Calculated Risk

by Marie James

  “But you can’t recall the last time you went on a date?” Jude asks, holding out his hand. “Napkin.”

  I all but growl at him as I reach into the paper sack and shove a napkin in his direction.

  “I work a lot.”

  “We all do,” Brooks counters. “But I manage to find time to date.”

  “You have sex. That’s not dating,” Jude says.

  I point to my best friend in agreement.

  “So you’re having sex, but you’re not dating?” Brooks asks genuinely confused. “And I date. I don’t always just meet up for sex.”

  “You don’t?” I ask.

  “A man’s got to eat.” He winks at me in a slimy way, and I have to shake my head at his antics.

  “Got mustard in your beard, man. Just right there.” I wipe at my mouth, scowling at Brooks. “Other side, idiot.”

  “Fuck off,” I hiss as I wipe both sides of my mouth.

  “Does that beard get in the way when you’re eating pussy?”

  Jude snorts at Brooks’s question, finding it funny, but his cheeks still turn a little red. He’s never been very comfortable talking about sex.

  “Many women like a little scruff burn on the insides of their thighs,” Wren says, walking into the room and jumping right into the conversation.

  “That’s true,” Brooks agrees. “But it may be a little much. Maybe trim it up some.”

  “It doesn’t get in the way, and if Hayd—I have no intentions of eating pussy any time soon.”

  “Wow. Freudian slip? Wishful thinking?” Brooks taunts.

  “Do you have the hots for Hayden Prescott? The woman in your shooting class?” Wren asks.

  “No.”

  “Yes.” Jude counters my lie.

  “Can you ever keep your mouth shut?” I snap at my best friend.

  I don’t know if I’m mad because he’s gossiping like a teen girl in the school bathroom or if the topic of conversation has me wondering just how into the scrape of my beard on her thigh Hayden would be.

  “We’re all family,” he mutters as he crinkles up his trash before throwing it at my head.

  “Really? Why don’t you tell your family about the last time you had sex?”

  His eyes flare.

  “Interesting,” Wren says. “Tell us, Jude.”

  “Why are we talking about sex?”

  “You’re the one who came in here running your mouth about a client from the shooting class.”

  “Tell us,” Wren prods. “Do you use your medical supplies? Are you kinky?”

  “I told you that in confidence,” Jude hisses.

  “You told me that years ago,” I remind him. His eyes dart to a spot across the room. “What? Really? No. Still?”

  “Fuck, I need popcorn,” Brooks says, clapping his hands like a hungry baby seeing a box of Cheerios. “Explain.”

  Jude doesn’t answer. I immediately register the change in his breathing. He’s embarrassed. Fuck, I didn’t mean for that to happen. It agitates me a little that they’re being nosy about Hayden, but his secrets are much bigger than that. It’s my turn to be surprised because this is not the direction I thought this conversation was going. I regret opening my stupid mouth.

  “We’re all waiting, Jude,” Wren pressures.

  “Leave him alone. It’s nothing.” Neither Wren nor Brooks looks in my direction.

  “Oh, wow. You haven’t, have you?” Wren asks, but his tone is serious not teasing. “Dude, that—”

  “You’re a virgin?” Brooks asks, his mouth hanging open in shock. “That’s—”

  “Fucking awesome,” Wren says in admiration.

  “Like ever?” Brooks continues, still baffled.

  “Go ahead,” Jude says glaring at me, angry for spilling the beans before looking over at the other guys. “Make fun of me.”

  “Why?” Brooks asks, his brow creasing. “I mean, I’m not saying I would give up all of my experiences just to have sex again for the first time, but—”

  “I would,” Wren snaps. “In a fucking heartbeat. If the only woman I ever put my mouth on or stuck my co—had sex with was Whitney, I could die a happy man. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-one so it’s no big deal. You’re what, twenty-four?”

  I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling.

  “Thirty-one,” he mutters, his eyes darting quickly away.

  Brooks hands clap over his head as he falls back into a reclining position on the sofa. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re a total virgin?” Wren asks with the disclosure of Jude’s age.

  “Why is this such a big deal?” Jude asks, but his scowl is starting to fade with the realization that the guys aren’t going to make fun of him.

  “Virgins just don’t exist these days. Most people lose it in high school, and if not then, they do in college.”

  “We moved around a lot. Military brat, remember?” Jude explains.

  “There were no girls or guys on base?” Brooks asks.

  “Not gay,” Jude clarifies.

  “You sure? I mean if you haven’t—”

  “I’m sure,” Jude interrupts.

  “So no girls on base?” Brooks continues as Wren drops his ass down to the arm of the couch, looking at my friend like a science experiment or a new computer program he doesn’t quite understand.

  “We moved a lot. There was no time to really get to know anyone.”

  “I’m going home,” I say as I stand, gathering my trash.

  “We’re not done talking about Hayden and the way you watched her all night,” Jude says to my back.

  “We’ll get to that later,” Wren says. “So like nothing? Never gotten a blow job, never given a girl head, like nothing?”

  I walk out and leave my friend right in the middle of the spotlight he flipped the switch on and turned in my direction.

  I’ll apologize later, but for now, I need a little distance from it all.

  Chapter 10

  Hayden

  “All night,” Parker says as she presses the bullets into the magazine. “I was talking to him and he was watching you. I’m telling you, the man has it bad for you.”

  “What? No, he wasn’t.”

  He was, and apparently I wasn’t the only one to notice his undivided attention despite not really engaging with him last week at the bar.

  “Besides, you like him so even if he was, it doesn’t matter.”

  “What are you talking about? Like him? I don’t like him.”

  I glare at her. “Seriously?”

  “Has that been what’s holding you back?”

  “I’m not holding back. I—”

  “Hold that thought.” Parker turns around and fires the gun, hitting the target several times. “Don’t tell me you don’t like him. The man is fucking gorgeous.”

  “You ladies okay down here?”

  The air feels thick and I know it has more to do with Quinten’s approach than the slight haze of smoke from so many guns being fired at the same time.

  I flinch when the woman in the third lane takes her first shot, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Quinten.

  “Have you picked it up yet?” He looks over at the gun that felt the least uncomfortable in my hands. It’s still in the basket the attendant at the front handed to me in when I checked it out.

  “I’m just not feeling it,” I tell him with a raised voice.

  “Is it awkward? Because it always is at first. Pick it up and let me check your grip.”

  “Maybe show us how you hold yours,” Parker suggests, and the flirty tone in her voice makes me want to step on her toe just to get her to back up a few inches.

  Quinten nods before pulling his own gun from the holster on his hip. He pops out the magazine and does this sexy thing where he pulls back the top, making the bullet inside it fly out. He catches it gracefully.

  “Are you watching?” I nod, catching myself a second too late, before biting the corner of my bottom lip.


  His eyes track the movement before he shifts a little further away.

  I watch as he pops the single bullet back into the clip before sliding it into place in the gun. He pulls the top back. Crap, if I were paying attention to his words in class instead of the sure movements of his hands, I would know what that part is called.

  “Like this. Keep both thumbs facing forward. Stand like this so you’re more stable. The gun you picked out doesn’t have the power to knock you over, despite what you might have seen on online videos.”

  I nod, watching his strong legs bend ever so slightly at the knee.

  “So just a little bend?” Parker asks. “Or a lot. What’s too far?”

  “You want to be like this.” Quinten turns to face the target before squatting a little lower. “Going this far down isn’t practical, and it’s not something you’d do in a real-life situation.”

  “Jesus,” Parker says before biting her fist. She pulls it out quickly, looking down at her hand like it tastes disgusting.

  I huff a laugh at her ridiculousness.

  “Jesus, Hay. Look at that. I bet he could squeeze a gala apple between those cheeks and make pulp free apple juice.”

  “That’s enough,” Quinten says. He reholsters his gun and turns to glare at my friend. “This is a serious class, and the commentary isn’t needed.”

  Parker’s mouth hangs open. “What?”

  “You aren’t exactly whispering, and it’s clear you don’t know this, but,” he points to his headset, “these are electronic, which means I can hear you just fine. Even when you think you’re whispering.”

  My lips twitch as I try to keep from laughing. It isn’t often that my best friend gets embarrassed. She hasn’t said anything to me that she wouldn’t say to his face, but she very rarely gets called out.

  “Hayden.” Quinten sweeps his hand in the direction of the basket holding my rented gun. “Your turn.”

  “I’m not ready to shoot.”

  “Okay. That’s fine. I want to see you practice your stand and hold.”

  I move to the head of the lane and pull the gun and clip from the basket.

  “Check and make sure it’s loaded.”

  “It’s not,” I tell him.

  “Because you already checked it?”

  “Because the guy at the counter wouldn’t give it to me that way.”

  “Humans make mistakes. You can see the magazine isn’t in. Now to check the chamber, pull back on the slide and look inside. Good. Is it empty?”

  “Yes,” I answer, wishing he was a little closer to me. For selfish reasons, of course, not because of fear of the gun or anything.

  That’s a lie. I’m terrified of shooting. I’m afraid of the recoil like he mentioned. I’m afraid of the bang. I’m afraid of looking like a fool because I do it wrong. If I were rich, I’d hire a full-time bodyguard to stand at my bedroom door while I slept because I’m exhausted and that makes me emotional. And being emotional makes me angry because I should have better control over myself.

  The gun starts to shake in my hands.

  I clear my throat, muttering under my breath motivational things like—you’re doing great, Hayden. You got this. Don’t be scared.

  “You don’t have to be scared. Here. Move this one down just a little. When you shoot for real, you’re going to end up with slide burn if you’re that high.”

  Now I have to worry about the individual parts of the gun hurting me?

  Jesus, I may just not even show up to the next two classes.

  I can’t even focus on the fact that he heard my not so flowery affirmations.

  “Pull the slide back, point, aim and shoot.”

  “It’s not loaded,” I remind him.

  “I know, but get used to the click before worrying about the boom.”

  Quinten takes a step back, not saying another single word to me as I get in position and do as he says. I flinch the first time I get the courage to squeeze the trigger, but after I realize that it isn’t going to jump out of my hands, I find it easier to repeat.

  Quinten goes to help someone else while Parker and I trade off, her using a loaded weapon and me clicking mine a handful of times.

  I tell Parker I’m staying behind, thinking maybe shooting in an empty room would be easier if I don’t have any witnesses if I look stupid. When class is over, I head to the front and wait my turn to step up to the counter. The guy doesn’t bat an eye when I tell him that I want to re-rent the gun and purchase a box of practice ammunition.

  The transaction is smooth, and I’m feeling a little more confident when I step into the firing lane alone, but my throat is still dry. I check the gun, just like Quinten instructed even though it was never out of my sight and I cleared it before leaving the room the first time.

  Instead of loading an empty magazine, I slide bullet after bullet into the magazine until it’s full, but then I find my hands shaking again when I pick it up to slide it into position.

  It takes another five minutes of me staring down at the thing, legs quaking a little before I slide the magazine home, and another three minutes before I pull the slide back to move that first bullet into position. When that is done, I lay the thing back down, making sure that the muzzle is pointed down range at all times like he mentioned during my first full class.

  After several long breaths, I pick it back up, terror filling my blood and making my forehead sweat a little.

  I’m trying to talk myself into actually going through with it when I hitch my shoulder to attempt to catch a bead of sweat rolling down at my temple, and then the damn thing just goes off in my hand.

  Chapter 11

  Quinten

  “Thanks as always,” I tell Adam, tapping the doorframe of his office before leaving for the night. “I turned off the lights in the classroom.”

  “What are you teaching these women?”

  My mind goes straight to Gayle who was shockingly absent in class today, but then I look past him at the video monitor on his desk.

  “She spent ten minutes at what looked like psyching herself up to shoot. She fires off a single shot. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I don’t even think she did that one on purpose, and now, for five minutes, she’s been standing like that.”

  Hayden is standing at lane three with her head lowered and her hands on her hips.

  “She pulled the trigger?”

  “I saw the brass eject, but I don’t think it was on purpose.”

  “Hmm.” Maybe she did just need to be alone to do it the first time.

  “See that shake?” he asks, pointing to the screen when she picks the gun back up. “I better go see if she needs some help.”

  I clamp a hand on his shoulder before he can fully stand. “I’ll do it.”

  “Quickly,” he urges. “Before she hurts herself.”

  The room is empty except for her, so she can hear when I open the door and join her. Since leaving Adam’s office, she’s laid the gun back down, resuming her stance with her hands on her hips. When she turns to face me, I notice that her forehead is damp, but there’s a soft smile on her face.

  “I shot it.”

  “And it scared you so badly, you’re terrified to do it again?”

  She nods. “Does that make me a wuss?”

  “Not in the least. It’s a deadly weapon. It’s good that you respect it as such, but I don’t want you to be afraid of it either. Turn around and pick it back up.”

  She does, and her hands are either trembling more now or the video didn’t capture the full shake earlier.

  “Hold on,” I tell her, placing my hand on top of her forearms, so she lowers the gun. “Look at me.”

  I slide my hand down to hers and take the other one lightly in mine as well.

  “Relax.” I move her hands making her arms shake. “Take a deep breath. It’s like jumping off a cliff into the lake for the first time. It’s perfectly normal to be a little nervous.”

  “I’ve never jumped off a
cliff,” she says, making me grin.

  Of course she hasn’t.

  “Now let’s try again. Don’t lock your knees, but don’t slouch. Pick it up. No, like this.” Without thought, I step in behind her and wrap my arms around hers, readjusting her hands on the grip. “Does that feel better?”

  When she nods her head, the scent of her hair invades my nose, and like a fool, I dip a little lower to get a better whiff, which nearly has me on my damn knees.

  With our size difference, I’m not even touching her except where my arms come over hers.

  “Tighten up here,” I tell her as I trail my fingers up her arms to her elbows. Did she have goosebumps before I touched her? “Perfect.”

  I take a step back.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you without asking first.”

  When she turns her head to look at me, the gun comes along for the ride.

  “Down range,” I snap, startling her.

  The gun fires and thank God the bullet goes wide.

  She screeches as she drops the gun on the table at her waist. She stares down at the thing like it just insulted her.

  “That’s twice now that’s happened. I’m done. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “Twice? That happened the first time you shot in here alone?”

  She’s shaking, and although I want to lift her chin so I can see her eyes, I keep my distance. She’s here to learn how to shoot, not be railroaded by a man who has a tendency to take over and do things himself because it’s faster and easier.

  “I went to wipe sweat off my face.”

  “With your right hand?” My eyes widen, knowing she’s right-handed. “You could’ve—”

  “With my shoulder.” She mimics the motion, lifting her shoulder to the damp side of her face.

  “And it went off because your finger was on the trigger just like now. What did I say in class?”

  “Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot, and I was ready, then I felt the sweat.”

  “Then you take your finger off the trigger.”

  “Obviously, I will from now on.”