Page 68 of Root

“To be fair, Jessie,” I say against her soft lips, “I let you do that. I liked it.”

“Screw you, Rush.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Fine. How many shots?”

I pretend to think about it. “Five.” Then I gesture to the fresh targets. “Ladies first. And you.”

“Dick.”

Her shot’s close.

I go wide.

She gets closer with her next shot.

I go wider with mine.

Jessie’s smug now, and she tries, looking at her target, lining up, and then she turns, looks at me witheringly, and pulls the trigger. It’s nice, it really is. The bullet hits close. Right in the nine.

“Pretty good,” I say.

“Do better.”

I aim, hit the bullseye.

Jessie sucks in a breath then turns, gives me a cocky look that’s so smoldering, I’d never be convicted if I threw the game and kissed and fingered her into fucking.

“Luck,” she says. And takes her turn on her target.

Almost a bullseye.

I pull my trigger. And I look. The bullet hit mine where I got the last one. Bullseye on bullseye. It’s my favorite game.

This time her eyes narrow. “You…”

“Luck?” I raise a brow and smirk. Hardcore.

“Asshole.”

She spends time lining up and adjusting, until, finally, she holds her aim and looks at me. Jess pulls the trigger. The bullet hits inside the bullseye, but not dead center.

It’s my turn.

I think about missing.

I do.

I think about it.

Dismiss it.

This is war, and I intend to win. I aim, look at her, and pull the trigger. Her gasp tells me everything.

I pull the targets up and remove the rounds, putting the guns away under lock and key.

“How…” Her hands slam on her hips. “How did you do that?”

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