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Lordy raises the shotgun, pulls back, and fires, destroying a beer
can target. Nothing about it is impressive other than a drunken
moron operating a weapon.
    “Good Lordy! Good Lordy! Did you see . . .
that shot! Whooo!” he chokes out his trademark phase.
    I shake my head and lean against the tree
beside me for support, keeping a disinterested eye on him. He gets
louder as he repeats the phrase as if he's really king shit. This
is going to end poorly for him.
    “Wow,” the redhead coos, touching his arm
with her index finger. “Unbelievable.”
    I choke down a laugh that almost escapes. It
grabs everyone's attention. Suddenly, I look like the asshole who
can't appreciate good showmanship. I can. There's just none
here.
    “You think that's funny?” the redhead girl
whose voice is more squeaky than sultry says.
    “Yeah.”
    She sneers, “That shot was amazing.”
    Sure that it's just the booze talking, I
shrug, “If you say so, sweetheart.”
    “Well, I do.”
    “Well, you're stupid.” The comment causes the
group with us to chuckle. Harsh looks come from some in the crowd,
and I toss a hand up. “Oh, what? That shot could've been made by a
toddler. It was training-wheels easy.”
    Lordy snatches his beer that's resting on a
log. “No way.”
    Annoyed, I place my beer on a tree limb, turn
to the cowgirl who won't say no to me, and command, “Come here.”
She does as I say. I lead her over to the same spot Lordy was in,
ask someone to replace the can, and position her. Once in a proper
stance, her weight shifted correctly, I have her raise the gun.
“Ever shot a gun before?”
    “No.”
    “Good,” I nod, needing this point proven
without a doubt. Feeling her body melt into mine, excited by
something off target, I drag her attention back to the point at
hand. I state like a commanding officer would a new trainee, “Eyes
focused.”
    Once I'm sure she can do it, I stand back,
and she fires, nailing the can dead center, the same way Lordy did,
igniting a bothered look in his eyes.
    “See,” I shrug and take the gun from the
girl. The crowd snickers and whispers that maybe I was right.
Politely, I nod at her, “Thank you. And nice shot.”
    She blushes and looks away, “Thanks.”
    “How about a little competition then?”
Lordy's attitude ratchets to Superman level. He’s clearly forgotten
the real reason they nicknamed me Grim. There's ending badly and
then this. Tragic. “Strip shooting.”
    Quickly, I lay down the gun on the log, eyes
still on it, insuring that no one touches it. “I don't wanna see
you naked, Lordy.”
    “Not me, numb nuts.” He takes another sip. I
look up, still aware of the gun’s location. “Every shot you miss,
your girl loses an article of clothing.”
    “I choose the article!” Glove states, raising
his beer.
    “We'll have someone set up the targets.” A
volunteer presents himself. “Yeah, see, he’s more sober than us and
can do that.”
    I roll my eyes. “Look, Lordy–”
    “Don't be such a party shitter,” Glove groans
almost in a pout. “I wanna see some titties!”
    “Then take her upstairs!” I point to the
snake who is now groping his ass.
    He chuckles and winks, “More titties, Grim.
There are never enough.”
    “Fine.” My reluctant sigh is followed with
this: “Tell Strawberry Shortcake over there that we're all hoping
the curtains match the drapes.”
    Lordy laughs, sparking more laughter and
relaxing the crowd once more. I'm only partially kidding.
    “I'll be your girl.” Cowgirl raises a hand at
me, volunteering like I knew she would.
    “Good.” I raise my eyebrows at her. She looks
excited again. She can consider this foreplay because, once I get
her into bed, there's not much else. I don't do that intimacy
crap.
    Quicker than expected, glass beer bottles pop
up around the surrounding area—different competitions, if you must
call them that. More like lame jokes with the punch line being a
naked chick. I've stopped drinking