You Before Me (12 page)

Just as I take my last bite, Gabe
looks down at his clock on his wrist. “Time to go?” I
question.

“Yeah, just about. Be right back.” He
grabs the check off the end of the table and goes to pay. I watch
him walk away, wanting nothing more than to undress him, before
taking one more sip of my drink and following him. Once he's paid,
he turns and takes my hand. “I'll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks for lunch, Gabe.”

“You're welcome. I'm glad I got to see
you.”

“I'm glad you got to see me too,” I
say with a grin, causing Gabe to laugh. My car is right outside, so
it's not a long walk. I search in my purse for my keys and unlock
my door with the press of a button. Gabe reaches around me to open
the door, but I don't get in. Instead, I turn to him, stepping
closer until there's less than an inch between us. “Do I get a kiss
before I go?”

“Do you want one?” He answers,
clutching my hips, curling his fingers into my back.

“Yes.” There's no need for me to say
more or anything other than that. Yes is the truth, and I don't see
the point in saying otherwise.

Gabe smiles, looking dangerously sexy
now as he eliminates the space between us. I've had plenty of
kisses before, but none as addicting and consuming as Gabe's. His
make me feel unhurried yet overwhelmed from the mere presence of
his lips on mine. He's in control. The thought thrills me. Whenever
I have sex, I'm usually the one in control and guys love it. But
with Gabe, there's no mistake as to who is holding the power. He
is.

My entire body slinks against him when
he slips his tongue into my mouth. I grasp the back of his neck,
half of my fingers diving into his hair. There's a tenderness, but
a crazed hunger underneath as if he's trying to control himself. I
pull his lower lip into my mouth, tugging it between my teeth, and
his grip on my hips is iron-strong. My smile can't resist forming
against his lips, breaking our kiss. His eyes open, those brown
eyes examining carefully.

“See you Saturday?” It comes out as a
question, my voice wavering slightly with an unbearable need to
have him.

“Yes. I'll pick you up.”

I slide into my seat then and Gabe
shuts the door after saying goodbye.

* * *

I was actually ready when Gabe came to
pick me up. He drove out of town to this field in the middle of
freaking nowhere. There's a couple of picnic tables and an old,
wooden barn, but then it's wide open with surrounding fields. We're
away from the highway and completely alone.

The gun is large, scary, and
intimidating in Gabe's hand. I gulp. Gabe lays it down on a picnic
table along with a couple others and an array of ammunition, plus
three cans of soda. He glances over at me where I'm standing a few
feet away with my arms crossed over my chest.

“Are you doing okay, Ryan?” He asks
carefully.

“Are you sure you know what you're
doing?” I hate that I can hear my apprehension in my
voice.

Gabe gives me a hearty laugh. “I'm a
cop. Of course I know how to use a gun.” He stops what he's doing
and walks over to me, running his hands up and down my arms between
my elbow and my shoulder. With his lips against my forehead, he
soothingly adds, “If you don't want to, you don't have to.” Gabe
looks down at me, waiting to see if I'm going to bail or
not.

“I'm just nervous. That's all. Let's
do this.” I have no confidence in myself at all, but I trust Gabe,
especially with this.

He nods and leaves to go set up the
target. There's a post about the height you would use for a fence,
and he tapes it to a board that's nailed to the post. He also
places two stacked cans of soda on top of it. Gabe walks back to
me, grabs the shotgun, the largest of the guns on the table, and
tells me to get the earmuffs.

My eyes widen, my jaw hanging down by
my knees. “That's what you're starting me with? A shotgun? Are you
sure?”

“Yes, stop questioning me.” He doesn't
snap at me like I was expecting. Instead, his words are gentle and
sure.

I grab the protective earmuffs and
follow him. He stands a couple yards from the target and points
with the tip of his foot where he wants me to stand.

“You're going to want to stand like
this.” He has his left foot ahead of his right as if he's trying to
use his legs to anchor his body better. It also tilts his body
towards the right a little. Once I assume the same position, he
continues, showing me as he explains it. He lifts the shotgun so it
rests on his shoulder. “This is how you'll hold it, okay? This part
will rest right here on your shoulder, and you'll use your left
hand to hold it right here.” I nod, my hands trembling slightly.
“The earmuffs will help with the sound. Put those on. It's loaded,
but the safety is on. I just want you to hold it, okay?”

I swallow hard again, but nod. Pushing
my anxiety away, cramming it into a corner, I hold the gun like
Gabe was. It's heavier than I expected. Gabe's voice is muffled as
he tells me to hold it like I'm about to shoot it. He moves to
stand behind me, his arm coming around to point at a green thing on
the end of the barrel.

“You'll use that to aim.
You want this to be a little lower than the spot you want to hit. I
want you to aim at the cans. Are
you
sure?” He asks tenderly,
reaching out to place his hand over my still shaking one on the
barrel.

“Yep. Just let me focus for a
second.”

With a long, slow drag of air, I close
my left eye and concentrate on the bottom can. The gun's weight
doesn't seem too heavy, and my nerves are forgotten, but it's not
comfortable on my shoulder.

“It feels kind of awkward.”

“What do you mean?” He
asks.

“On my shoulder, it feels weird,
uncomfortable.” Gabe comes around, looks and tells me to move it
inward a little. “That's better. What now? I'm ready.”

“Turn off the safety by pushing this
in,” he shows me where near the trigger it is, “then pull the
trigger.”

“That's it? You're not going to tell
me what to expect?” I need to know, so I won't freak out when
whatever happens happens.

“I'm going to be behind you because
it's going to recoil into your shoulder. It's not bad, but you've
never done it before, and I don't want it to scare you too much.
This piece on the end will absorb most of it.”

I nod, reposition the shotgun on my
shoulder once more, turn off the safety, and aim. I don't notice
that Gabe is standing behind me as I focus. For about thirty
seconds, he waits until I finally pull the trigger, barely feeling
the recoil. Adrenaline pumps through my veins hard and fast as the
bottom can explodes.

Holy.

Shit.

I hit it! Before I can get too
excited, Gabe tells me to pull a piece back, flinging the empty
shell out, and push the safety button from the other side to turn
it back on. He takes the gun from me and then I take off the
earmuffs.

“Did you see that?” I ask excitedly.
“I shot, and it exploded!”

Gabe chuckles. “I saw it. That was
amazing. You took your time, which is the girl in you, and you
nailed it.” He holds up his hand, and I give him a high five with a
laugh, the rush still running through me. “Let's go look at the
damage.” Gabe lays the gun back on the picnic table before taking
my hand, leading me to the post.

The top can was knocked over, but is
still intact. The can I aimed for, however, is destroyed. There are
little holes all over what's left of it, and there's one huge
gaping hole missing, causing the can to only be in tact from the
back. Gabe points to one of the little holes.

“Inside the shell, there are a bunch
of little pellets. When you shoot a shotgun, those pellets are
released and fan out. That's why they are all over the
place.”

“I don't care about the technical
stuff, Gabe. Sorry,” I quickly add. “But can I do it again?” I rock
on my heels from excitement.

Gabe laughs. “See, I told you that you
would like it.”

And boy, do I. Gabe puts the leftover
can on top of the post, and we return to where we were standing.
Just as before, I take my time to steady my excited, frayed nerves,
aim, and then slowly pull the trigger back with my finger, the rush
swirling and swooshing through me powerfully before it even goes
off. It happens rapidly, but the can explodes just like
before.

“Are you sure you've never done this
before?” Gabe's faint voice rumbles through the
earmuffs.

I laugh. “Positive. Can I try one of
the other ones?”

Gabe nods, takes the shotgun from me,
and I pull off the earmuffs as I follow him to the table. Right
now, stress – what it is, what it means, and how it feels – is
completely foreign to me. My blood is still pumping swiftly with a
buzzed elation. This is fun. So much more than I ever thought
possible. I'm not comfortable holding it unless I'm about to shoot,
so I let Gabe do that. He asks if I want to load this one, but I
shake my head. That's for another day.

“This one doesn't have a safety,” he
tells me, glancing at my wide eyes. Gabe chuckles. “It's fine,
Ryan. Don't freak out on me.”

“I'm not.” I rock on my heels. “This
is amazing, but I don't feel comfortable holding it longer than it
takes to aim and shoot.”

Gabe nods, turning to walk back to
where we were standing. “That makes sense, and I don't mind doing
all the work for you.” He flashes me a smile before getting back
down to business. “Okay, this is a little different than the
shotgun. This is how you're going to hold it.” The curve of the
handle is where the curve between my thumb and forefinger will
rest. “You want to make sure this is how you hold it. When you're
out of rounds, this is going to cock backwards, and if you're hand
is there, it's going to hurt when it fires back at you. You're
going to wrap your fingers around it, leaving your forefinger out
straight until you're ready to shoot.

“Then you'll place your left hand over
your other hand to steady it. This recoil is different than the
shotgun. The gun itself is going to sort of fling back, like this.”
He moves his hands, the gun going from straight towards the target
to upwards towards the sky. “You need to hold it tightly, and keep
your arms steady. To aim, it's similar to the shotgun, but you have
to line up these three squares.” He points to two of them on the
outer edge at the top of the gun, closest to me, and the other in
the middle at the end of the barrel. “Once you line those up with
your target, you're good to go. All you have to do is pull.” After
a moment, he adds, “The casings will eject automatically, so I'll
be standing on your left to avoid them.”

I nod, and he asks if I'm ready. I nod
again, so he holds the gun out for me to take. This gun is so much
smaller, which makes it feel so much more dangerous. Gabe senses my
anxiety, I guess, because he stands behind me and places his hands
over mine to hold the gun with me. To stall, I ask what kind it is,
even though it means nothing to me.

“45 mag.” His hands help steady me,
the nerves fading as I match his breathing. His hands leave mine.
“Here, you forgot these.” Gabe moves the earmuffs from around my
neck and over my ears.

“I'm good now,” I tell him, and he
takes a step backwards away from me. With long, slow intakes of air
through my nose and breathing out my mouth, I find my calm. The gun
is steady in my hands as I pull back the trigger. He was right, the
recoil is different, but it happens so fast, I'm not sure I can
describe what it does exactly. I aimed for the bullseye, of course,
but the bullet hit the lower right corner in the white.

“You're hesitating right before you
pull the trigger, and the gun dips a little. Try again. Take your
time, but don't hesitate,” Gabe says from my left. I nod and repeat
the process, taking my time as instructed.

This time, I hit the
black. On my third try, I make sure that my hands are still, almost
to the point of locking my arms in place. I look at that little red
circle, pulling the trigger back with my finger, a high taking over
from the powerful force. My mouth parts when I see that I hit it. I
lift the gun to do it again. Just to see if I can put another hole
there. Holy fuckaroo. I did it.
Again.
And then, lost in this crazy
high, I pull the trigger four more times rapidly.

The top of the gun pops back, just as
Gabe said it would when it was out of bullets. Gabe's eyes are wide
when I hand it back to him.

“Got a little trigger-happy, didn't
you?”

Despite my trembling hands from the
power that little thing holds, I grin. “Just a little.” My entire
body feels light from being overwhelmed by the force of the weapon.
“I need a break.” I hold my hand out, so he can see it shaking. He
takes it in his, lacing our fingers together as he leads us back to
the picnic table, setting the gun down before taking a seat with
his back against the table.

I sit sideways in his lap, wrapping an
arm around his broad shoulders once I've let the earmuffs hang from
my neck again. He has one hand on my lower back and the other on my
outer thigh so that his arm rests on my legs.