Jon yanked open the refrigerator door and grabbed a cold bottle of water. Slamming the door shut, he angrily twisted off the cap and drank deeply, almost draining the bottle.
He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. He was frustrated with himself, that he had shot like shit that last round. But Damnit, it was Cate’s fault! She had slithered up against him like that and made him forget everything he had learned.
Jon shook his head at himself. He knew that wasn’t true -— it was his fault for being so attracted to her and not keeping his usual laser-like focus on the task. Jon sucked the last drink of water from the bottle and tossed it in the recycle bin beside the door, then headed back out to the firing line.
He noticed Cate wasn’t there; she had apparently run off somewhere to get away from him. Good, Jon thought rather snarkily. At least she was as uncomfortable – if not more so – than he was.
Jon walked over to George, who was fiddling with his camera. As he approached Jon saw that George was scrolling through the images he had captured on the camera’s LCD display. “Mind if I take a look?” Jon asked.
George looked up. “Sure – here ya go.” He handed the camera to Jon, the most recent photo up on the screen. It was a great shot, a profile closeup of Cate and Jon as they stood joined together, Cate correcting Jon’s aim. Her lips were slightly parted as she spoke into his ear, and his gaze was focused forward toward the target, his mouth a grim line of determination.
Jon pushed the button to scroll through the remaining photos. George had taken dozens of shots of him and Cate interacting throughout the training. There were also several photos of Jon alone, firing from his position. I’ll have to get copies of these, he thought.
As he flipped quickly through the display, he noticed George had captured one particularly telling shot of him and Cate. It was an image of Jon standing close behind Cate as she looked downrange, his eyes closed as he breathed in the heavenly scent of her hair. Cate’s lips carried a hint of a smile and her head tipped back slightly. George had perfectly captured the intimacy of the moment.
“Great shots, Man.” Jon said, handing the camera back to George. “I’d like copies, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem.” George smiled. I’ll download them tomorrow and burn a CD for you.”
Jon nodded his thanks, then turned toward the door as he heard Cate and Danny enter. They both looked tense. Jon wondered what Danny had said to her. He didn’t think Danny would tell Cate about their conversation this morning, but he couldn’t be sure.
Cate walked over to Jon as Danny climbed the stairs to the booth. She seemed to have gotten herself under control; her demeanor was cool and collected. “Ready for the M-16?” she asked Jon.
Jon nodded. He was ready to try something else. Though he wanted to redeem himself for his crappy performance in the PPC, he knew he would have another chance in the next day or two. Right now he just wanted to focus on something different.
Cate and Jon again crouched next to their ammo cans and filled eight thirty-round M-16 magazines with the long, heavy 5.56mm bullets. After completing that task, Cate picked up her rifle and quickly ran through the parts of the weapon, refreshing Jon’s memory from the previous afternoon when he had stripped and cleaned her rifle. Then she had Jon pick up his rifle and practice aiming it downrange.
As Jon handled the M-16, he realized it was much different than wielding a handgun. In comparison to the Glock, the M-16 felt bulky and awkward. Cate reached up to move his support hand more comfortably under the guard, and told him to push the stock more firmly against his shoulder. Jon tilted his head to look down the sights, aligning the back with the front, and realized this task would take him some time to master.
Cate had Jon practice aiming and dry-firing the M-16 for about ten minutes, in the over barrier, kneeling supported, and supported and unsupported prone positions. Aside from questions about the weapon or his body position, Jon spoke little. Cate could tell he was uncomfortable with the gun, and was trying hard to concentrate on the technique.
Finally she told him to load a magazine and chamber a round so he could sight in his weapon in preparation for firing. Jon did, then took the prone position as Cate directed.
Danny had set the target at 7 yards. Jon noticed the target actually had five small silhouettes on it, rather than one large man-shaped one. This was a long-range weapon; one that required precision and finesse. Jon hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of himself as he fired.
Cate knelt on the ground next to Jon as he lay prone on the concrete. She told him to look down the barrel and align the sights. He did as she instructed, having to reposition the rifle's stock on his shoulder and against his cheek a couple times, trying to find a comfortable spot.
Then, as Cate directed, he took a breath, blew it out very slowly, then held it as he squeezed the trigger. The pop of the recoil surprised Jon and he involuntarily jerked his cheek up from the stock, causing the muzzle of the rifle to jerk upward.
Cate smiled slightly at Jon’s rookie reaction. Everyone did that the first time they fired the M-16. After firing a handgun, it took awhile to convince your mind that there was no slide on the rifle to kick back and smack you in the face.
Jon swore quietly, then looked at Cate. She motioned to him to fire again, knowing his first round had flown high, clear of the target. Jon went through the process of settling himself again, then breathed out and fired. This time he did a better job of controlling the weapon, and his round pierced the paper near the middle of the larger of the five silhouettes.
“Good.” Cate said. She looked downrange and saw that the hole was slightly to the right of center. Jon raised his head to look as well, relieved he had hit the target. Cate told Jon to fire again, and he dropped his cheek back to the stock, breathed, and squeezed the trigger. Another hole appeared in the target near his last mark, but just outside the outline of the silhouette.
He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. He was frustrated with himself, that he had shot like shit that last round. But Damnit, it was Cate’s fault! She had slithered up against him like that and made him forget everything he had learned.
Jon shook his head at himself. He knew that wasn’t true -— it was his fault for being so attracted to her and not keeping his usual laser-like focus on the task. Jon sucked the last drink of water from the bottle and tossed it in the recycle bin beside the door, then headed back out to the firing line.
He noticed Cate wasn’t there; she had apparently run off somewhere to get away from him. Good, Jon thought rather snarkily. At least she was as uncomfortable – if not more so – than he was.
Jon walked over to George, who was fiddling with his camera. As he approached Jon saw that George was scrolling through the images he had captured on the camera’s LCD display. “Mind if I take a look?” Jon asked.
George looked up. “Sure – here ya go.” He handed the camera to Jon, the most recent photo up on the screen. It was a great shot, a profile closeup of Cate and Jon as they stood joined together, Cate correcting Jon’s aim. Her lips were slightly parted as she spoke into his ear, and his gaze was focused forward toward the target, his mouth a grim line of determination.
Jon pushed the button to scroll through the remaining photos. George had taken dozens of shots of him and Cate interacting throughout the training. There were also several photos of Jon alone, firing from his position. I’ll have to get copies of these, he thought.
As he flipped quickly through the display, he noticed George had captured one particularly telling shot of him and Cate. It was an image of Jon standing close behind Cate as she looked downrange, his eyes closed as he breathed in the heavenly scent of her hair. Cate’s lips carried a hint of a smile and her head tipped back slightly. George had perfectly captured the intimacy of the moment.
“Great shots, Man.” Jon said, handing the camera back to George. “I’d like copies, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem.” George smiled. I’ll download them tomorrow and burn a CD for you.”
Jon nodded his thanks, then turned toward the door as he heard Cate and Danny enter. They both looked tense. Jon wondered what Danny had said to her. He didn’t think Danny would tell Cate about their conversation this morning, but he couldn’t be sure.
Cate walked over to Jon as Danny climbed the stairs to the booth. She seemed to have gotten herself under control; her demeanor was cool and collected. “Ready for the M-16?” she asked Jon.
Jon nodded. He was ready to try something else. Though he wanted to redeem himself for his crappy performance in the PPC, he knew he would have another chance in the next day or two. Right now he just wanted to focus on something different.
Cate and Jon again crouched next to their ammo cans and filled eight thirty-round M-16 magazines with the long, heavy 5.56mm bullets. After completing that task, Cate picked up her rifle and quickly ran through the parts of the weapon, refreshing Jon’s memory from the previous afternoon when he had stripped and cleaned her rifle. Then she had Jon pick up his rifle and practice aiming it downrange.
As Jon handled the M-16, he realized it was much different than wielding a handgun. In comparison to the Glock, the M-16 felt bulky and awkward. Cate reached up to move his support hand more comfortably under the guard, and told him to push the stock more firmly against his shoulder. Jon tilted his head to look down the sights, aligning the back with the front, and realized this task would take him some time to master.
Cate had Jon practice aiming and dry-firing the M-16 for about ten minutes, in the over barrier, kneeling supported, and supported and unsupported prone positions. Aside from questions about the weapon or his body position, Jon spoke little. Cate could tell he was uncomfortable with the gun, and was trying hard to concentrate on the technique.
Finally she told him to load a magazine and chamber a round so he could sight in his weapon in preparation for firing. Jon did, then took the prone position as Cate directed.
Danny had set the target at 7 yards. Jon noticed the target actually had five small silhouettes on it, rather than one large man-shaped one. This was a long-range weapon; one that required precision and finesse. Jon hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of himself as he fired.
Cate knelt on the ground next to Jon as he lay prone on the concrete. She told him to look down the barrel and align the sights. He did as she instructed, having to reposition the rifle's stock on his shoulder and against his cheek a couple times, trying to find a comfortable spot.
Then, as Cate directed, he took a breath, blew it out very slowly, then held it as he squeezed the trigger. The pop of the recoil surprised Jon and he involuntarily jerked his cheek up from the stock, causing the muzzle of the rifle to jerk upward.
Cate smiled slightly at Jon’s rookie reaction. Everyone did that the first time they fired the M-16. After firing a handgun, it took awhile to convince your mind that there was no slide on the rifle to kick back and smack you in the face.
Jon swore quietly, then looked at Cate. She motioned to him to fire again, knowing his first round had flown high, clear of the target. Jon went through the process of settling himself again, then breathed out and fired. This time he did a better job of controlling the weapon, and his round pierced the paper near the middle of the larger of the five silhouettes.
“Good.” Cate said. She looked downrange and saw that the hole was slightly to the right of center. Jon raised his head to look as well, relieved he had hit the target. Cate told Jon to fire again, and he dropped his cheek back to the stock, breathed, and squeezed the trigger. Another hole appeared in the target near his last mark, but just outside the outline of the silhouette.
After looking downrange at Jon's target, Cate turned her attention to his rifle. She reached forward, and Jon saw that she had a small metal pin in her hand. She inserted the end of the pin into the dial under the rifle’s back sight and turned it slightly.
“Okay, try again,” she told him. Her voice was soft and flat, like she was trying to prevent any emotion from creeping into it. Jon was fine with that, as he was trying to concentrate. He lowered his head, looked down the barrel and aligned the sights, and squeezed the trigger again. This time his bullet pierced the silhouette almost in the center. He smiled slightly, relieved.
“Okay, you’re sighted in. We’re ready to go.” Cate stood and gestured to Jon to rise. He laid the rifle on its side on the ground and pushed himself up from the concrete, his biceps bulging. Cate tried to ignore Jon’s move, but felt a little flutter in her abdomen. Focus… she warned herself.
Cate was very aware that Jon’s demeanor was cooler than it had been prior to their break. She knew she had affected him, too, and that Jon was displeased when she had scored his target after the PPC. Apparently he had decided to focus his attention on learning to shoot rather than on pushing her buttons. And that was fine with her.
Cate replaced Jon’s target with a fresh one and sent it back downrange to join her own. Then she took her position and told Jon to follow along.
As before, Cate fired each portion of the course first, then watched Jon repeat her actions. The M-16 required more concentration, and Jon struggled to hit the target. Cate kept repeating the mantra of “relax, breathe, squeeze,” to him, but with each miss Jon grew more frustrated and impatient, which made him perform more poorly.
Jon completed the kneeling and over barrier portion of the course, then again dropped to the ground for the prone firing section. Danny moved the target further away, to 25 yards. The small silhouettes looked miniscule at that distance.
Cate again demonstrated the prone firing technique for Jon, shooting at her own target while he lay at his position, raised on his elbows, watching her. As frustrated as Jon was, he couldn’t help allowing his eyes to slip over Cate’s body as she lay on her belly on the concrete.
Her face looked wild and beautiful as she stared down the rifle in concentration, her cheek nestled against the stock, wisps of ginger hair brushing over the crosspiece of her range glasses. Her shoulders were tensed, and her back curved down to where her hips rested on the ground. The arch accentuated the rise of her buttocks, which were taut and round under her range pants.
She does have a great ass... Jon thought. His eyes moved down Cate’s legs, admiring their strength as they flexed, her toes dug against the concrete to steady her position and absorb the rifle’s recoil as she slowly and rhythmically squeezed off five rounds.
Jon’s eyes returned to Cate’s face as she looked toward him and tipped her rifle sideways, laying it on the ground. “Okay, now you,” she directed.
Jon nodded and picked up his own rifle. He shifted a couple times, fidgeting with the uncomfortable position. He pressed his cheek against the stock, sighted in, then fired. He knew he hadn’t hit the target the second the M-16’s stock jolted against his shoulder with the recoil.
Jon grunted his displeasure, then shifted again, trying to get back to a comfortable position where he could control the weapon. Again he fired, and again the muzzle jerked slightly with his trigger pull.
"Damnit!" he swore under his breath. Then he felt Cate beside him. She had crossed around to his right side and dropped to the concrete beside him so she was looking down the range at his level.
“Look, you need to adjust your support hand and bring this elbow back a little – drop this shoulder back.” Cate pushed back Jon’s right elbow with her hand, causing his shoulder to shift against the stock of the rifle.
In his frustration, Jon felt his temper rise. He didn’t respond, and again looked down the rifle’s sights, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger. This time the muzzle jerked even more. “Fuck!” Jon snarled. Now he was really starting to get pissed.
“Jon, listen – you have to breathe, blow out, hold, then squeeze the trigger.” Cate reminded him. “If you just suck in a breath and hold it you’ll make yourself jerk the trigger back, then you won’t hit shit.” Her voice held a slightly accusatory tone, like he wasn’t trying to do what she said. It had also picked up a bit of drill-instructor twang.
Jon turned his head slightly and fixed her with a glare. “I got it,” he growled at her. He turned his attention back to the target, again shifted, breathed, exhaled, held his breath… and jerked back the trigger in frustration. This time his cheek popped up off the stock of the rifle with the recoil. Again he swore.
Damnit, Jon! Cate thought. Before she realized what she was doing, she had pounced.
Cate pushed herself up off the ground, then dropped quickly over top of Jon’s prone body, hovering over him in a rigid plank position. Her right foot anchored against the concrete between Jon’s feet, her left foot to the left of his so that she was straddling his left leg. Because of the position, Cate’s right hip brushed slightly against Jon’s ass, and her breasts rested lightly against his back as she supported her weight on her hands, one on each side of Jon’s upper body.
Cate positioned her head next to his so she could look down the rifle’s barrel. Her lips were at Jon’s left ear, and she could feel his hair ticking her cheek and neck. “Focus!” she hissed. “Pull the stock up against your cheek – tight! Keep that supporting hand down – don’t let the barrel kick up with the recoil. And squeeze the trigger – don’t jerk it!”
Cate reached up her left hand and wrapped it over Jon’s right hand on the grip, pushing her index finger through the guard and settling it on his finger, pressing it down lightly to take the "give" out of the trigger.
Holy FUCK!!! What is she DOING??? Jon’s eyes flew open in surprise as he realized that Cate was supporting herself with one arm. She was basically performing the apex of a one-armed push-up! Over top of him!
Her breath was warm in his ear, and he was hyper-aware of her breasts pressed against his back. Jon felt his dick straining against the prison of his jeans and the cool concrete beneath him. The last thing on earth he could do right now is focus on hitting the damned target!
But instinctively he responded to her drill-sergeant orders, gripping the rifle more tightly and pressing his cheek against the stock. He felt Cate’s left hand leave his and drop back to the ground, again supporting her.
Though his heart was pounding, Jon drew in his breath, held it for a split second, pushed it back out, and froze. He slowly, excruciatingly inched his finger back on the trigger, feeling it give way until the pop of the release. He felt the recoil against his shoulder – this time it didn’t jump – and he looked downrange at the target. There was a hole on the very top edge of the middle silhouette. At least he had hit the damned thing – even if it wasn’t dead center.
Jon felt Cate’s weight drop slightly onto him as she lowered her knee to the ground between his legs. Her arms strained as she pushed herself backward and levered herself up to a kneeling position, still straddling his left leg. She looked downrange at the target and smirked. Better than I thought…
Jon was stunned beyond words. He wanted to yell at Cate, berate her for distracting him so thoroughly, to blame her for his positively shitty performance with the rifle. But he also wanted to pull her back down on top of him and maul her.
He lay there on the concrete, panting and fuming, still pointing the M-16 downrange. He felt Cate stand and move away. Then Jon’s anger got the better of him.
He dropped the rifle on its side, pushed himself up off the ground, and whirled to face Cate. He shot her a fierce glare, then turned and stalked toward the back wall, his hands interlocked on top of his head as his chest heaved. He paced up and down along the wall for a couple passes, then dropped his hands and turned to regard Cate. She was staring at him, her eyes narrowed and her jaw tight.
Jon stalked back up to her. “What the hell was THAT?” he spat accusatorily. “How the FUCK do you expect me to shoot when you’re laying on top of me?!?!”
Cate’s felt her blood boil. “I was correcting your position!” She glared at him, her eyes sparking with anger. “You didn’t seem to have any problem when you were laying on top of me in the mat room today!” she growled, dropping her voice. “At least I was trying to do my JOB!”
Jon didn’t know what to say to that. He stood there, staring her down, seething. Cate stared right back at him, her own fury burning. Then she stepped back. “Ya know what? Lesson’s over. GO HOME.”
Cate spun on her heel and marched back to the firing line, scooping up Jon’s rifle from the concrete and swiftly clearing and safing it. She snatched his Glock from on top of his range bag and shoved it into her waistband. Then she reached over to grab her own rifle and slung it over her shoulder by the strap. She turned and stalked toward the armory.
Jon’s mouth dropped open for an instant at his dismissal. Then he snapped it shut and stomped forward to snatch his range bag from the ground. He closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled a long breath, willing himself to calm down.
Jon turned to George, who was standing near the control room steps, wearing a stunned expression. “Thanks, Man,” Jon said evenly. “Sorry you had to see that.”
George just nodded and watched as Jon strode toward the exit. When Jon had left, George looked up at Danny, who had just started down the stairs from the control booth.
“Holy Shit!” George exclaimed.
Danny nodded solemnly. “I’m gonna go talk to her. Why don’t you take off.”
George didn’t have to be told twice. He said good night to Danny, grabbed his gear, and left quickly.
“Okay, try again,” she told him. Her voice was soft and flat, like she was trying to prevent any emotion from creeping into it. Jon was fine with that, as he was trying to concentrate. He lowered his head, looked down the barrel and aligned the sights, and squeezed the trigger again. This time his bullet pierced the silhouette almost in the center. He smiled slightly, relieved.
“Okay, you’re sighted in. We’re ready to go.” Cate stood and gestured to Jon to rise. He laid the rifle on its side on the ground and pushed himself up from the concrete, his biceps bulging. Cate tried to ignore Jon’s move, but felt a little flutter in her abdomen. Focus… she warned herself.
Cate was very aware that Jon’s demeanor was cooler than it had been prior to their break. She knew she had affected him, too, and that Jon was displeased when she had scored his target after the PPC. Apparently he had decided to focus his attention on learning to shoot rather than on pushing her buttons. And that was fine with her.
Cate replaced Jon’s target with a fresh one and sent it back downrange to join her own. Then she took her position and told Jon to follow along.
As before, Cate fired each portion of the course first, then watched Jon repeat her actions. The M-16 required more concentration, and Jon struggled to hit the target. Cate kept repeating the mantra of “relax, breathe, squeeze,” to him, but with each miss Jon grew more frustrated and impatient, which made him perform more poorly.
Jon completed the kneeling and over barrier portion of the course, then again dropped to the ground for the prone firing section. Danny moved the target further away, to 25 yards. The small silhouettes looked miniscule at that distance.
Cate again demonstrated the prone firing technique for Jon, shooting at her own target while he lay at his position, raised on his elbows, watching her. As frustrated as Jon was, he couldn’t help allowing his eyes to slip over Cate’s body as she lay on her belly on the concrete.
Her face looked wild and beautiful as she stared down the rifle in concentration, her cheek nestled against the stock, wisps of ginger hair brushing over the crosspiece of her range glasses. Her shoulders were tensed, and her back curved down to where her hips rested on the ground. The arch accentuated the rise of her buttocks, which were taut and round under her range pants.
She does have a great ass... Jon thought. His eyes moved down Cate’s legs, admiring their strength as they flexed, her toes dug against the concrete to steady her position and absorb the rifle’s recoil as she slowly and rhythmically squeezed off five rounds.
Jon’s eyes returned to Cate’s face as she looked toward him and tipped her rifle sideways, laying it on the ground. “Okay, now you,” she directed.
Jon nodded and picked up his own rifle. He shifted a couple times, fidgeting with the uncomfortable position. He pressed his cheek against the stock, sighted in, then fired. He knew he hadn’t hit the target the second the M-16’s stock jolted against his shoulder with the recoil.
Jon grunted his displeasure, then shifted again, trying to get back to a comfortable position where he could control the weapon. Again he fired, and again the muzzle jerked slightly with his trigger pull.
"Damnit!" he swore under his breath. Then he felt Cate beside him. She had crossed around to his right side and dropped to the concrete beside him so she was looking down the range at his level.
“Look, you need to adjust your support hand and bring this elbow back a little – drop this shoulder back.” Cate pushed back Jon’s right elbow with her hand, causing his shoulder to shift against the stock of the rifle.
In his frustration, Jon felt his temper rise. He didn’t respond, and again looked down the rifle’s sights, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger. This time the muzzle jerked even more. “Fuck!” Jon snarled. Now he was really starting to get pissed.
“Jon, listen – you have to breathe, blow out, hold, then squeeze the trigger.” Cate reminded him. “If you just suck in a breath and hold it you’ll make yourself jerk the trigger back, then you won’t hit shit.” Her voice held a slightly accusatory tone, like he wasn’t trying to do what she said. It had also picked up a bit of drill-instructor twang.
Jon turned his head slightly and fixed her with a glare. “I got it,” he growled at her. He turned his attention back to the target, again shifted, breathed, exhaled, held his breath… and jerked back the trigger in frustration. This time his cheek popped up off the stock of the rifle with the recoil. Again he swore.
Damnit, Jon! Cate thought. Before she realized what she was doing, she had pounced.
Cate pushed herself up off the ground, then dropped quickly over top of Jon’s prone body, hovering over him in a rigid plank position. Her right foot anchored against the concrete between Jon’s feet, her left foot to the left of his so that she was straddling his left leg. Because of the position, Cate’s right hip brushed slightly against Jon’s ass, and her breasts rested lightly against his back as she supported her weight on her hands, one on each side of Jon’s upper body.
Cate positioned her head next to his so she could look down the rifle’s barrel. Her lips were at Jon’s left ear, and she could feel his hair ticking her cheek and neck. “Focus!” she hissed. “Pull the stock up against your cheek – tight! Keep that supporting hand down – don’t let the barrel kick up with the recoil. And squeeze the trigger – don’t jerk it!”
Cate reached up her left hand and wrapped it over Jon’s right hand on the grip, pushing her index finger through the guard and settling it on his finger, pressing it down lightly to take the "give" out of the trigger.
Holy FUCK!!! What is she DOING??? Jon’s eyes flew open in surprise as he realized that Cate was supporting herself with one arm. She was basically performing the apex of a one-armed push-up! Over top of him!
Her breath was warm in his ear, and he was hyper-aware of her breasts pressed against his back. Jon felt his dick straining against the prison of his jeans and the cool concrete beneath him. The last thing on earth he could do right now is focus on hitting the damned target!
But instinctively he responded to her drill-sergeant orders, gripping the rifle more tightly and pressing his cheek against the stock. He felt Cate’s left hand leave his and drop back to the ground, again supporting her.
Though his heart was pounding, Jon drew in his breath, held it for a split second, pushed it back out, and froze. He slowly, excruciatingly inched his finger back on the trigger, feeling it give way until the pop of the release. He felt the recoil against his shoulder – this time it didn’t jump – and he looked downrange at the target. There was a hole on the very top edge of the middle silhouette. At least he had hit the damned thing – even if it wasn’t dead center.
Jon felt Cate’s weight drop slightly onto him as she lowered her knee to the ground between his legs. Her arms strained as she pushed herself backward and levered herself up to a kneeling position, still straddling his left leg. She looked downrange at the target and smirked. Better than I thought…
Jon was stunned beyond words. He wanted to yell at Cate, berate her for distracting him so thoroughly, to blame her for his positively shitty performance with the rifle. But he also wanted to pull her back down on top of him and maul her.
He lay there on the concrete, panting and fuming, still pointing the M-16 downrange. He felt Cate stand and move away. Then Jon’s anger got the better of him.
He dropped the rifle on its side, pushed himself up off the ground, and whirled to face Cate. He shot her a fierce glare, then turned and stalked toward the back wall, his hands interlocked on top of his head as his chest heaved. He paced up and down along the wall for a couple passes, then dropped his hands and turned to regard Cate. She was staring at him, her eyes narrowed and her jaw tight.
Jon stalked back up to her. “What the hell was THAT?” he spat accusatorily. “How the FUCK do you expect me to shoot when you’re laying on top of me?!?!”
Cate’s felt her blood boil. “I was correcting your position!” She glared at him, her eyes sparking with anger. “You didn’t seem to have any problem when you were laying on top of me in the mat room today!” she growled, dropping her voice. “At least I was trying to do my JOB!”
Jon didn’t know what to say to that. He stood there, staring her down, seething. Cate stared right back at him, her own fury burning. Then she stepped back. “Ya know what? Lesson’s over. GO HOME.”
Cate spun on her heel and marched back to the firing line, scooping up Jon’s rifle from the concrete and swiftly clearing and safing it. She snatched his Glock from on top of his range bag and shoved it into her waistband. Then she reached over to grab her own rifle and slung it over her shoulder by the strap. She turned and stalked toward the armory.
Jon’s mouth dropped open for an instant at his dismissal. Then he snapped it shut and stomped forward to snatch his range bag from the ground. He closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled a long breath, willing himself to calm down.
Jon turned to George, who was standing near the control room steps, wearing a stunned expression. “Thanks, Man,” Jon said evenly. “Sorry you had to see that.”
George just nodded and watched as Jon strode toward the exit. When Jon had left, George looked up at Danny, who had just started down the stairs from the control booth.
“Holy Shit!” George exclaimed.
Danny nodded solemnly. “I’m gonna go talk to her. Why don’t you take off.”
George didn’t have to be told twice. He said good night to Danny, grabbed his gear, and left quickly.
Ohhhhh!
ReplyDeleteJon and Cate need to get laid...before they kill each other! And Danny needs to keep his distance or he may get caught in the cross fire and get hurt! LOL!
Can't wait for more fireworks!
Didn't I say more tension isn't healthy!! lol They really need to get laid!!
ReplyDeleteI agree with the others. Those 2 need to do something about the sexual tension between them or someone is going to get hurt, lol.
ReplyDeleteTalk it out you two!!! You are both aware of the tension, deal with it!!
Phew!! I foresee fireworks in the bedroom department!! Loving your story!!
ReplyDelete