“For equality’s sake, I happen to be very fond of four parts of you. Your mouth—as long as it’s kissing and not talkin’, that is—your tits, your ass, and your pussy. Now, we’re even, and the only ride you’ll be catching is one with me, so get your extremely hot ass out of the truck and do as you’re told for once.”

I snort. “You do realize who you’re talkin’ to, don’t you? The day I do as I’m told is the day I’m rendered incapable of doing my own thing.”

“I keep handcuffs in my truck when I’m off-duty. Don’t tempt me into using them.”

“You’ve threatened it at least five times. You’re all no talk and no damn action, aren’t you?” I sniff and jump out, my breasts brushing his chest as my feet hit the floor. “I’m not afraid of a little metal. If you’re gonna whip them out and fuck me, get the heck on with it.”

“Quite the proposition for the first date,” he murmurs, smiling.

“Either you handcuff me or I’ll do it to you. But I’ll likely attach you to a lamppost or something, so you wanna get on that.”

“The lamppost? Will you be against it and naked?”

“Uh, unless said lamppost is in either my house or yours, that’ll be a negative.”

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me away from the truck so he can close the door. His chest is vibrating from his laughter, and I have to choke back my own because his is so damn infectious.

“Why are we in the middle of a random parking lot?”

“Not random,” he says quietly into my ear. He spins me and slaps his hand over my eyes.

“Oh my God. What the hell are you doing?” I grab his hand and try to pry his fingers away from my eyes, but he simply takes me by the wrist and stops me.

“Trust me, remember?” He runs his lips along the curve of my earlobe, and his exhale ghosts across my jaw.

“Fine, but only because I know I can reach my gun.”

Another laugh. Jesus. Why is his laugh so fucking perfect? I wish he’d be like laugh-chuckle-snort once in a while. And not even a derogatory snort. One of those great, big freakin’ snorts that means you need to blow your nose ten times after.

They aren’t attractive at all.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask as he nudges me into a walk.

“If you keep asking, I’m gonna dump your ass by a river and then you’ll never know.”

“You’re such a bastard.”

“But you like my cock, so it works.”

“Most bastards have nice cocks. It’s not exactly a trait exclusive to you, you know.”

“I’m offended that you think my cock is just nice. Spectacular, amazing, godly—those I can understand. But nice, Noelle? Really?”

“Hey—put that really in front of nice and you’ve almost got a compliment.”

“You’re impossible.”

“At least I’m trying. Do you know how hard it is for a people-hater to be nice to people?”

“I’m sure you’re real traumatized,” he drawls. “Stop. Stop, Noelle!”

“Stop what? Talking? Walking? Breathing?”

“Fuck, I’m gonna spank that sass outta you in a minute.”

I lean forward, sticking my ass against him, and wriggle my hips. He promptly drops his hand from my eyes, steps back, and smacks his palm across my butt. I gasp, jumping away from him and grabbing my poor butt. Oh my God.

He actually spanked me.

And I liked it.

“I should put a bullet through your foot, you bastard!”

Oh. My. God.

He. Spanked. Me.

He laughs, grabs my hand, and pulls me into him. “I got other places for you to put your bullets, cupcake.”

“Like your balls?”

He spins me by my shoulders, and I blink a few times before where we are sinks in.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. “Are you insane?”

“I’m on a date with you. You don’t want me to answer that.” He slides his hands down my arms, and strong and certain, he grasps my waist. Then he pulls me back into him. He wraps his arms around my stomach, but I can’t breathe, because this isn’t your usual date.

This isn’t fucking flowers and dinner. It isn’t a picnic in the park or a walk on the beach.

This is the fucking shooting range.

“Surprise,” he whispers, the word holding so much. Just so much.

“You brought me to the range. For a date,” I whisper back. “Holy shit, Drake. Why?”

“Because, if I took you for dinner, I’d have a glass of wine down my shirt within five minutes.”

“I’d never be that careless with my wine. Maybe yours, but not mine.” I smile, dropping my chin to my chest, because holy crap. All the holy craps and shits and fucks.

“True. But I brought you here because it’s your favorite place. And it’s legal, unlike your father’s backyard range.”

My smile becomes a full-fledged grin, and I can’t do anything but laugh. “You realize that, the last time we were at a range together, I shot you?”

“I still have the scar, so yeah. But I’m fucked if we’re sharin’ a booth. You’re on your own there, cupcake.”

I drag my teeth across my bottom lip. “Probably for the best.”

He slowly moves around the side of me, taking my hand. “Let’s go. I booked us two booths.”

“You can book booths?”

“You can if you’re the leading homicide detective who solved the first murder in town in twenty-something years.”

“Did you take my credit?”

“Absolutely.”

“Dick.” I hit his arm, smiling, then stop. Because his eyes are so bright right now. They’re so arresting and intense, and his fingers are sliding through mine without an ounce of fear.

No. I lied. I can see the fear. There isn’t much, granted. His confidence far outweighs his fear, but there’s a spark of it in his eyes. The tiniest amount everyone else would miss. But for me, it mixes with his confidence and arrogance and makes him seem more human. Makes him dangerous.

Beneath his sexy threats and cocky smirks, there’s a very real fear simmering. And you know what?

I have the very same fear.

That this date will be the worst in history. That, in a couple of hours, we’ll realize we’ve made a huge mistake. But through it all… If I have to make a giant dating mistake, I want it to be him. ’Cause then I’ll know that my mistake was a good one.

Because he’s really not that bad.

I take a deep breath as his lips part. He blinks once, and when our eyes meet again, something moves between us. I can’t put my finger on it, but I don’t think I want to.

“Let’s go,” he says softly.

I nod and let him lead me into the building. The shots ringing out are muffled by the heavy door separating the range and reception areas. We’re booked in by the tattooed, bored-looking man behind the counter, handed two sets of ear defenders, and given a flat-toned rundown of the rules.

I think the man needs a cupcake.

Eventually, Mr. Monotone shows us to our booth—not two, like Drake said—and leaves us to it.

“You know, I haven’t been here since my sweet sixteenth.” Yes, I did have it at the shooting range…followed by cupcakes. Obviously.

“Was that byb choice, or did they ban you?” Drake cuts his eyes to me and pulls his gun off his belt.

“How many times do I have to apologize to you, huh? I followed the rules—you were the one being a dick, and I didn’t even mean to shoot you!”

Amusement dances across his face. “Oh, I’m sorry my foot got in the way of your bullet shot at the floor!”

“If you’re still that sore about it, why did you bring me here?”

“Because, if you do it again, I can arrest you. I hadn’t even graduated from the academy back then.”

I lean against the side as he lifts his gun, knocks the safety off, and lifts it higher. He locks his arms into place, and sweet hell. Those weapons are deadly enough without having a gun attached to the ends of them. My eyes flit over his upper arms, pure muscle twitching and dimpling as he pulls the trigger and the shot booms out.

When he’s put the gun down, I say, “You weren’t a cop then?”

“That year,” he answers. “Trent and I were a couple months out of the end.”