What can I say? His old-school gentleman ways turn me on.
“This place isn’t free carry, Demi, so unless you want me frisk-searched, keep that grin on the down-low.” He grabs at his crotch in case his teasing tone didn’t get the point across. “Or I could strap you to my front and tell them you’re napalm.”
He kisses me before I can answer him. I don’t mind. I’m always up for being kissed, especially when it’s by him.
Maddox waits for the tingles in my pussy to extend to my toes before pulling away, then he drags his index finger down my nose, curls his hand around mine, then guides me inside.
We’re greeted by a lady with a thick accent and super cute pigtails. “Hey, y’all. Welcome to Allabee’s.” She bounces between rows of guns like she’s a murderous Barbie doll. “Are you here to purchase or fire?”
I’m about to say fire when Maddox shocks me for the second time today. “Both.”
I don’t want a gun. I don’t know why. I’ve just never had a good vibe about them.
“All righty, then. Well, come on over and take a look. Perhaps you can test a few models in the range until you find your fit.” After gesturing for us to follow her to a counter with guns more suitable for novices, the clerk says, “I’ll need to see ID, though. Protocol and all. We can’t hand guns to any ol’ fool.”
The hits keep coming when the slip of my hand into my purse is halted by Maddox producing two identification cards. They’re driver’s licenses for New York State. One for me and one for him.
What the hell?
“Perfect,” the gun stockiest breathes out with a purr. “Now let’s get you weaponed up, Mr. and Mrs. Noble.”
“Please, call me Richard,” Maddox suggests, stoked our fake IDs passed the test.
“Or Dick,” I add on, ensuring Maddox knows I’m not comfortable with this. “He much prefers when people call him Dick.”
“Fake IDs, gun purchasing. Jeez, Maddox, were you at any time planning to update me on your ‘supposed’ plans?” He follows me into the firing range before guiding us to the booth Brittney assigned to us. My gun is pink and lightweight, but it still looks wrong being gripped by my hand, so I won’t mention the beast of a gun Maddox chose to test. “I understand where you’re coming from, and I get we joked about leaving this life behind many times the past six weeks, but we’re supposed to be a team.”
“We are a team, Demi. The licenses and guns are to ensure we stay a team.” After placing our guns onto a table behind our booth, he tugs down the earmuffs meant to protect my hearing from the gunfire booming around us until they circle my neck, then he secures my hand in his. “The licenses are new. I figured it would be best to test their authenticity somewhere less obvious.”
“Gun purchasing isn’t less obvious.”
He continues talking as if I never spoke, but the tugging of his lips gives away that he heard me. He likes when I’m sassy, which sees it occurring more times than not. “What’s the one thing you want more than anything in the world?” I’m about to say my dad, but he beats me to the punchline. “Excluding your dad.” When the hope in my eyes answers his question on my behalf, he whispers, “I can’t give you that if we stay here.”
“But your family.” I want to say more. I should say more. I just can’t. If I talk, my voice will crack, and then I will cry. I cried on my last seven birthdays. I don’t want to cry today.
Maddox brushes my dry cheek, expressing that he understands my struggle before he pulls me into his chest. “My family will understand, Demi.”
The way he says ‘will’ exposes his family is unaware of his plans. If they were, I doubt they would help him as much as they have. They’re close because no one has intruded on their dynamic as I have. Caidyn will never say anything, he’s too polite, but I’ve noticed the more times he ‘babysits’ me, the shorter our chats are becoming. Even Saint was a little reserved today. I could blame the conflict between him and Sloane for that, but that would be the cheat’s way of explaining the knot in my stomach.
When silence reigns supreme for several long seconds, Maddox says, “Will you at least think about it?”
I take a moment to contemplate a reply. When several seconds of deliberating get me nowhere fast, I take the coward’s way out. “We will talk about this more when we’re not paying ninety dollars an hour for a booth at a firing range.”
“Sounds like a solid plan.” Maddox kills me when he drags his index finger down my nose for the tenth time the past two hours. “It’s your birthday. We can do whatever you want on your birthday.”
It’s wrong to admit my first thought is to take him up on his offer, so I won’t mention it. Maddox is who he is because of his family. I don’t want to force him to learn who he is without them. It will kill him more than the other title he doesn’t deserve to have.
Waterworks fill my eyes for an entirely different reason when Maddox whispers, “Make a wish.”
We resembled novices at the skating rink, pros at the firing range, purchased boots and cowboy hats at a real-life working ranch on the way to a late lunch, then ate at the cutest little diner in the middle of the boondocks after skimming rocks across the freshwater creek at the back of the café. It has been a perfect day, and Maddox has made it more divine by finding the only cupcake in a hundred-mile radius with a candle on the top.
The trickling of diners in the café breaks into rapacious applause when I blow out the candle as requested. I think that’s the end of the embarrassment, but Maddox has other plans. With him taking the lead on vocals and the dining staff harmonizing his ballad, he commences singing happy birthday.
I wish I could declare the Walsh brothers can do anything. Unfortunately, Maddox must be tone death. Otherwise, what excuse does he have for his horrendous singing voice?
“Okay, okay,” I say with a laugh when Maddox’s fourth ‘hip, hip, hooray,’ thunders through my eardrums. “That’s enough.” I drag him into our booth before planting my mouth on his. “Thank you,” I whisper over his quirked lips. “Today has been perfect. My best birthday by far.”
He nips at my bottom lip before muttering, “But…”
I hate doing this, but I don’t have a choice.
My uncle’s schedule waits for no one.
“We have to go.”
“We don’t have to go.” Maddox inches back before he drifts his baby blues between mine. “We could stay here forever. Can’t you see it?” He drags his hand across the funky-looking café. “You could be the head chef, I’ll be your apprentice, and everyone will soon learn to only dine here on the days you’re rostered on.”
I laugh even when I shouldn’t. “You’re not that bad of a cook.”
I toss a dirty napkin into his face before barging him with my hip, demanding he scoot out of the booth. Even with a much bigger fight on his agenda at the end of next week, his fight tonight is the feature. If he’s late, there will be no chance we’ll escape with a set of fake IDs and the hope for a fresh start.