With some directions from the concierge staff, we make it outside to the edge of a grassy pasture where the skeet-shooting competition is being held. The rolling hills in the distance are dotted with tall pine trees, and another pond is nearby where we can see wild turkeys roaming.
Penelope ties the belt at the waist of her black wool coat. She looks gorgeous. Not even remotely dressed for skeet-shooting, but gorgeous all the same. She’s wearing stylish tan boots, dark jeans, and a bright red sweater.
I’m relieved when she shoves her hands into oversized mittens. It’s fucking freezing out here. I’d love to march her back inside and have her sit beside the fire in the lobby. Order her a hot chocolate, maybe.
Sometimes it’s hard not to think of Penelope as my roommate’s younger sister. At other times, it’s hard to think of her as I should. Like right now, because she looks so good, and the idea of sharing a bed with her later is eating at me.
Connor’s the one who suggested this, and if he had any inkling about the things I feel for Penelope, there’s no way he would have. The temptation is real, but absolutely nothing will happen between us.
Her boss strides over and introduces himself. “David Douglass,” he says, extending a hand in my direction. “You must be the boyfriend.”
He’s got a commanding presence about him and seems nice enough. That Spencer kid trails along behind him, wearing a shitty grin on his face.
“Wolfie,” I say, returning his handshake. “Penelope’s told me many good things.”
David’s smile widens. “Has she?”
“Yes, sir. She enjoys her position very much.”
He nods once while Penelope stands quietly beside me. “That’s good to hear. She’s certainly been an asset to the company.”
“Thank you, Mr. Douglass,” she says, relaxing her posture slightly beside me.
“And what is it that you do?” he asks, directing his inquisitive stare my way again.
“Wolfie is an entrepreneur,” Penelope says, jumping in to answer for me.
I chuckle. “Something like that. I started a company a few years ago with a few friends. We’ve been fortunate to find our niche market.”
David opens his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but we’re interrupted. And thankfully so—I really don’t want to tell my fake girlfriend’s boss I manufacture and sell the vibrator his wife probably has in her bedside drawer.
A guy from the resort comes over carrying two shotguns. “Everyone ready to get started?”
“Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition. Am I right?” David asks, placing one hand on my shoulder.
“Not a damn thing. Let’s do it,” I reply confidently.
Penelope flashes me an uncertain look.
“We’ve got this,” I whisper, resting my arm around her shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze.
About a dozen of us are divided into two-person teams. I’m paired with Penelope. David and Spencer are together, and then the rest of Penelope’s coworkers couple up.
We’re given our instructions and a short safety briefing by the guy from the resort, and then it’s time to begin. We watch as David fires off a succession of perfect shots—obliterating each clay pigeon that arcs into the clear blue sky.
“Nicely done, Uncle Dave,” Spencer says, getting into position for his turn.
He nearly shits himself when the gun goes off the first time, and totally misses the target.
“Pull,” he says again, his face red with embarrassment. He misses again. And again.
The smell of gunpowder hangs in the air, and everyone is quiet for a beat. I almost feel bad for the guy. Then I remember his treatment of Penelope earlier, and I’m back to not caring in the least if he makes a fool of himself.
“Wolfie. You’re up,” David says next, his voice stern.
I take the shotgun and get into position, squaring my shoulders while everyone watches. I haven’t fired many guns in my life, but surely I can perform better than Spencer. I hope.
I inhale slowly and look through the sight. When I take my shot, I’m rewarded with a satisfying crack as the pigeon explodes.
Penelope gives a little cheer from beside me.
I walk to the next station and fire again. This time I miss. But I make the next several shots, and end up just behind David in the rankings.
When it’s Penelope’s turn, I can’t help but feel a little nervous for her. Like maybe in David’s eyes, there’s more on the line than just a friendly competition.
Everyone is quiet as she steps up and gets into position. Penelope lifts the shotgun and widens her stance.
“Pull,” she says, her voice clear and steady. The explosion of her shot follows, but the clay pigeon she was aiming for remains intact as it falls to the ground a distance away.
She missed. I release a slow breath.
“Pull,” she says again.
This time there’s a satisfying crack, and pride bursts through me. She aims and fires, shattering the clay pigeons again and again.
