Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

Vesper looked around the empty entrance where racks of guns, bulls-eye vests, and black overalls hung on the available space. “Then where is everyone?”

Don’t do it, kid.

He did it anyway.

He ratted me out.

Pointing in my direction, he said, “He bought an hour for just the two of you.”

Vesper turned to face me. “You did?”

I smirked, trying to play it off as not a big deal. “Hey, I didn’t want to have to compete with pubescent horny teenagers rubbing you up in the dark.” I winked. “That’s my job.”

The attendant cleared his throat, moving toward the large door spray painted with ‘Enter If You Dare.’

“Have a good time. First to be shot twenty times loses. If you don’t manage to shoot your opponent that many times in the sixty minutes, the person with the lowest shots on their tally wins.” He gave a half-hearted grin—no doubt wanting to text his latest girlfriend and forget about working for a living. “Have a rockin’ time.” He swung open the door, holding it wide as we smiled and headed inside.

“You’re lucky I didn’t ask for the zombie special.” I nudged Vesper’s shoulder with mine as we made our way into a pitch-black maze.

She stiffened. “What zombies? You didn't say anything about zombies.”

“That’s ‘cause there isn’t any.” My eyes strained in the gloom. “At least, I don’t think so.”

Her teeth flashed white. “Once this is over, don’t call me again.”

I might’ve been worried if her tone didn’t border apprehensive but excited, too. The things I planned on doing to her in the dark ran through my mind. Unlike her, I’d studied an illegal map of this place on Google. It was an old aircraft hangar that’d been completely shut up with nooks and crannies, overhead stairs, bridges, and forts dotted around in the blackness.

The key was to get to the centre of the maze with the least amount of laser kills on your bullseye. I planned on shooting a lot tonight—including my other weapon.

Vesper opened her mouth to berate me again but the overhead speakers crackled to life. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to Tag Team Target. The aim of the game is to stay alive. Shoot your enemies but not those on your team and listen for the buzz when you score. Get to the centre and steal the trophy for extra points before the hour is up. And now, for the extra element to make this awesome game even harder.”

Vesper and I waited for the generic final instruction but heavy rock n’ roll fell through the speakers instead. The music disorientated us as we blinked in shock then dry ice smoke and strobe lights kicked in, turning a simple black box into a flashing torture chamber.

“Holy shit. Shouldn’t they have asked if one of us had a heart condition before turning this into an acid trip?” I bellowed over the music.

Vesper didn’t reply. Her attention was on the ceiling as the announcer cut through the crash of a drum set and yelled, “Three, two, one…go!”

I stood there, being the gentleman and waiting for her to take off running. I’d give her a head start. I would even let her shoot me first.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Not at all.

The damn veterinarian who hid her tears when told abuse of animals and had nerves of steel when sewing up a partially severed leg turned squarely to me, smiled, raised her gun, and fired.

My target made a death wheezing whine while hers made a victory trumpet. Blowing me a kiss, she said, “Whoops, one to me.” Turning on her heel, she sprinted away, yelling, “Oh, and I just stole your balls. Pussy!” Her laughter was a pure aphrodisiac.

Fuck, this was a bad idea.

If I caught her—when I caught her—I didn’t know how my self-control would be.

I had no idea what just happened.

Did that seriously just play out? Did the overly cautious, totally stuck-up business owner just school me?

I’d been in trouble the moment I set eyes on her.

Now I was fucking smitten.