Page 49 of His Atonement

But he doesn't let go. No, Zan holds on tight while it jerks hard two more times and when his body tenses against mine, I very reluctantly pull away.

"Thanks for trying, but I just can't do it.” I don't look at his face, don't look him in the eye. "I've never been very coordinated and obviously you need that in order to do this."

"What happened just now?"

I bend and start stuffing the remaining arrows into the quiver. "Nothing." Nothing but my fucking chorea cock-blocking me. Again.

"That is bullshit.” Zan crouches to take the quiver from me then grabs my hand as I try to get it back. "What happened just now?"

"Nothing!" I snap, and yank my hand away from his. "Nothing happened. I just shouldn't plan for a career in archery because I obviously suck at it."

He grabs my hand again and because his touch is like pure lightning, I stop. "I felt that, Frankie. You cannot convince me it was nothing."

"It doesn't matter if you think it was something or not, it was nothing. Now let it go."

Zan stares at me, those amethyst eyes boring into mine and of course that's when they'd do their crazy side to side thing, so I quickly look away and try to break his grip.

Which only tightens as he gets to his feet. "Come with me."

I groan as Zan starts leading me through the yard. "I don't want to. I want to go home, Zan. I've had a shit day and it isn't getting any better. I just want to go home and smoke a bowl then maybe take a bath." And hopefully drown in it.

But Zan ignores my complaints, ignores everything that comes out of my mouth and continues leading me toward wherever the hell he's leading me.

After a few minutes, he repositions his hand so he can entwine our fingers and goddamnit that feels so fucking right too. The fact that I'm almost six foot means I have pretty big hands for a chick but Zan's are bigger and they dwarf mine, wrap them up perfectly and even make them look small.

I like that, like it so much that I don't even care where he's taking me or remember the fact that I'm not supposed to like him.

Like him.

Like him.

Like him.

My arm gears up for another set of three, I can feel it in the way it tenses but Zan must feel it too because he squeezes my hand gently before smoothing his thumb back and forth over mine and for some reason the tremors never come.

That is not good.

Not at all.

If Zan is going to be nice to me, act like he cares, and try to teach me things while he has a gigantic hard-on and magically makes my symptoms chill the fuck out then I am in so much fucking trouble.

Trouble.

Trouble.

Trouble.

We finally come to a stop in front of a building just a few feet from the gun range and when Zan opens the door and pulls me inside, I blink.

It's a huge garage, an empty garage with bright fluorescent lighting, no windows and a massive tarp laid out over the floor.

Sweet.

Zan is going to kill me.

Of course he is, my day is already shot to shit, why not top it off with a little murder.

He lets go of my hand, sort of reluctantly it seems, then walks over to a table that must have all kinds of things to kill me with on it.