“Yeah,” he admits begrudgingly. “I hear noise in the background. You’re not in your office. Where are you?”
“A shooting range.” I peer up at the sign again. ‘Take Your Best Shot’ shooting range. This is the place Kennedy wanted to meet. I should’ve known she’d pick someplace like this.
“For what?”
“A date.”
He sputters, and I chuckle.
“With …”
“Her.”
I don’t need to elaborate. There are two people close enough to me in this world to know who I’m talking about when I say her.
“Why would you choose a place with bullets and guns as a date?”
“She chose it. And she doesn’t know it’s a date yet.”
He snorts. “Of course. Just like she doesn’t realize you’ve been stalking her for the past ten years.”
I frown at the word stalking. “Fuck you.”
“That word gets your attention.” The laughter in his voice makes me want to wrap my hands around his throat.
I tell him as much, which makes the bastard laugh even more. Before I can threaten him again, Kennedy pulls into the parking lot.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t get shot,” he quips before disconnecting the call.
I watch as she parks at the far end of the parking lot. I’m sure she saw me. It’s not like my white Porsche SUV can be missed. Not to mention, I’m standing directly next to it and staring right at her.
She parked that far on purpose.
I wait to approach her, though.
I rely on my greatest asset—my patience—to help me not to fuck this up. But when I think I’ve gotten myself together enough, I see a man walking in her direction. From my distance, the look on Kennedy’s face doesn’t read recognition.
The bastard is smiling at her, though. I know that fucking look.
My feet move before I give it much thought. He doesn’t sense me approaching from behind.
“Nice car.” He whistles. “It’s almost as beautiful as you.” His head bobs up and down as if he’s checking her out from head to toe.
It’s good that I’m not close enough to wrap my arms around his neck right now. I might snap the damn thing right here in broad daylight.
“Is this your first time at the range? I love a woman who knows how to handle a gun. Why don’t we—”
“Unless it’s your goal to spend the next six weeks eating through a straw, I suggest you back the hell off.”
My voice isn’t raised, but it still makes him jump in surprise. “What … who …” he starts to ask as he turns my way.
I don’t say anything, yet he takes a look at my hands clenched at my side and possibly at the lethal look in my eyes and takes a step back. And then another.
“Hey, man, I didn’t know.” He holds his hands up, surrendering something that was never fucking his in the first place.
“You were leaving, weren’t you?”