Shopping for a CEO's Honeymoon by Julia Kent

Author:Julia Kent [Kent, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-14T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Amanda

The gun-training facility is in a brick building, nestled in an office park. We could just as easily be visiting a financial planner, a small software company, or a Meals on Wheels office for elderly assistance.

In other words, this is not what I’d envisioned.

In my mind, a gun-safety course would be held at a gun club, down a long, dusty, unpaved road leading to big, open fields with targets in a straight, unending line. People would walk around with noise-cancelling earphones, wearing guns on their waistbands, popping open cans of Coke and talking about aim while smoking unfiltered Camels and cracking jokes about tits and ass.

Instead, when we walk in, the counter at the front makes me think I’m at the Registry of Motor Vehicles.

Until I see the guns in the glass display case.

“Gina registered us online,” Andrew says as we get in line. He starts to scowl.

“No VIP option?” I tease. Andrew’s not accustomed to waiting in lines. Ever.

“Not on our timeline. Gina managed to get us in today.”

“It’s only been two days since your YouPorn incident.”

He looks around the room, only his eyes moving, his face impassive. “Shhhh.”

“Why are you shushing me? Because you watched gun videos on YouPorn?” I raise my voice intentionally.

A few snickers greet my words.

And then: “Hey, man, you see Ricky Rimfire’s new series? Top of the line. Almost as good as Full30 videos.” A man behind us nudges Andrew. “Good stuff. You here for the advanced Lethal Force class?”

Ever watch a man go from stoic to smug? I have. A few too many times.

Like right now.

There’s a special quality that infuses his very being, a dominant male awareness that makes him stand taller, arms wider, all of him highly attuned to competition. Make no mistake: when you have this many men in a gun-safety training center, you’re getting your daily RDA of Smug.

Vitamin S is plentiful here.

A playful hand goes to my shoulder as Andrew smirks and says, “Taking my wife. Her first time.”

“A gun virgin?” the guy half purrs, half growls. “Nice. My old lady’s a used-up gun whore.”

I look up at Andrew and bat my eyelashes. “Just think, honey. Someday I can be a used-up gun whore, too. Life goals!”

He winces as the word whore comes out of my mouth.

He’d damn well better.

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, man,” Andrew says to the guy, using a voice that makes me think my husband has been microchipped and is currently being controlled by a character from Santa Clarita Diet, who is about five seconds away from being eaten by Drew Barrymore.

We reach the counter. “Amanda McCormick,” I say to a dude in a red polo shirt with a logo for the training center on it.

“Hey. Nice. Only three women in today’s class and you’re one of them.” I get the creeper voice. Women know that one.

Maybe I was wrong about the tits and ass after all.

He nods at Andrew, who stares him down. The guy’s eyes flit to my left hand. He frowns and is allll business suddenly.

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