Cupid’s Bullets: Spring

“Get down!”

I ducked behind the overturned table as he fired at the shooters across the room. Three girls were shooting feeling after feeling at him. But he’d managed to dodge every single one. And he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. I stayed crouched behind the cover of the table and watched as he slipped to another table farther away. Feelings ricocheted off the marble floor as he ran.

“Shoot me!” a girl cried.

“No, shoot me!” cried another.

“Oh I’ll shoot you, alright,” I heard him mutter in the silence as they reloaded their feelings.

I grinned to myself, holding my own gun in my hand. I knew how this would end, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He curled out from behind the table, aimed, and fired a rejection. The girl went down instantly. He swiveled his gun to the left and took the second girl down. Then he swung to the right and took out the third girl before she could fire. I had to admit. He was good—a lot better than Autumn’s and Winter’s guys. But of course I had to be the sister to get the complicated case.

I waited for a second, listening in the silence, then stood up behind the desk. He still had his gun pointed ahead where the girl had been standing just a few seconds ago. He sighed, dropped his shoulders then emptied the REJECTION magazine. I pretended not to notice him reload his gun with a new FEELINGS magazine and looked away before he started walking toward me.

“Sorry about that,” he said, smiling as he came.

I smiled back, slipping my gun back into its holster on my belt. I wouldn’t be needing it.

“You’re a pretty good shot,” I told him.

He shrugged. “When I know what I want.”

“And do you know what you want?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “And I have something I wanna tell you.”

“Go ahead.”

He grinned at me for a second, I guess for dramatic effect. Then he lifted his gun and aimed at me.

I stared past the barrel and straight into his eyes and waited.

He pulled the trigger.

And the gun jammed.

“What?” He pulled the trigger again, but nothing happened.

He kept it aimed at me and kept firing, but I walked up to him, put my hand on the gun, and lowered his arm.

“You’re not ready,” I told him.

He frowned at me then looked away. “You’re right.”

“You need to go to the Gunsmith. Get your gun fixed then come back to me.”

I patted his arm then turned and walked away.

 

 

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