot. Even if it’s not loaded, it’s a good habit to hold it like this. Okay?”

  She nods, then lifts her arms and extends them out in front of her. “Like this? Am I doing it right?”

  I grab her waist and twist her body so she’s standing at an angle. “Right foot back, like you’re ready to throw a punch. Don’t lock your arms.”

  Riley follows instruction. She stands like a natural, and there’s no need for me to be keeping hold of her right now, but I do it anyway. My knees on either side of her, my hands on her hips and my chest pressing up against her back.

  I inhale her shampoo and the soft floral perfume she uses and fuck me, no woman has ever smelled this good.

  “Look at you,” I murmur beside her ear, watching the corner of her mouth twitch.

  “Do I look good?”

  “Dumb question, darlin’.”

  Riley smiles. She lowers her arms. “Can I,” she looks back at me, teeth sawing across her bottom lip, “try and shoot it? Just once.”

  “You can shoot it as much as you like.”

  I load the gun with one round and run through how it fires and how she can aim for something, making sure she’s comfortable with everything before handing it over. After sending the target back out and getting our headphones on, I resume how I was holding onto Riley before, keeping steady at her back so she feels me with her.

  If she’s nervous, I want her knowing I’m right here. That I’ve got her.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “I think so.”

  “Don’t worry about aiming. I just want you to shoot, okay? You do this and like it, we’ll load it again.”

  Riley nods. I feel her body get into p
osition before she extends her arms out in front of her. She holds there, breathing in, then out. Again. And once more. She knows to fire on an exhale.

  And she does.

  The gun goes off. I feel Riley’s body tense with a startle. I grip her tighter while my eyes focus in on the target she just put a hole through.

  Dead fucking centered.

  “Holy shit,” I murmur.

  “Oh, my God!” she shrieks. “I did it! CJ, I did it!” Riley sets the gun down and spins around to face me. Her eyes are shining with pride and I’ve never seen a bigger smile on her face. “Did you see? I hit the target! I actually hit that son of a bitch.” She pulls her headphones down.

  I do the same, laughing. “No shit. You’re a good fucking shot,” I tell her, smiling as she clutches at her heaving chest. “You all right?”

  She nods quickly. “My heart is beating so fast,” she rushes out. “It’s pounding. Here. Feel.” Riley grabs hold of my wrist and brings my hand up to take the place of hers, pressing my palm flat against the space between her cleavage and her collarbones.

  I quit breathing as her life races beneath my hand. Her skin is so goddamned soft and I’m touching her.

  Fuck. I’m touching her.

  “Do you feel that?” she asks me.

  My lips part. A memory plays like a reel inside my head—Riley’s wide, stormy eyes holding me over her shoulder as I move inside her slowly. “Do you feel that? How fucking hard I am for you?”

  I blink her back into focus. Do I feel that?

  Fuck.

  Blood runs warmer in my veins and I’m hard beneath my shorts and I’m so close to losing my fucking mind on this girl. To pulling her into my arms and touching her more and kissing her kissing her kissing her and fuck being friends. It sucks.

  Why would anyone want this when you can have everything else?

  “CJ?” she presses when I don’t answer her or the urges that itch beneath my skin. I can’t.

  This is what she wants. Friendship. Touches that don’t mean more. And until Riley is showing me different, I won’t take it further.

  I can’t. I care too much about her to fuck this up. Christ. I care so fucking much about her already. More than she knows.