Page 16 of One Night in Paris

“Trevor, I have a job, remember? A real one. Where people expect me to be in the office during certain hours of the day. Working.”

“Pfft!” He waved a hand at me like I was speaking gibberish. “Dude, you owe this to me!”

“We just went out on the jet skis this past weekend!” Shocked, I emphasized my point with my hands spread wide.

“Yes, and I almost died.” His tone was calm as he looked at me with sadness in his eyes.

“You almost killed a little girl! You’re fine. Trevor, I don’t have time for this.”

“Please?” Placing his hands together, he literally begged me.

“No!” I had a lot to get done and couldn’t let him dissuade me.

“Please?” He tried again.

“No!”

“Please?”

“No, now get the fuck out of my office!”

Thirty minutes later, I found myself dressed in a camo-colored cover-up, a paintball gun in my hand, and a ridiculous headband strapped around my head. How the hell did he always manage to talk me into this crazy shit?

“All right. You two will be taking on a team of four with a bit less experience than you. Is that okay?” the technician, a guy we both knew from our previous visits by the name of Drew, explained to us.

“Four against two?” Trevor echoed. “That seems—”

Four kids that had to be ten at the oldest came traipsing in, wearing similar get-ups to ours, but their headbands were blue whereas ours were red. They all looked like they wanted to be tough guys, but the moment Trevor saw them, he started laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” Trevor said.

“All right. Just remember no shooting in the face or groin.” Drew pointed his finger directly at Trevor, and flashes of the time Trevor had hit a man six inches taller than him and a good fifty pounds heavier in the nuts with pink paint came back to me. I almost laughed.

“It was an accident, Drew.” Trevor’s tone was defensive.

The tech only shook his head and told us to have fun.

Trevor sized up our competition. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? Shouldn’t you guys be in kindergarten?”

“It’s summer break, you dumbass,” one of the kids said. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Hmmm, spunk. I like it. I’m Trevor.” He offered his fist for them to bump, and instantly the kids seemed to see him as a buddy instead of some strange adult who wanted to fake kill them with a gun.

The course truly did resemble a scene from one of theRambomovies. Jeeps tipped on their side, discarded equipment, barrels and crates. I felt like I was stepping right into the film.

Immediately, Trevor went to work planning our strategy. I didn’t particularly care to get shot, so I paid attention. When the battle broke out, Trevor showed no mercy, aiming at the children like they were grown men.

For the most part, we were able to hold them off, but then, Trevor made the fatal mistake of charging their stronghold. “Cover me!” he yelled as he ran off, his gun in front of him but not firing.

“Cover you?” We hadn’t talked about this. I didn’t feel prepared. Raising my gun, I began to shoot, but it was too late.

All four of the kids began to fire on Trevor, rushing at him. He fell to the ground in the middle of the course, screaming like he was actually dying. The kids ate it up, laughing and continuing to fire. Standing back, I shook my head. He really was a dumbass sometimes, but he knew how to have fun.

When Trevor was good and dead, the kids turned their paintball guns on me. “Come out with your hands up, loser, or you’re dead, too.”

“All right, all right!” I told them, sticking my hands in the air. My gun hung around my back, useless. “I surrender. You win.”

The four boys jumped up and down, giving each other high-fives. Trevor got up to join them, also congratulating them, jumping up and down like he was a member of the winning team. The kids went along with it for several moments before the one who had called him a dumbass earlier noticed.

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