I swear if he calls someone ma’am or holds a door open, I’ll never hear the end of it from her.
***
“You’re going to need to find a handgun that feels comfortable in your hand. Grip is very important,” he explains thirty minutes later. “I want you to move around to the different stations to see which one feels the most comfortable. If none of them do, let me know and we can find something that does.”
We’ve moved to the actual gun range part of the building. It’s a long, narrow room sectioned off to make seven lanes.
“Not on the trigger,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear through the earmuffs we’re all required to wear in this room.
I push the flimsy glasses back up on my nose, knowing I look just as silly as everyone else in the room wearing these stupid things, but still feeling singled out each time he looks in my direction. Of course, he has on super cool looking glasses and sleek black earmuffs, whereas we’re all wearing either bright orange or bright green ones, looking like we’re getting ready to go into the woods to hunt for food.
I scowl at Parker when she tries to hand me the gun.
“Place it down on the table in front of you. Do not hand over a gun to someone else. Do not move a firearm from one lane to another. When we’re in here, I will do that for you. When at the gun range, the range officer will do that.”
Obediently, Parker lays the black gun down on the little table at the head of the lane we’ve been assigned, and I just look down at the thing. Never in my life have I held a gun. Not a real one anyway, and I don’t think this is going to have the same feel of the Nerf power blaster I used once at a party in college.
“So hot,” Parker mutters. “Look at his forearms. Damn, I could just take a bite out of that man.”
Chapter 5
Quinten
“Here,” I tell Rachel. “Now you try it.”
I place the Springfield XD back on the table at the head of the lane and take a step back.
“Good, now position your hands like this.” I show her with my empty hands how to stack them around the grip.
“Like this?” She moves her fingers, but they’re still in the wrong position.
“Like this.” I turn to the side so she can see my hands better. I’m not going to touch her, and I don’t get the vibe that she even wants that.
“Like those jeans should be illegal. Do you see his ass, Hayden? That man does squats.”
“Both thumbs pointing forward like this,” I say while trying to ignore Parker Maxwell.
There are two things most newbies in a gun range don’t realize. One being they talk several levels louder because their own hearing is muffled. Two, any person that knows their way around a weapon is going to wear a pair of electronic compression earmuffs. That means I can hear what everyone around the room is saying even though they can’t hear each other unless they speak louder. Hayden’s friend Parker is practically yelling at this point.
“Better,” I tell Rachel. “This seems a little big. Is it comfortable? Nope, finger off the trigger.”
“Maybe something a little smaller?” She scrunches her nose as she places the weapon back down on the carpet-covered table.
“There’s a Ruger at lane four that may be a better fit. Go try it out.”
I step back even further as she heads in that direction.
The women are excited. Some are apprehensive, never having touched a gun before and some are anxious to load up and send some shit down the lane. One woman, Gayle, I’m going to have to ask Wren about because she seems like she’s ready to take someone down at the knees, and there may also be a little hint of vigilante justice in her eyes.
“Strong thighs. I bet that man could go for hours without tiring. His feet. Geez, what are they like, a size thirteen?”
Fifteen, but who honestly cares?
I could tell Parker that I can hear every word she’s saying, but where’s the fun in that?
“How are we doing over here?” I ask as I approach the pair.
Parker is busy ogling me, and Hayden is frowning down at the Glock 43/42 like it’s personally set out to ruin her week.
“How does it feel in your hand?” I ask when she doesn’t answer.
“She hasn’t picked it up yet,” Parker explains, her eyes trailing up and down my body unabashedly.
I focus all of my attention on Hayden. “Are you afraid of it?”
“No,” she answers swiftly.
“Next week we’re going to be shooting, so you’ll need to know which one is most comfortable.” I pick it up and hold it in my hands. I could never use a gun this small. “Hold it like this.”
I demonstrate the proper hold even though my hand is much too big to do it the right way.
“Now you try.”
I place it back on the table and take a step back.
“Excuse me,” I mutter when I bump into Parker.
“My pleasure. I mean sorry.” Parker bites the corner of her lip, and I’m sure any man looking for her kind of trouble would find it appealing, but it doesn’t faze me.
“Go ahead.”
Hayden mutters something about watching TV as she reaches for the Glock.
“Like this,” I say when she finally has it in her hands. I lift my hands and show her the proper grip just like I did for Rachel a few minutes ago.
“It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” she says before putting it back down.
“It’s less than a pound and a half, but it will weigh a little more when it’s loaded. Maybe the Sig Sauer P238 would be better? There’s one down in lane six. Go check it out.” I step out of the way as Parker drags Hayden to the other end of the room, keeping an eye on her as she approaches lane six. She’s still not enthusiastic, but she picks it up, turning it from side to side rather than just glaring at the thing like it personally offended her like she did in lane one when I first approached her.
“What size bullets does this one take?” one of the other women asks.
“Caliber,” I correct. “This one and the Glock in lane one use 9mm rounds.”
“I want something with a lot of power,” Gayle says from lane three.
I head over and explain the difference in ammunition to Gayle but keep my eye on Hayden. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be here. It’s also evident that her friend is beginning to frustrate her with all of her sexualized comments about me. At the same time, I can tell she doesn’t care that I’m even around.
I don’t notice Hayden throwing sly glances my way or looking at me from under her eyelashes. She seems to have a chip on her shoulder about something, and it makes me wonder if there’s more going on in her life than a house break-in. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a serious violation of someone’s life, but she doesn’t seem too enthusiastic about taking back that power and control of her safety.
I regret not looking into her more and reading her entire file, but then I have to remind myself that I’m here to teach a class, not to situate myself into her life beyond these concrete walls.
“You’re not Dirty Harry,” I tell Gayle when she mimics a fast draw from the table, making popping noise with her mouth. “Finger off the trigger unless you plan to shoot. If you do that while it is loaded, then you’re sure to hurt yourself or someone else.”