Real Dirty (Real Dirty #1)

“All right, watch me demonstrate.” After going through all the parts of the gun and showing her how everything works, including the safety, I hand her some ear protectors and start popping off rounds, causing four of the targets to spin.

Her eyes are wide when I lower the rifle and engage the safety.

“You’re good at that.” She yells the words because her ears are covered, and it’s really f*cking cute.

I remove my ear protectors and lift hers off too. “Sugar, I’m as redneck as it gets. Just because I got money doesn’t mean I’ve changed who I really am.”

“I like that about you.”

It might not seem like much in the way of compliments, but it’s sincere, and knowing about Ripley and her past, it’s pretty huge to me.

“There’s a hell of a lot I like about you, Ripley Fischer. Now, it’s your turn. Put the muffs back on and get ready to kick some target ass.”





46





Ripley





“There’s a hell of a lot I like about you, Ripley Fischer.”

I swear, at least fifty percent of what comes out of Boone Thrasher’s mouth makes me want to jump him. How does he do that?

He even looks as sexy as hell shooting that gun, which is something I never thought in my entire life about another human being, even a hot actor on TV.

When I take the gun from him, my nerves ratchet up to red-alert levels. Ma and Gil were shot. They were both dead in minutes, the coroner’s report said.

“You okay?” Boone asks.

I snap out of my thoughts and back to the present.

“Yeah. Fine.” I know I’m yelling, but I don’t care. If I talk quietly, I can’t even hear myself.

Boone helps me position the rifle against my shoulder. I look down the sight like he explained, bringing the little metal part on the tip between the two metal pieces closer to me. When I’ve got a round orange target sighted in, I squeeze the trigger.

I jerk at the pop, but the target doesn’t spin like Boone’s did.

“You scared yourself. Anticipating the recoil. But now you know there really isn’t one, so you can calm down and nail that target. Got it?”

Boone speaks loudly enough that I can hear him through my ear protection, and I nod.

For some strange reason, even though I wasn’t really keen on doing this, now I’m determined. I want to hit that damn target.

It has nothing to do with the orgasms he promised me.

Okay, that’s a lie.

I focus on the same target and take a deep breath after I line up the sight, letting it out before I squeeze the trigger. I don’t know where the bullet hits but the target spins, indicating I made contact. I raise my head.

“I did it!”

Boone takes the rifle from my hands and engages the safety before kissing the crap out of me.

“That’s my girl,” he says, quietly enough that I almost can’t hear him through the muffs.

Warmth slides through my chest, and it scares the ever-loving hell out of me.

I like him. A lot.



Boone keeps me at the target shooting until my stomach grumbles, but I still haven’t hit my three targets in a row. I can nail two, but then I choke up and freeze on the third. He taps me on the shoulder after the last time I pull the trigger and there’s only a click.

“Let’s pack it up and go eat some of those leftover wings. I can’t have you starving out here.”

I lift the earmuff off one ear. “Do you have more bullets? I’m going one more time.”

Boone’s dark eyebrow rises and he studies me. “Is that right?”

I nod.

“You know I’m gonna make you come hard regardless? Because, sugar, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life when you finally let down your guard.” That warm feeling burns hot again. “Especially when I’m looking at your face from between your legs.” Boone winks.

The warm feeling doesn’t fade when he turns into a smartass. It morphs into flames between my thighs.

Boone Thrasher is dangerous . . . in the best way possible.

“Bullets,” I say, holding out a hand.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re more stubborn than a mule?” Instead of holding out his hand for me to give him the magazine like he had the rest of the afternoon, he drops ten rounds in my hand.

“I don’t think anyone I know has ever owned a mule.”

“My folks used to have one at their place. They adopted it from some farmer who was going to sell it to the glue factory or some shit like that, and my ma wouldn’t stand for it after she heard about it. Got my daddy up at dawn to go down and bargain with the old man. Ma sat in the truck with a shotgun in her lap, just in case he wouldn’t deal, at least according to my dad.”

“She sounds feisty.”

A smile stretches over Boone’s face. “She sure is. Best woman I’ve ever known. Call me a mama’s boy if you want, but I owe that woman everything.” He watches as I load the magazine with painstaking care. “You’ll have to take a ride down there with me and meet them. They’d like you. Ma would recognize a kindred spirit.”

My hand shakes when he talks about me meeting his folks. Like this is something more than me being the rebound after his relationship with his ex-girlfriend went balls up in the most spectacular fashion.

“They sound like great people.” I shove the magazine back into place, readjust my ear protection, and lift the rifle to my shoulder. “It’s game time,” I whisper to myself as I aim at the first target.

It’s shaped like a squirrel, and I’ve been getting lucky with it all day.

Sorry, Mr. Squirrel. You’re only plastic. I wouldn’t shoot you in real life.

I squeeze the trigger and pop off the first round.

Hit! The squirrel spins on his metal frame.

Boone’s cheer comes from beside me, and I have to fight to keep my concentration instead of letting my triumphant smile loose. No celebrating until it’s done and won.

I move on to target number two, this one some kind of rodent. I slow my breathing and squeeze.

Hit! Inside, I do a little dance, but I make no outward sign of my excitement because I’ve already gotten this far a couple of times.

Keep your expectations low, Rip. Isn’t that what life has taught you? Best way to avoid disappointment.

Depressing words, but true.

I find target number three. It’s a rabbit. I’ve missed it four or five times. Maybe because I think rabbits are super cute and I wanted one from the pet store when I was seven, but Pop said no way would he let that thing in the apartment. I almost switch back to the squirrel, something I know I can hit, but I’m determined. What’s the point of winning if I don’t do it in a way that means something?

Setting my sights on the rabbit, I picture the little furry bastard flipping me off and mocking me for all my misses. Not so cute now, ass*ole.

I hold my breath as I pull the trigger. It spins!

My finger slams over the safety, engaging it before I jump out of my seat and toss off my earmuffs. Boone takes the rifle from my hand, sets it aside, and clutches me around the waist to lift me in the air over his head and twirl me around in a circle.

“One hell of a shot for someone who’s never picked up a rifle in her life. Damn, sugar, that was badass.”