Page 23 of Misguided

“We?”

I blanch, staring at him as I blink away the realization of what I said. We. “Sure,” I bluff. “Why not?”

He taps a finger against his lips, drawing my focus to how the top one turns up it’s so full. “Well … Maybe not.”

“What?”

“I had an idea, but it might not be so clever considerin’ you’d be brandishing a weapon should I piss you off again.”

“Simple,” I sass. “Don’t be a cocky asshole and I won’t have a reason to hurt you.”

He smiles, twisting on his stool to face me, one elbow resting on the bar. “You ever shot for sport before?”

“I discharged my first three into a federal agent this morning if that counts?”

His lips curl up at the corners as though he’s about to laugh, yet his smile fades as the realization sets in. “You’re for fuckin’ real? Your first time with a gun, and you shot a fed?”

“I thought you knew?”

He coughs, sliding off his stool and making his way around to grab a drink. “No.”

“Why did you think you needed to pick me up then? Where did you think Hooch was going?”

He shrugs, necking a quarter of a bottle of Jack in one go. “Fucked if I know. I just do what I’m told.” He lifts his arm to wipe away the residual liquor on his lips, and I damn near melt on the spot.

There are a certain few things a man can do to look effortlessly sexy. Shirking his T-shirt is one. Wearing any sort of a uniform is another. And drinking is the best of all of them.

He leans an elbow on the bar, regarding me with a sigh.

“What?” I let my hair fall forward, hiding my face a little.

“I still can’t believe you’d never shot a gun before.”

I shrug. What can I say? I’d be surprised too, considering the environment I was raised in.

“Daddy didn’t train us girls; said it was the man’s job to protect the family. I was given the gun by the guy who took me away. He said it might come in handy, and I guess it did.”

“Explains why it took three then,” Dog mutters to himself.

I sip my Sprite as he stares at his hands, seemingly in thought. He’s a rare find in how attractive he is. There are usually three things that make up a pretty boy: face value, personality, and vibe. Majority of the cute guys have the first—face value. It’s a pretty face with nothing else to carry it through life. Only useful in pictures, or for admiring from a distance. Every now and then you strike it lucky with a guy who possesses the second as well—personality. Sawyer was one of those, despite the fact his character isn’t really the most approachable, it still makes him who he is. He captivates you.

But Dog, he’s all three. He’s fucking gorgeous to look at, has a heart of gold under all the bravado, and most importantly he has the vibe—that feeling you get when you’re around a person who just clicks. I’ve never had to try hard with him; we’ve always just got along as though we know each other from way back.

And that’s what I appreciate most after being alone so long; he makes it so familiar to spend time with him. It’s easy to slip back into old habits.

“What were you going to suggest?” I ask when he stays quiet.

He smirks, still staring at his hands as he peels the label off Callum’s empty bottle. “Thought we could go hunting.”

“For real?”

“Why not?” He looks across at me, and I can’t help the smile his own inspires. “We still could.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Just need to work on your aim first. You don’t often get a chance to put more than one into a deer.”

“You’d teach me to shoot?”

He grimaces. “Probably not my wisest move, considerin’ you wouldn’t miss when you get the shits with me, but yeah, I would. We’re going to make sure you get your first buck, little lady.”

“Deer?”