Slow Burn(46)

    “Good point,” I said. I took a deep breath. “That makes me feel better.”

    “Have you tried to just jump him? Like go for it and grab it, you know?”

    “Yeah,” I said. “He stops me.”

    “And what does he say?”

    “He says not yet,” I said. “He says for me to hold on. He says we’ll get there.”

    “So. Maybe you will?”

    “Maybe,” I said.

    “Maybe he wants to make sure he’s given you an intense amount of pleasure before he even tries to get any,” said Stacey.

    “He actually said something like that.”

    “Maybe it’s true.”     “Do you really think so?”

    “I think you should talk to him,” she said.

    I made a face.

    “But if you don’t want to, maybe you could just wait a little bit and see what happens. You might be getting worked up over nothing.”

    I nodded. “Yeah. I hope you’re right.”

* * *

    Griffin handed me the gun. “Since you’re being so distracting, I’d feel better if you had some idea how to take care of yourself.”

    It was heavy. I weighed it in my hand. “Isn’t the gun kind of a waste? I mean, it won’t kill someone with the serum.”

    “You saw what happened to you when you got shot,” he said. “You were helpless for minutes. And every minute counts.”

    I raised the gun. “I guess that’s true.”

    “I’ll teach you some self-defense moves too,” he said. “But I want you to get used to having a gun in your hand. How’s it feel?”

    “Heavy,” I said. “I didn’t think it would be so heavy.”

“Everyone says that.” He demonstrated. “That’s how you take off the safety, okay?”

I nodded.

“Show me,” he said.

I turned the safety on and back off again.

“Good,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Okay, first thing. You want to make sure that you’re holding the gun right. You want to place it squarely within the web of your thumb and forefinger, so that when you hold it out, it’s perfectly in line with your arm.”

    I rearranged a little, holding the gun out. “Like this?”

    He inspected and adjusted me. “Good. Like that. See how your thumb’s right here on the safety and your forefinger is extended right here?”

    “Uh huh.”

    “You’re not touching the trigger, but you could, right? Your finger’s right there.”

    I nodded.

    “Okay, bring up your support hand and wrap your fingers around your other hand.”

    I brought up my other hand.

    “You ever play basketball?”

    I raised my eyebrows at him. “You’re asking because I’m tall, right?”

    “You’re tall?” He kissed my forehead. “You’re short as far as I’m concerned.”

    I stuck my tongue out at him. “Maybe in middle school. Why?”

    “Well, when you’re shooting basketball, you’ve got a support hand, and it’s the same principle. You don’t want to let the support hand do anything other than support. If you rely too much on it, it’s going to throw your aim off.”

    “Okay,” I said. I did kind of remember trying to shoot lay-ups and having my other hand push the ball the wrong direction. But I’d been twelve. I wasn’t sure how much the analogy was really going to help me.

    He stood behind me, running his hands over my arms and shoulders.

    “Ooh,” I said, wiggling my butt against him.

    “Stop,” he said.

    “What?”

    “This is serious, doll.”

    “I know. It’s seriously hot when you put your hands on me.”

    He pushed on my shoulders. “Loosen up here. Square your shoulders, spread your legs.”

    I couldn’t help it. I giggled. “Spread my legs, huh?”

    “Leigh, I mean it, stop fooling around.”