Page 44 of Give Me a Shot

She walked over to him and leaned the broom against the table. Putting her hands on her hips, she cocked her head to one side, observing him.

“You look like I’m in trouble,” he said, starting to clean the anvil again.

Jess bunched her lips to the side. She thought about making a joke, maybe even the easy one about getting in trouble with the teacher. But she recognized what that urge was—another way to try to hide, to cover up her fear of leaning into her attraction to him.

You’re not afraid on the range, not afraid in competitions. What the hell are you doing right now?

“I’m not attracted to weird people, Mo,” she said, holding his gaze. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t going to let whatever it decided to do stray her from her course. “So that means you’re not weird,” she said. “You’re quiet, reserved. You help people even if it costs you sometimes. You seem…” She hesitated, concerned that what she wanted to say next might offend him in some way. A buzzing charge of anxiety made her throat tighten. She cleared it. “You seem like a sensitive guy. I like that about you.”

He’d stopped wiping and stood straight.

“You do?” he asked, his neck and cheeks tingeing pink again.

He didn’t seem angry or offended. More like astonished.

“Of course.” She sighed. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I get the impression that you should hear what I honestly think. You deserve to.”

“Oh…” he said softly. “Okay.”

She stepped closer to him, only the anvil between them. Resting her fingertips on it, she looked into his eyes.

“You’re considerate,” she said. “You’re selective with your words, so when you do really speak it’s like a breath of fresh air.”

They were close enough that she could tell that he was breathing faster, as she was.

“And your voice.” She cleared her throat. “It’s…um…” She did not care for the shakiness in her hands. She rested them fully on the anvil so they would stop.

“It’s?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Your voice is delicious. It makes me weak at the knees.”

Mo searched her eyes.

“You’re confident. Determined,” he said suddenly. “And your hair. It’s sable. I love it, especially in a ponytail.”

She resisted the urge to bring the end of the ponytail over her shoulder. She opened her mouth to thank him, but he wasn’t finished.

“You, um, you named it, actually. My weir—what makes me a little different.” He looked down and let out a stream of air before looking at her again. “I’m an HSP, a Highly Sensitive Person. What it essentially means is that my central nervous system is turned up higher than most people’s. My empathy—which you got, and younamed…It flipped my world upside down that you noticed. And you don’t seem to think that it’s a bad thing.”

She tucked that away to look into later, to learn more about what a Highly Sensitive Person was. At the moment she needed to do something else. She laid a hand on his chest. “It’s not,” she whispered. “Come here.”

He leaned down and caught her lips with his. For a moment, Jess didn’t know who she was or where she was. All that existed were Mo’s lips on hers, the hand he’d curled around her own resting on his chest. She felt tingly and on fire and like her legs were going to give out any second. As he opened his mouth to hers, she became enraged at the anvil separating her from him. Without breaking the kiss, she wound around it. He let out a deep moan as she pressed herself up against him. His other hand went around her waist to bring her closer, even though that was impossible. She slid her free hand up his arm, bumping over the expansive muscles, along his shoulder and up the back of his neck. She scratched her nails on his scalp as she threaded her hand into his hair. His deep groan reverberated through her. He pulled back a little to whisper to her.

“May I pick you up?” he panted.

She nodded, breathing heavily as she slid her other hand up to weave her fingers together at the nape of his neck. He bent his knees, slid his hands under her thighs, and lifted. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her over to the high table and sat her down at the edge. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, looking wild and much darker, then his lips were back on hers. It was a much better position, she was higher, so he didn’t have to bend as much. She kept her legs locked around his waist and savored his groan as she scratched a hand down his chest. She wanted to pull at his shirt, get rid of it, but there was a loud bang, and they jumped, pulling their lips apart. She looked over her shoulder and saw the broom on the ground. She looked back at him, her heart racing.

“What’s happening?” he asked, his breath ragged.

“I’m not totally sure,” she panted.

“You don’t want to,” he said, like he was certain she was going to say she didn’t. She frowned.

“You can’t tell I want you?” she asked.

“Uh…I guess maybe,” he said.

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