Page 89 of Watching Her

Was she daring to be accusatory by telling me the story? When I lifted my arm, I thought she’d wince in fear. She didn’t. Neither did she flinch at all. But she was challenging me. Did she not already understand what I was capable of?

I took a deep breath while running my index finger through the string of sugar across her lower lip and jaw. The move surprised her, the corners of her mouth upturning. I slipped my finger into my mouth, realizing the taste wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d thought.

“Your father was a very wise man, although losing can also indicate weakness and in certain worlds, that’s unacceptable.”

“Certain worlds,” she repeated. “That’s very sad. Without loss, you can’t appreciate everything you achieve or something wonderful occurring in your life. You have to know the difference or all the wins won’t mean anything at all.”

In admitting even to myself she’d left me with something to think about, I was genuinely surprised. She had a way of unnerving me without trying.

“What about women?”

“What about them?”

“You mentioned men in the scenario. How do women handle losing?”

She decided to torment me further by running a finger down the side of my neck and against the thick cord before traveling to my chest. After pushing her finger through the buttons on my Henley, she took a step away. “Simple. We never lose.”

Her laugh floated into the air as she skipped backwards down the long line of game booths. I stood where I was, doing nothing but shaking my head. “Any hints on what to do, Miss Know-it-All?”

“Find a game there’s no chance of you losing.”

Hmmm… She had a good point. I checked the closest options, finding one that was right up my alley.

I pulled out a hundred-dollar bill since it was the lowest denomination I had on me. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, mister. Let me explain the rules.”

Very slowly I turned my head. “I think I know what to do.” Even before she reached my side, I picked up the bb gun, pointing it at the targets.

Now I wasn’t playing to win. I was doing so to annihilate the imaginary competition.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

With every shot, I fell more into the zone, the activity a reminder of the days spent at the shooting range with my father. Long before I’d been required to ‘handle’ an enemy for him. He’d wanted to test both my skills and my loyalty.

He’d learned not only that I was a crack shot, but I was also a kid with no conscience. My future within the company as head of the empire had been set in stone that very day.

I’d been seventeen years old and proud of my accomplishments.

In winning.

With every shot taken, every shot hitting the bullseye, I felt vindicated. When I was done, I took a few seconds before lowering the weapon.

“Wow,” the young man said, still staring at the targets.

My masculinity was returned at that moment and would never be challenged again. “Hey, baby,” I said in a coy voice. “Which bear would you like?”

“Mister. You can have every single bear if you want them.” The poor guy was sweating, his voice cracking.

And how was my naughty companion reacting?

With a strange expression that perhaps only I could understand. She wished she had been the one shooting.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning no one but the military or assassins can shoot like that. Which are you?”