It was a disaster. Everything was a disaster. My whole fucking life.
“Kate...breathe, Kate.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he retreated to the other side of the room and starting picking up the scattered contents of my wallet. He paused, a photo in his hand. “Paintballing? You don’t strike me as the type.”
“Oooh, you made a mistake when judging someone’s personality? Color me shocked.” I wiped my watery eyes with my sleeve.
“Look, I think we’ve both been pushing you too hard,” Asher said. “Putting in the hours is important, but so is taking care of yourself so you don’t crash and burn. Why don’t you introduce me to the joys of paintball?”
I shook my head. “I have so much to do…”
“And how much of it will you get done if you drive yourself crazy like this? Do you feel on top of your game? Ready, willing, and able to produce your very best work?”
Well, he had a point.
“Stop twitching, Asher. The plebes might catch the scent of your blue blood.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
Asher had originally wanted to go to a fancy course he’d heard good things about, but when I pointed out that the prospect of running into other potential investors and customers would just make everything a billion times more stressful, he’d agreed to try the Paint Emporium.
I insisted on paying—he’d spent enough on me for business already, I didn’t need to feel in his debt for personal matters, too—and helped him into a pair of paint-splattered overalls and an equally trashed plastic helmet that buckled under the chin. Those paintballs could sting like a motherfucker. I would know.
“I’ve heard this is the look this season for all the fashionable young billionaires,” I said, snapping a photo with my cell phone.
“You’re not—you’re not putting that on Facebook, are you?” Asher asked, panic dawning in his eyes.
“Maaaaaaaaybe.”
Asher had been right. I was feeling less stressed already.
We walked out to the field, where three teenagers were messing around with their guns and masks, pretending to shoot each other in the face. An employee knocked their guns down and blew a whistle, beckoning me and Asher closer.
“All right, here’s the rules. We’re playing a simple elimination game today. A solid hit to the body or equipment, and you need to call out your status, hold your gun above your head, and make your way to the dead zone here. Paint splatter doesn’t count; if you’re unsure, call “paint check!” and everyone will freeze while I come to make an assessment. Last man or woman standing wins the game for their team. To your places!”
He blew the whistle again and Asher and I ran for our home base, adrenaline flooding my body as our feet pounded the earth in sync. Why hadn’t I thought of doing this before? There was nothing like shooting the shit out of something to relieve some anxiety.
Home base was behind a stand of pines, we ducked behind it and peered out. I gaped. “Do you see what I see?”
“Teenagers being little shitheads?” Asher asked.
Instead of running to their home base first, our opponents had followed us straight back and taken up offensive positions surrounding us. I swore.
“You know what I think?” Asher said. “I think these little punks need an education.”
“I like the way you think,” I told him. “So here’s the plan…”
I dove deep into the underbrush, drawing fire from all three of our opponents as Asher took the opportunity to scramble up the pine next to our home base.
Two of his shots took out their targets, the third went wide. The pimply teen scrambled through the brush, trying to take cover, but I blocked his exit. He squeezed off five shots that I easily evaded, the paint not even splattering me. His retreat took him directly into the stream that wound through the course, where he slipped on the rocks; both my paintballs and Asher’s catching him multiple times in the chest.
“That’s teamwork, bitches!” I said, and gave Asher a high five as he dropped from his tree. “Eat a dick and choke on it!”
“Chill out, lady. It’s just a game,” the shot-up kid said as he struggled to his feet and made his way back toward his friends, dripping water and paint as he went.
“Have you always been this bloodthirsty, or is this just an attractive new side of you I’ve not heretofore encountered?” Asher sounded almost as breathless as I felt.
“Me? Oh, I’m even bloodthirstier.” I leveled my gun at him and grinned. “Sorry, Asher—this is a coup.”
I pulled the trigger, and the gun—clicked.