“Chrissy, they’re—”

“It’s fine, Sadie, really. I want to unwind.” I’ve never wanted to escape Sadie more than at this moment.

She doesn’t know what happened last night. How close Dex and I came to changing our relationship forever.

Rob jumps off the steps and disengages Sadie. “I got this one, Sadie, go spend some quality time with Brady,” he jokes and grabs my hand, leading me to his Mustang. Over my shoulder, I glance at a very anxiety-ridden Sadie, biting her lip and watching us leave. Rob’s a complete gentleman, opening the door and shutting it behind me. He jogs in front of the car and slides in next to me. For the first time, I wish all of those feelings for Dex would transfer to Rob. “Are you a risk taker?” he asks, and, although I usually run on the side of caution, tonight I want to be someone different.

“Uh huh,” I answer. He smirks and his muffler roars to life, peeling out of the driveway.

Linkin Park, Papa Roach, Soundgarden, and a varied array of rock music carries the conversation on the way to wherever he’s taking me. The same music as Dex listens to usually, so I’m familiar with the majority of the bands. I remember when we were younger, he’d tell me a song he really liked, and I’d listen to it over and over again, allowing me to feel closer to him in a way.

A half hour passes, and we pull into a drive with a sign reading, Paintball. I scrunch my forehead at him, and he laughs. “It’s great for letting out stress.”

“I thought it was done in the woods during the day? In case you didn’t notice your headlights were on when you drove here,” I point out, and he turns off the engine and gets out of the car without a response.

I open my own door and exit the car while Rob waits at the front of the car for me. “It’s inside a warehouse. They’re open late.” He walks me in, and a guy, who appears like he hasn’t showered in a week or so, welcomes him by name then eyes me.

“Brought someone with you?” he asks, his eyes roaming up and down my body.

“This is Chrissy, and she needs to have fun.” He claps me on the back, making my body stumble forward. I give the guy a tight smile, and he starts grabbing things from the shelves.

Ten minutes later, I’m fitted with a suit, a gun, and little colorful balls to shoot at people. Rob laughs when he notices me look at the goggles with trepidation. I place them over my head, resting them on my forehead. “You’re not going to protect your eyes like that.” He points to my goggles, and I giggle.

“Don’t worry about me,” I kid, making him smile.

We both make our way over to the entry area, that’s occupied with a bunch of high school kids geared up and egging each other on. When they spot us, a few laugh to themselves while obviously the most outspoken one sets his attention on Rob. “You brought your girlfriend?” he huffs, and I’m holding a laugh inside because he has no idea who he’s messing with.

“I bet she can shoot better than your ass.”

“I can guarantee you she’ll be the first one out.” I stay silent, and Rob should too. I’ve never even shot a Nerf gun, so I’m pretty sure the cocky kid is accurate in his assessment. I’ll be on the sidelines most of this game.

“Okaaayyy.” Rob draws the word out nice and slow, appearing cool and calm. “If she stays in longer than you, I want your gun,” he wagers, and I pull on Rob’s sleeve, but he only looks down at me briefly before back to the kid.

“What do I get when she’s walking to the sidelines a second after the horn?”

“I’ll buy you an equivalent at the shop out front.” Rob finalizes the bet, and, while everyone is getting ready, I pull him aside.

“Are you nuts? There’s no way I can beat that kid. He must come here every weekend. Look at his gear, his friends stuff. I’m standing here with a gun that will probably jam in two seconds while he’s got reserves of balls strapped to his belt.”

Rob’s boisterous laugh brings us attention but they turn away. “All you have to do is get him first. Stay by my side, and I’ll guarantee it.” He places his hand on my shoulder, and somehow self-confidence washes over me that maybe I can do it. “The kid is cocky and arrogant. Traits I know too well. When you’re in high school though, those too sure of themselves guys don’t think everything through, they just react. We got this, Chris, don’t worry,” he tells me, and the fact he called me Chris has me trusting him. Not many people refer to me by that name. My mind wanders to thinking about Dex, who was the first to shorten my name, and how I hated it at first because it sounded like a boy’s name. It clarified that that’s how Dex saw me … as though I was just another friend, like the abundance of boys he hung around with. “You still with me?” Rob asks, and I nod as my head continues to swim in the thoughts of Dex.

A few minutes later, the same guy that got us fitted, climbs up on top of a perch with a microphone in his hand. “You all ready?” The boys all scream, some even make ear-screeching animal sounds. One acting out, fisting his chest like an ape. Oh, to be young again. Soon, everyone quiets and the man begins his instructions. “You have two minutes to find your spot, but when the horn blows, firing can begin. You get shot, you immediately need to exit through the doors. Everyone got it?” Once again, the high school boys scream their affirmations. Rob and the guy share a smirk, and then Rob’s grabbing my hand and tugging me into the warehouse situated with wooden barriers. We hide behind a plywood partition, and Rob places his finger over his lips, like I wouldn’t figure out we need to be quiet. The horn blows, and the scrambling of bodies ping around us in every direction.

While Rob’s intent on watching from around the edge, my eyes dart in the direction of every noise with my gun poised out in front of me. I don’t even know if I’d have the nerve to shoot or not if I had the opportunity. He hits me on the shin, so that I crouch down similar to him. “Rob,” I whisper, and he firmly shakes his head, bringing his hand around my waist, forcing me to crouch down in front of him. He steadies my shaking gun and positions it to face forward. The cocky ass rolls from shield to shield in an attempt to find us … or rather, me.

Suddenly, I muster all my courage, and when he runs to slide behind another obstacle, I shoot, knocking me back in Rob’s chest from the force of the gun. Rob nudges me forward, and when I peer over the side of the plywood, the kid’s swearing up a storm. “Mother fucker,” he exclaims, and Rob uncontrollably laughs.

“Way to go, Rambo,” he compliments me. “Now you’re on your own.” He sprints across the concrete and hides behind a set of tires.

When I’d hear about paintball or watch people playing it on television, I thought it looked pointless, but I loved every aspect of it; the hiding, the sneaking up, the shooting. What kind of person does that make me? The worst part was when I did finally get shot, it was so gut-clenching painful that I’ll never participate in paintball again.

Sitting on the sideline bench, I watch the boys and Rob finding and shooting one another. Rob fails to be the winner, but he comes close. When he walks off the play course toward me, the cocky kid hands Rob his gun. “I don’t want it,” Rob tells him quickly, placing his hand on the gun and pushing it away. “But taper down your arrogance a bit, okay? Trust me when I say no one likes an asshole.” He doesn’t wait for a response, but smirks on his way over to me. “Now we eat,” he instructs, ushering me off the bench with his hand.

Rob drives us to a diner off the freeway that’s open late at night. Once we’re seated in a booth in the corner with the small jukebox that maybe worked back in the day pushed against the window, I begin thanking him for occupying my mind tonight.

“Seriously, Rob, that was awesome. Other than the getting shot part,” I continue, rubbing my arm where one of those pricks got me. “Thank you.”