“Holy crap, this thing kicks,” I complained, putting the pistol down carefully so I could shake out my arms.
Jesse’s voice was calm and instructive. “That’s because you’re jerking it.”
“You’re jerking it,” I retorted. Because I’m mature.
We were in one of the seedier-looking parts of North Hollywood, in a brick building that had once been a shoe factory. The current owner, whom Jesse had introduced simply as Clinton-never-Clint, had converted it to a small shooting range, with ten long aisles and those targets that zoom back and forth. Clinton had also made the excellent decision to offer the city’s police a 15 percent discount, which made it a popular place for off-duty cops, especially right after shift changes. It was just before four o’clock, though, and Jesse and I were the only ones in there, aside from Clinton, a clean-shaven guy in his late sixties with one of those man-bellies that would look like pregnancy on a woman. He had greeted Jesse by name and then retreated to a big metal desk near the entrance without another word.
Jesse gave me the kind of long-suffering sigh that my mother had perfected before I turned nine. “Here.” He stepped behind me, actually doing that macho thing guys do in movies where they’re all Ooh, let me show you how to do something while simultaneously turning you on with my muscles, ooh.
I tried to hold that thought up against the more animal part of my brain as Jesse’s arms went around mine, and his breath lifted hair off my neck. He wasn’t that tall, maybe five ten or five eleven, but he had long, thickly muscled arms that fit all the way around me. He smelled wonderfully of his usual Armani cologne-and-oranges scent, and something else—gun oil? Gun powder? Something mechanical-y.
“You’re holding your breath,” he reminded me, his voice next to my ear.
“Right.” I exhaled and turned my head to face forward. Eli, I told myself. You’re…something with Eli. Involved. Yes, there’s a good word. Involved. “This is all so Beverly Hills Cop,” I said nervously.
“Look, this is what you’re doing,” he said. With my index finger still safely on the outside of the trigger guard, he wrapped his own finger around mine and gave the whole gun a quick tug backward toward my chest. “Jerking. Instead, focus straight ahead, keep your elbows loose but firm, and squeeze, like this.” Demonstrating, he squeezed his whole right hand around my whole right hand. “Got it?”
Work, brain, work. “Uh, what about the kick?”
“I’ll brace you.”
His arms around me loosened a little, giving me more room without moving away. He seemed so solid behind me, I felt like I could take a head-on collision and not so much as rock backward. “Remember,” he said, “Breathe in, and squeeze on the exhale.”
I managed to wound the diabolical paper target with five of the next six shots. “Good, good!” Jesse said happily. I set the gun down gently on the table and turned my face to his, accidentally grazing his mouth with my cheek. We both froze. I didn’t meet his eyes, but a long moment of silence lingered as we both considered the possibility that lay between us. Well, considered it again.
We had gone on one official date, just one. It was right before I left for New York, and the idea was to do something normal. Human. He picked me up and took me to the ArcLight in Hollywood for a movie and a nearby sushi restaurant for dinner. We talked about the movie and our favorite actors, and he told me stories about his parents’ mischievous pit bull. For once, there was no talk of vampires or werewolves or witchcraft or anything else Old World. And it was amazing. I felt guilty about Eli, but he and I had had nothing but awkward work conversations for months, and Jesse…he looked at me sometimes like I was just another person, which no one else had done in the last five years. I couldn’t resist it.
At the end of the night, he offered to walk me to Molly’s front door, which was sort of sweet. I’m generally more of a one-night-stand girl than a chivalry girl. But when we got there, he reached out and stopped my hand before I could turn the knob. His eyes were troubled, and when he opened his mouth I was sure, just convinced, that it was going to be the start of some big “what are we doing” analytical conversation, and I just felt this great rush of…something. I took a step forward, and I kissed him. He wasn’t as tall as Eli, and in my high-heeled boots I just had to reach up a little bit and he was right there. His mouth was cool and hesitant at first, but when I didn’t resist he took my shoulders and pushed me gently against the door and kissed me hard.
It was incredible. It was like I could feel both of us let go of all of it, the Old World and the police and Jared Hess. For just a second there was no weight of history and magic between us. We were just Jesse and Scarlett. I’d never felt like that before.
And then my phone began to play “Bad Moon Rising,” which Molly had recently programmed as Eli’s ringtone.
I figured it had to be business, since that was all Eli and I talked about anymore, so I stepped a few feet away, still breathing hard, and turned my back on Jesse to take the call. I had been right: two female werewolves had managed to get into a drunken fight at the bar, and Eli just wanted to know what would get blood out of hardwood floors. It was an easy, one-minute conversation, the kind I’ve had with my brother when he desperately needed to know how many teaspoons went into a tablespoon. But when I slid the phone shut and turned back to Jesse, he was shaking his head.
“I can’t do this, Scarlett.”