Page 106 of Misguided
THIRTY-FIVE
Dog
Ever tried to fire a rifle while your cock throbs against the restriction of your pants? No? Well, consider yourself lucky then. It’s a hell of a distraction to put up with.
I line the makeshift target up in the sight again and then shuffle my hips for what feels like the millionth time. Pretty sure Mel thinks I went straight to sleep last night, but the truth is I lay there staring at the plain green canvas stretched over me, trapped in my thoughts.
She fucking loves me back.
I don’t know if life could get any better, right now. I’ve officially become one of those guys who gladly places his balls in his woman’s handbag. She could ask me to do anything at all, crazy or insane as it might be, and I’d fucking get it done.
Dew soaks the front of my pants, sending a chill through to my bones that snaps me back to the now. I lie on my stomach in the clearing, rifle set up to sight it in before we head out. The first hues of dawn broke through the canopy of the trees half an hour ago, rousing me from my shit attempt at sleep.
I draw in a deep breath, and fire.
Slightly to the left.
If I had my own rifle, not this new unbroken one, I wouldn’t need to do this shit. But Dad being the asshole he is, I shouldn’t have been surprised he’d pull that kind of shit on me.
Still makes my blood run hot when I think about how he spoke to Mel, though.
“Could have given me some warning.”
I roll onto my left shoulder and look behind me at the woman in question as she stares out from the door of the tent. Her dark hair falls in messy waves over her shoulders, my sweatshirt pulled low over her crouched legs. She’s a fucking sight for sore eyes, even in her sleepy morning state.
“Got you up, though, didn’t it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Almost made me wet myself in the process, too.”
I chuckle, rolling back to my stomach and clicking the dial on the scope two to the right. “Hey, Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna shoot the gun.” Crack.
“Asshole,” I hear muttered behind me before the rustle of the tent fabric.
Bang on target. I set the rifle down, and then push up off the grass to go check exactly where I hit the empty tin from last night. Mel emerges from the tent, dressed and ready to go, as I walk back to my firing spot with the tin in hand—hit perfectly center, thank you very much.
“Is it not a problem making all this noise?” she asks, her arms raised high as she ties her hair back.
I freeze a moment, just ogling the slender line of her neck and remembering how soft that flesh felt beneath my lips last night. I’m fucked. As bad as it sounds, I guess I got one thing going for me given Judas is six foot under—no crazy old man trying to kill me when he realizes I fucked his daughter.
Only her equally crazy younger brother. Damn.
“Ideally, nope, I wouldn’t be makin’ this much noise. But there ain’t any point tryin’ to hunt something if you’re just gonna miss it anyway.”
“Can I try?”
“Sure.” I point to her air rifle, which I loaded before mine. “Use that first. It’s ready to go.”
She picks it up, and then promptly leans it against her leg, barrel pointed at her head while she fixes a loose strand of hair.
I slap a hand to my face and shake my head. This girl’s going to kill me; no way in hell is she carrying the “real” gun while we’re out today.
“What?” Mel asks, picking the air rifle up again and walking over to my squashed patch in the grass.
“If that was an actual rifle, and it misfired, you would have just blown your head off.”