Page 11 of Amnesty

“Can I even play paintball with one hand?” I asked, entirely skeptical.

He tilted his head to the side. “Can’t wait to find out.”

I mock gasped.

He threw back his head and laughed.

The fact I seemed so clueless about this so-called sport only made Eddie and Robbie more intent to bring me along, though I tried really hard to get out of it. Okay, not so hard. Just a little. I’d probably follow Eddie just about anywhere.

I could tell he wanted to go by the way the blue of his eyes sparkled with mischief and the wide smile Robbie wore when he tried to explain what paintball was.

Basically, it was when a bunch of people dressed up in old clothes, ran around a field, and literally shot balls of paint at each other. Of course, the object was to not get hit with said balls, but when you did, you were instantaneously splattered with paint.

For some reason, I didn’t see this as something a lot of women did. Yet here I was, dressed in a pair of jeans, sneakers, and some old Loch Gen shirts. Oh, and let’s not forget the uber-attractive grocery bags being duck taped around my arm.

“That should do it,” Eddie said, admiring his taping skills.

I felt the sharp edge of my teeth sink into my lower lip. He laughed softly, swung an arm around me, and pulled me into his side. “I got you, Am. If I didn’t think you could do it, I would never have brought you.”

“I trust you,” I replied.

His thumb and forefinger grasped just beneath my chin, lifting my face. The intensity of his eyes when they connected with mine sent a jolt of energy all the way to the bottom of my feet. Instead of using words, his face lowered, capturing my lips with his. I pushed up onto my tiptoes, our mouths locked in a sweet yet fierce kiss.

“There’s no kissing in paintball,” Robbie announced, coming up behind us.

Against my lips, Eddie smiled. “Rules are there are no rules.” He countered, lifting his head.

Robbie made a sound, shifting all the stuff piled in his arms. “Here’s the rest of the gear.” He let it all fall at his feet, giving me a smile. “Better suit up. Times a’wastin’!”

I watched Eddie and Robbie “suit up” as though they were preparing for war. Over their old, already paint-splattered clothes, they dressed in what looked like sensible onesies. The kind auto mechanics wore to protect their clothes from grease.

I don’t know how I knew what auto mechanics wore. Seemed that was some odd detail my brain shouldn’t identify, right? I was beginning to accept that as my reality, though—my brain filled with a ton of useless information and nothing about me.

Once they zipped up the suits, they strapped on wide belts with a bunch of canister-looking things hanging off them. Eddie winked when he pulled up the hood attached to the suit and covered all his dark, spirally curls. Once it was tied beneath his chin (seriously, how did he still look sexy in that getup?), he pulled a helmet with a full-on face mask over his head. It had thin vents so I could hear his voice when he talked.

“Is this war or a game?” I asked, dubiously looking between them.

“What’s the difference?” Robbie cracked.

“I’ll help you,” Eddie said, chivalrously holding out the suit for me to step in. Once I was dressed just as horribly as the men, they both laughed, the sounds muffled by the headgear.

“What?” I said, noting they were staring at me.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Robbie answered.

“Not all of us can look like Rambo.”

How do I know who Rambo is?

Robbie laughed again. “Dude, I like you.”

“I’m not so sure about you yet.”

“I grow on people,” he remarked, and I was pretty sure he winked at me behind the mask.

“Is that too much weight on your hips?” Eddie said, drawing my attention as he stepped forward and reached for the canisters filled with what I now knew was my ammunition.

“I think it’s okay,” I said.

---