Machine by Normandie Alleman
7
Dynassy
The next dayI was lying out by the pool when my cell phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize, so I didn’t pick up. You wouldn’t believe the random people who got my number and called me. Honestly, I think sometimes the delivery guys who bring takeout give it out. Maybe they sell it—I’m not sure, but I have to change my number every six months or so to stop a barrage of calls.
“Not gonna answer?” Ivy asked. She’d driven back to LA the night before so she would be here for some fittings for her costumes for “A Barnes 4th.” Now she lay next to me applying lemon juice to her hair, hoping for some “natural highlights.”
“I don’t see you answering your phone,” I snipped.
She snorted. “I’m not the one pining over some guy.”
I ignored her. “You know that will look better if you have someone at the salon do it.” I pointed at her hair.
“Whatever. I don’t want all those chemicals on my hair. They probably cause cancer.”
“I think you’re thinking of our cell phones.”
I was probably one of the only people who knew what Ivy’s hair actually looked like. In public, she wore a wig ninety-five percent of the time. Rainbow ones, aqua, her latest favorite was mint green.
If I wore my hair that shade, I’d look like I had some sort of plague, but Ivy pulled it off with aplomb. She was a spritely girl with a pixie-like face and an energy that was as magnetic as it was ethereal.
“Speaking of phones—check yours.”
“Why?” I squinted up at the sun.
“I just have a feeling.”
“Oh, all right. It’s probably a tabloid journalist wanting to ask me if I’m really pregnant.”
“I didn’t know you were pregnant,” Ivy deadpanned.
“Shut up.” I picked up her spray bottle of lemon juice and squirted her bare stomach.
She flinched, shrieking, “Stop! That’s cold!”
“Hmph!” I scrolled to my voicemail and pressed the arrow to listen to the message that followed this latest call.
“Hi, Dynassy. This is Bridger Thompson. I was calling to see if you might be free one afternoon this week. Give me a call.” Then he left his number.
My hand began to tremble. He called. I’d talked myself out of it ever happening, but he had called!
“Who was it?” Ivy used her hand as a visor to shield her eyes from the sun.
“It was him.”
“Oh my God!” Ivy popped up on the lounge chair. “What did he say?”
“I think he wants to ask me out.”
“You think?”
I handed her the cell phone and let her listen to his message.
“You’re right. He does want to ask you out. Call him back!”
“You don’t think that looks like I’m too eager?”
Ivy made a face. “Didn’t you practically beg him to come to your bedroom? I think that ship has sailed, sis.”
“You’re right.” Pride would only get in the way of what I wanted here, and that was to see Bridger again.
My fingers quivered as I pressed the buttons to return his call.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Hi, Bridger. It’s Dynassy.”
“Hey. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”
My mind ran through my schedule. I had a fitting with my stylist then, but I could move it. “Not much. Why?”
“I wondered if you’d like to go shooting with me.”
“Shooting? What kind of shooting?”
“Guns. You ever shot a gun before?”
“Um, no.” This was definitely out of my comfort zone. Normally I’d turn down a date like this, but something told me that if I did, Bridger wouldn’t ask again. “But I could learn.”
“That’s the spirit. Pick you up at three?”
“Sounds good.”
“Same place I dropped you off before?”
“Yes. See you then.”
We hung up and I grabbed Ivy’s hands and squealed, “He asked me out!”
She squeezed my hands and we giggled like we were in middle school. “Now, I’ve got to figure out what to wear.”
Bridger Thompson was an enigma, and I had no idea what to make of him. First, he basically rejected my advances, but then he asked me out on a date.
Hopefully, going out with him would help me gain a better understanding of the guy and what made him tick.
I picked out a pair of my favorite jeans and a long-sleeved top, tight enough to enhance my curves, but modest in cut. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.
Ivy braided my hair for me—one long fishtail braid. Normally I was known for being late for almost everything, but for this date, I was ready a record twenty minutes early. Ivy and I waited near the front door, as eager as if we were staying up late waiting for Santa and his reindeer to appear.
“What does he drive?” Ivy asked, pulling aside the drapes and peering out the window.
“A Viper.”
Ivy crinkled her nose. “Kinda fancy for a mechanic.”
“Yeah, I think he has some sort of inheritance.”
“Nice. That way you know he’s not after you for your money.”
I frowned at her.
“What? You know it’s true.”
I sighed. She made a good point. I’d been so focused on Bridger liking me at all that it hadn’t occurred to me he might like me for my money.
After what seemed like forever, the sportscar pulled into the driveway.
“Run upstairs.”
“What do you mean? Why would I do that?” I hissed. Out the window, I could see Bridger emerge from the car. Damn. He looked hot. His biceps bulged against the fabric of his tight-fitting shirt, and his broad shoulders tapered to a much smaller waist. He wore cargo pants and boots that made him look every bit the part of a SEAL.
“Go upstairs, then I’ll call you and you can come down the stairs and make an entrance. That way it won’t look like you’ve been sitting here waiting for thirty minutes.”
“I thought you said that ship had sailed,” I fussed, but I ran up the stairs anyway.
Ivy shrugged. “He’s definitely hot. Do you think he has a brother?”
“I’ll ask,” I said, sprinting into one of the rooms off the upstairs hallway.
The doorbell chimed, and I heard Ivy open the door.
“You must be Bridger.”
“I am, and you must be Ivy.”
“Guilty. Come in. I’ll just get Dynassy.” After a slight pause, Ivy called up, “Dynassy!”
“Coming!” I called back and headed down the stairs, praying I didn’t trip.
“Hey!” Bridger grinned.
“Hey yourself,” I answered back, hoping that didn’t sound as dumb to him as it did to me.
“You look great,” he said, his green eyes bright with admiration.
“Thanks. You too.”
He scoffed then turned to Ivy. “I won’t keep her out too late,” he promised.
“No, please do!” Ivy laughed, hand on hip. “You two close the joint. Have fun. I don’t want to see my sister back here for a week.”
“Ivy!” If I could have kicked her under the table, I would have.
But Bridger just chuckled. “Duly noted.” Then he opened the door and waited for me to walk through it before following me to open the passenger door of the car for me.
“Hey, do you have a brother?” Ivy cried, and I sank into the passenger seat to hide my embarrassment.
“Nope. Only one sister.” He shrugged good-naturedly.
Ivy snapped her fingers. “Too bad. Have fun and don’t shoot anybody!” She waved goodbye as Bridger backed the car out of the driveway.
Once we were on the road, he said, “Your sister is something.”
I eyed him to see if he meant this in a good or a bad way. The smirk on his face told me he found her amusing.
“Yes, she’s something of a character.”
“That’s good. I like that.”
“Yeah, she’s not like people think she’s going to be. She’s real down-to-earth.”
He nodded.
I was so nervous that I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, so I folded them together in my lap. “I was surprised to hear from you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I was a little embarrassed when you dropped me off the other night and you wouldn’t come in.”
He glanced over at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
But that was all he said. I waited for more of an explanation, and apparently I wasn’t getting one. This guy didn’t seem to get it.
Oh well. I’d go out with him, but if he kept being weird, that would be it. I needed to make the best of whatever happened on this date—deal with the present. And if things didn’t go well, then I could be the one to reject him. That was a situation I’d be much more comfortable with than what had gone on the other night.
But as much as I’d like to have the upper hand in this pairing, I found myself wishing we were going dancing. I craved being in his arms again. Even a foot away, I could smell his cologne or deodorant. Whatever it was it drove me wild. And the way his shirt hugged every ridge of his muscles and showed every ripple as he moved…
I had to remind myself to breathe, I was getting so swept away by the proximity of him.
Fortunately, it didn’t take long before we arrived at the shooting range. I was afraid if I didn’t get out of that car soon I might combust.
“This is it? It’s outside?”
“Yep. This is it.” On TV, they always did the shooting inside. The place was nice enough, but it reminded me more of a driving range for golfers than where the TV cops always went to practice.
Bridger got out and came around to open my door for me, saying, “This is a small operation, run by a guy I know. I called ahead just to be sure there wasn’t a big event going on here today. I didn’t want you to be overrun with people asking for your autograph or anything like that. I wanted you to be able to have fun. Relax a little bit.”
“Thank you. That was awfully thoughtful of you.” Most places I went were crawling with fans, so it was nice that he’d thought this through and brought me to a place where I could just chill out.
We were greeted by a guy in a pair of overalls. “Hey, Bridger. This must be the young lady you were telling me about.” I don’t think he recognized me, which was just as well. I didn’t need anyone snapping pictures of me to sell to the tabloids, thank you very much.
“Yep. This is Dynassy. I was hoping we could set her up with some targets.”
The man offered me a hand, which I shook. “No problem. And nice to meet you.”
Then Bridger placed a hand on my shoulder. “Will you be all right here? I need to run back to the car and get my gun case.”
“Sure.”
“Be right back,” he said. I hoped he didn’t take too long. I really liked his hand on my shoulder.
When he came back, Bridger showed me the basics with the rifle, all the safety stuff, which I know is important, but it was boring as well—how to hold the gun, how to load the gun, how to aim the gun, etc. First, he had me shooting at targets a hundred yards out with a rifle.
The gun had a little bit of a kickback but it wasn’t too bad. After my first shot, I asked anxiously, “Did I hit it? Did I hit it?”
Bridger looked through the scope. At first he didn’t answer, but then he laughed. “Sort of.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, you hit the target next to yours.” He tried to hide his grin, but it was impossible.
“You’re kidding me.”
“No. That’s okay. Try again and aim at this one.” He set me up, hopefully with the rifle pointed at the correct target.
I shot again. “How about this time?”
He looked puzzled. “Those bullets are all straying off to the side. Dynassy, would you happen to be left-handed?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because I’ve been teaching you all wrong. I should have taught you to shoot left-handed. I’m sorry I didn’t ask. Here, let me change up some things and show you a better way.”
He had me slip the gun against my left shoulder. “Squeeze your right eye closed instead of your left one.”
I did what he said, and as soon as I got lined up, I started hitting the correct target.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, that’s much better. My bad.”
After I got the hang of it, my nerves calmed down and I started to really enjoy myself. At first I’d been pretty disappointed in my performance. The people on TV made it look so much easier than it was, but once I was shooting left-handed, my performance improved significantly.
I looked through the scope, lined up the shot, held still and squeezed the trigger. Crack!
“Outstanding! You just made a bull’s-eye.” Bridger seemed seriously impressed. His excitement was infectious. He stood behind me and put his arms around me, showing me how to get a steadier position. I’m not sure what he was saying because all I could think about was how good he smelled and how much I was enjoying his embrace. This was what I’d been wanting, and it felt even better than I remembered.
After a few more rounds, Bridger decided to he wanted to teach me to shoot a pistol.
“I’ve never done that.”
He gave me a wink. “You never forget your first time. It’ll be fun.”
The twinge of lust between my legs intensified, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to concentrate on learning something new when all I could think about was how much I wanted him to take me right there.
He stood behind me, his arms wrapped around mine as he showed me the stance and how to shoot the Glock.
“Now feel the power in your hand and squeeze.” When he finally pressed his body up against me, showing me how to get the proper grip, I expected to feel his erection press against the small of my back. I was a little disappointed when that didn’t occur but maybe this was more serious than sexy for him. Or maybe it was me. Was I too horny and desperate?
Whatever it was, I’d never expected shooting a gun to get me so worked up. I wasn’t quite as good at shooting a handgun as I had been the rifle, but by that point, I didn’t really care. My thoughts were on other things.
After a while, I got to see Bridger shoot a few times. He regularly hit the bull’s-eye with only one or two stray shots.
Impressive. This guy really was a war hero, a great shot, and such a protective guy. There was something about him that made me feel safe, like I was enveloped in his protection, and as long as I was with him, nothing bad would ever happen to me. Crazy, I know, but his presence had a powerful effect on me.
Later, after we’d gotten back in the car, Bridger asked, “So, what did you think?”
“It was fun. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.”
“Good. I’m glad. Want to go get something to eat?”
I couldn’t help but let a big smile spread across my face. “That sounds great.”
He took me to a quaint little diner. Another sort of place I’d only seen in movies or on television. I was starting to think that life with Bridger was more Hollywood than the lives of my friends who lived in Hollywood. He went out and did things. Not just went to fancy parties and jetted around the world. He actually lived.
I raked my fork over the chicken and dumplings Bridger had recommended I get. They were delicious. “So, why’d you take me shooting?”
“I’m a big believer that everybody should know how to defend themselves. You probably have enough bodyguards that you don’t feel that way, but it’s also a great way to blow off steam.”
“I had a good time.”
“I’m glad you left the bodyguards at home today.” He raised an eyebrow at me, and it made my heart thump in my chest.
“I figured you’d be able to protect me.”
“Absolutely.”
I believed he’d protect me from other dangers, but who was going to protect my heart from him?
