by Ivy Jordan
“Do you remember that?” he asked softly.
I nodded. My cheeks burnt as the heat inflamed around me. My pussy twitched as his erection grinded against me. “I have to go,” I said quickly, pushing my way out from under him.
He was too seductive, too smooth. If I’d stay there beneath him for a second longer, I’d be begging him to fuck me.
“Wait,” he said, jumping up from the bed. “Can I see you again?” he asked.
“Of course,” I gasped. My breathing was still shallow from the excitement of him holding me down on the hotel bed.
He gripped his phone from his pocket, punched in my number as I gave it to him, and then called my phone so I’d have his. “I’m only here for a month,” he said.
“I know,” I replied, wondering if that was code for ‘don’t get attached.’
“I heard there’s a pretty nice gun range not far from here. Would you want to try it out with me?” he asked.
“Sounds like a blast,” I said, fake-laughing at my own corny joke.
He smiled endearingly at me, reached for my waist, and pulled me in close. “Maybe, if you can handle my rifle, I’ll let you try out my pistol,” he whispered in my ear.
I laughed. “Yeah, trust me. I can handle whatever gun you’ve got.” I realized after I spoke that he may not be talking about the same type of rifle I was referring to. My cheeks started to heat up again as his smile grew.
“I’ll call you to make the plans,” he said.
“Okay.”
I couldn’t stand the thought of putting on my high heels, and I already looked like a hot mess, so I picked them up instead. It was still early, and I knew if I hurried, I had a good chance of getting out of there before anyone saw me.
I opened the door, stepped out into the hall, and let the hotel door close behind me. I took a deep breath, leaned against it, and felt a rush of shame and guilt rolling through me as I stood in the bright hall.
The door next to me opened; I quickly gathered my stuff and started to head toward the elevator when Brenda appeared from the door. He got the room right next to them? Shit!
“Wow. Looks like you had a wild night,” she said, giving me that knowing smile.
“Yeah. I don’t remember half of it,” I admitted.
“You were having a pretty good time…” Ethan popped out the door as she spoke.
“Wow. Looks like you had an even better time after Billy and I left,” she laughed.
“Nothing happened,” I snapped.
“Sure. I can see that,” Brenda said, her eyes pushing toward Ethan’s open belt.
“Get your mind outta the gutter, girl. Penelope’s a good girl, unlike you, you dirty girl. I heard you two going all night last night,” he teased with a laugh.
Billy stepped out, smiling at us, and then pulling her back inside. “Ice can wait,” he said, and then winked as he closed the door.
“I’m sorry about that,” Ethan said.
“It’s okay. It’s just a small town, you know?” I said, feeling my reputation being ruined as I spoke.
His beautiful, dark eyes, thick, muscular shoulders and chest, and that warm smile somehow made me feel it was all worth it. Even if nothing happened, and everyone would say it did. It was worth it.
Chapter Three
The bell rang, and dozens of grade-schoolers flooded the halls. My head was still on Ethan, staring at the entry in my phone, thinking he’d never call. That’s just something you do, something you say after having an awkward day after. He was only here a month anyway, so what did it matter?
My students started entering the classroom, all still chattering to one another about their weekend. “Take your seats,” I announced, pushing my phone into my pocket and standing at my desk.
Men weren’t a part of my life. I was a teacher. I loved what I did, and even though I couldn’t convince my mother I didn’t need a man, I needed to do a better job of convincing myself.
“Okay. Who wants to tell us about their weekend?” I asked, my usual Monday-morning question.
Little hands raised in the air. I picked them one by one, listening to the trips taken to see grandma, the fish that were caught, and several kids telling me how they spent the day at the pond. It was close to summer, the days already sweltering hot. I hated that time of year, when everyone else seemed to love it. For me, it meant I was off work. It meant I was without my students, and on my own.
“What did you do this weekend, Miss Cooper?” asked a tiny voice belonging to a red-headed boy named Markie.
I leaned against my desk, somewhat afraid of my answer. “I went to a wedding,” I said calmly.
“You got married?” one of the other kids asked.
“No. My cousin did.”
“Did you dance?” Markie asked.
“I love to dance,” Katrina said, her little pig tails perfectly braided and dangling past her shoulders.
“I did dance,” I said, a smile creeping onto my face as I spoke.
“With your husband?” Katrina asked.
“No. I’m not married.”
“It was her boyfriend,” Markie said with authority.
“Was it your boyfriend?” Katrina asked, her bright green eyes wide and hopeful.
“No. He wasn’t my boyfriend. Just a friend,” I said, quickly turning to the chalkboard.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Katrina asked. It was obvious she was already a hopeless romantic and getting her away from this topic wasn’t going to be easy.
“Who here can name a type of dance?” I asked, turning around with the piece of chalk in my hand.
They all started chanting out different types of dances they knew, which mostly consisted of the chicken dance, hip hop, ballet, and square dancing. It started a new discussion that lasted for most of the morning. I was relieved when the lunch bell rang, giving me a few minutes to check my phone.
As the kids lined up, and Mrs. Martin from across the hall took her turn in the lunch room, I slid back into my room, pulling my homemade lunch from my desk. My eyes lit up, and my heart sang when I noticed the text from Ethan on my phone.
Ethan: How’s tonight for the gun range, hun?
I saw he sent the text over an hour ago, while I was in deep discussion with a bunch of seven-year-old kids about what the waltz was, and how to do it.
Me: I’d love to.
My phone beeped again. I was delighted at how quickly he responded.
Ethan: Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to a nice dinner and a movie?
Me: No way!
Ethan: J My kinda girl!
Me: I’m at work until 4.
Ethan: Pick you up at six?
Me: Do you need the address?
Ethan: Nope
Me: See you at six J
I loved that he’d already gotten my address from Brenda. In a way, it told me he was really interested. For two days, I’d thought he wasn’t.
It was five-thirty, and my nerves were going crazy. I didn’t straighten my hair like my mom had suggested; instead I let it curl at the end and flow down my back with its natural wave. I liked my hair the way it was, but for some reason, my mother, God love her, insisted on it being straight most of my life.
“What are you so nervous about?” my mom asked.
I turned to see her warm smile. She was older, but still attractive. I hoped I’d inherited her longevity in the looks department. “I’m not,” I said quickly, offering up an equally warm smile.
“You’ve been peering out that window for over thirty minutes,” she said with a laugh.
My cheeks began to warm as I tried to find a way to tell her she wasn’t right. But she was. I was extremely nervous. This would be our first date—our first official date anyway. Is it a date? I wasn’t even sure.
A bright-blue pickup pulled into the drive, sending my nerves into high gear. “He’s here. Don’t embarrass me,” I said, rushing toward the bathroom for one last look at my hair.
I stood there in
the mirror, hesitating letting him see me without my hair straightened. It looked messy. Maybe I had time to straighten it if Mom distracted him.
“You look lovely, dear,” my mom said sweetly.
I was wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. My hair was more than just a little wavy. Small, tight curls had already begun to spiral through my head as my temperature rose with nervousness. A knock at the door stopped me from making any changes. My heart raced as I smiled at my mother, took a deep breath, and moved toward the door to meet him.
“You ready?” he asked.
He stood at my door, on my front porch, wearing the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.
He was casual, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans just like me. Maybe this wasn’t a date. Maybe he just wanted to hang out with someone while he was here. It was only for a month, after all, so it wasn’t like anything could come of this. The thought of simply hanging out with Ethan calmed my nerves. “Yeah,” I said, sliding out the door with a quick wink to my mom.
He smiled at me as he walked me to his truck. He opened up the passenger door and helped me inside with his hand underneath my backside. Feeling his touch, even atop my jeans, warmed my body.
“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, still wearing that same, cheesy smile.
Was he looking at my hair? Did he think it looked ridiculous?
“Of course,” I said.
I didn’t tell him about my father, and how he took me hunting with him when I was a kid. One of our favorite things to do together was spend the afternoon at the shooting range during off-season. Even after he died, my uncle Jack still took me on occasion, and even now, I’d sometimes find myself there when I felt the need to be closer to my dad.
“I brought a .22,” he said softly. “I figured you could start off with a little less kick,” he added.
I smiled to myself, finding it cute he thought I could only handle the Ruger. I had a gun at the range I liked to use, and Tom, the clerk, would certainly get a kick out of Ethan’s naivety.
The radio played rock music, something that sounded like Imagine Dragons. I reached down, turned it up, and kicked off the air conditioner in the truck. I rolled down my window to enjoy the warm spring air and leaned back in my seat to enjoy the music. “I thought you’d want the AC because your hair would get messy,” he said with a smile.
I laughed. “My hair is always messy.”
“I love it,” he said with sincerity.
I rolled my eyes and smiled. My dad loved my hair. He always told me it was like me: unpredictable, different, and of course, beautiful. But even with that, I couldn’t believe Ethan really thought my messy ‘do was anything to love.
“We’re here,” he said, acting as if I’d never been.
I climbed out of the truck, letting my shoes find the gravel beneath me while Ethan pulled out the gun cases from the behind his seat. “You can leave the Ruger in the truck,” I said with a smirk.
He stopped, looked at me, and seemed to fight the smile sliding up on his face.
“Really?” he asked, surprised.
“Really. I haven’t shot a .22 since I was nine,” I laughed.
“You are a woman of many surprises,” Ethan said, pushing the small gun case back to its position.
He shut the truck door, reached out for my hand, and squeezed it tightly as we walked side by side into the shooting range.
“Well, hello there, Penelope,” Tom said from behind the counter.
Ethan turned to me, widening his eyes in my direction as he shook his head. “Hey, Tom,” I said, happy to see the old familiar face from the range.
“You shooting the Mag today, or the AK?” he asked casually.
Ethan stared at me with disbelief, and what seemed to be an impressed look. “Wow. Little lady don’t mess around,” he laughed.
“The .44,” I said, deciding the Magnum would be more fun for showing off my skills to Ethan.
Tom set us up, giving us each a pair of headphones, target paper, and ammo for our guns. “So, why didn’t you tell me you liked to shoot?” Ethan asked.
“You never asked,” I said calmly.
“Are you any good?” he asked, clipping his target paper to the clip before sending it out twenty-five yards.
I didn’t answer, but clipped my own target. I sent it out forty-yards and smiled. “You might want to go a bit closer. You’re not gonna get the accuracy you want out of that gun at that distance,” he instructed patiently.
He had the same gun I had, and I knew with his expertise he was well aware the gun could be accurate up to two-hundred yards with the right person behind its trigger. He was impressed I’d been to the gun range before, and that I wasn’t afraid of a little recoil, but he still didn’t believe I could handle it.
“I’ll be fine,” I said in a sweet tone, slipping on my earmuffs and loading my gun.
I didn’t pay any attention to Ethan as I lined up my shot. I felt at peace here, standing with the large pistol in my hands. It reminded of me when I was little, when my dad would have to stand behind me and steady my arms. The first time I shot the .44, he’d had to keep me from falling back onto my ass.
My finger squeezed the trigger over and over until my magazine was empty. I turned to Ethan as he took his last shot, and without speaking, we both pushed the return button to see our results.
Ethan’s target was destroyed in the middle, almost every shot landing dead center. “Not bad,” I said, pulling my paper from the clip.
He reached over, took it from me, and examined it with his lips parted and his tongue sliding slowly across them. “I’m impressed,” he admitted, handing me back the target that looked similar to his. I’d shot from fifteen yards farther and had the same results. I half-expected him to get defensive and competitive, but he didn’t. Instead, he seemed pleased, truly impressed.
After a full hour in the range, and testing out several guns, we called it a day and decided to head out for dinner and a drink. My ears were ringing from the blasts, even wearing the muffs. “So, what made you love guns so much?” he asked as he poured us each a beer from the pitcher he ordered.
The waitress brought over two large baskets of wings, both with the hottest sauce available, and each with extra blue cheese. I told him about my dad. He looked at me with such compassion as I spoke that it warmed my heart. I hadn’t talked to anyone about this before, not even my mom. It felt good.
“So, why do you love guns so much?” I asked.
“I’m a guy. We love guns,” he laughed.
“Did you always want to be a SEAL?” I asked.
He paused. I watched as he licked the hot sauce from his fingers, and then took a quick chug of his beer. “My grandpa was a Marine,” he told me, and then went on to explain how close he was with him, and that he wanted to make him proud.
“I’ve done two tours, and I’m ready to stay closer to home now,” he said softly.
He had a glazed over look in his eyes, as if he were thinking about something deeper than our conversation. “You didn’t like being deployed?” I asked.
He smiled, sipped his beer, and watched me shew the meat from a saucy chicken bone. “I did. But it’s time for a change,” he said.
“What was it like?” I asked.
I’d heard plenty of stories from my own grandfather, but listening to Ethan’s somehow seemed more interesting. He told me about the Iwo Jima, and how they’d captured pirates while at sea. It was wild to hear about all the places he’d been, everything he’d seen. I was a little envious as I realized I hadn’t been anywhere.
“So, you’re not going back?” I asked, confused by the month he had off. Where was he going if not back to the military?
“I am. I’m just going to be a trainer now. The job doesn’t require me to go overseas, and I can stay in one place. Start a life,” he said, again with that deep thought look on his face. “So, are you gonna eat the bones too?” he laughed as I continued to gnaw on the chicken in front o
f me.
I laughed, not realizing I was eating like a man. I was so comfortable around Ethan, that it didn’t dawn on me to order a salad and tuck my napkin onto my lap.
“Here,” he said, leaning over the table toward me.
His finger grazed my cheek, wiping off sauce, and what I was pretty sure was a chunk of chicken meat. My face turned bright red. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, feeling embarrassed by my mess.
“No. I love it,” he said with a smile.
“You must just really love messes,” I laughed. “Speaking of messes, how’s it going staying with the newlyweds?” I asked, sipping my beer to wash down the hot sauce. My throat was beginning to burn, and my lips felt like they were on fire as the cold beer rushed past them.
“I just cover my head with a pillow at night,” he teased.
He told me how he and Billy were working on the backyard. He liked helping, and he enjoyed spending time with his brother. I found out they were only half-brothers. Billy lived with his mom and her new husband here in town, and Ethan lived in California with their dad and his long line of new wives that changed almost yearly.
“It was hard not seeing him much,” he said sadly.
“So, that’s why he left for California in the summers,” I said, finally piecing together the mystery of Billy’s disappearance for most of the summers.
It was time to go, and I hated to leave. Ethan promised Billy they’d have a guy’s night, since Brenda and Marla were going out to see some chick flick. I got the feeling he’d hated that he’d made that promise as much as I did when he finally pulled into my drive.
He got out of the truck and walked around to my door, opening it slowly. He extended his hand, helping me from the lifted truck. As I slid from the seat and my foot missed the foot rail, I landed in his arms, pressed hard against him.
He didn’t hesitate to lean in, pressing his lips against mine. The heat from the sauce had left my lips numb. As he slid his tongue into my mouth, it felt like a stick of fire, but I didn’t mind. I kissed him back passionately, allowing his hands to slide to my hips.
As he pulled away, he let out a sigh, one that made my body tingle with excitement. “Can I see you again?” he asked softly.
