Chicken II
Camila's POV
What the fuck was wrong with me? I wasn't shy. I wasn't awkward. I was confident.
I clear my throat and square my shoulders, but even that doesn't stop the trembling of my hands. With a deep breath I lift my gun, too preoccupied trying not to shy away from his stare to care if I'm shooting the target or not.
I just need to get this over with. I didn't care about impressing him, all I wanted was to get away from him.
I'm about to start shooting when his deep voice rings through the room, making me jump.
"Stop."
I look over my shoulder to see him making his way towards me, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. I instantly turn back around and tense as he gets closer.
"Your form is off." He says, his voice low and calm, unlike me.
The blood in my heart starts pumping so vigorously that I feel the pounding in my head. Why was I feeling like this?
I feel his firm chest hit my back and his breath hits the skin on the nape of my neck.
"The perfect shot." He drawls, his voice husky and controlled. My focus is on his proximity instead of the target and when he dips his head so that his stubble hits my temple my legs threaten to give out.
He turns his head, his evened breathing in my ear. "Is all in your posture," He plants his hands on my hips and angles my body, pushing me father back into his front. My back hits his chest, forcing me to straighten out.
"Your balance," His foot moves forward between mine to spread them apart.
And then he moves one of his hands that are resting on my hips, to reach over me and grab ahold of my hand with the gun in it. He places his large strong hand atop my smaller one. "And your ability to stay still."
My body goes rigid as he raises my hand, aims the gun and moves my finger to rest over the trigger. His hand on my hip tightens and his lips find my ear. "Don't flinch."
In the next few seconds the last six bullets in the glock are fired. One after the other, consecutively, giving me no time to prepare or flinch at the sound.
I stay frozen as does Alejandro, only he pushes my finger down on the trigger while his other hand holds onto my hip, steadying my body that naturally recoils into his.
My chest heaves and my ears ring as silence fills the room. He slowly straightens out letting go of me while I stay frozen to my spot.
He's silent but the silence speaks volumes and with the way I feel his gaze watching me, I know he wants me to know that he knows somethings up but he's choosing not to bring it up just yet.
"Camila?" He calls a moment later after I hear his retreating footsteps.
I turn my head to look at him and his eyes stare into mine knowingly and just when I think he's going to call me out, he doesn't.
"The jet takes off at midnight." And with that he walks out of the room finally giving me a chance to breathe.
I look back to the target board to see where the six shots landed and I swallow thickly when I see one single large hole.
He shot those six bullets in the exact same place.
The dead centre.
Was Alejandro Gonzalez out of my league?
. . .
The last time I was on a plane mamá was hugging me to her chest, rocking back and forth as she cried about being ripped from her father.
I was seven and we were fleeing Italy to come to America. I didn't understand what she was talking about but from that moment on, I didn't like flying.
We had just boarded the jet and although it was luxurious I couldn't even be bothered to care for I was too preoccupied with my nerves.
I didn't like flying, I didn't know any of the men accompanying us and the only person here I was comfortable with was the man sitting next to me - who I was currently trying to avoid because I was being a little bitch.
Everyone starts undoing their seatbelts after we've taken off and I snap my eyes open to see Alejandro undoing his before he grabs his duffle bag and gets up to leave.
I grab onto his wrist, stopping him. "Where are you going?" I say, my frantic eyes finding his calm ones.
He looks at me over his shoulder and then his gaze goes to my hand gripping onto his tightly and he raises a brow.
I instantly let go realizing how needy I sound and I clear my throat trying to play it off cool. But inside I was dying, he couldn't leave me here.
With a little sigh he nods towards a door at the back of the plane. "I'm going to my bedroom. It's right behind that door at the end. I need the privacy and I have some work I need to finish." He says.
Disappointment flickers across my face and I don't bother to hide it.
"You okay with that?" He asks, his eyes watching me like he's waiting for my protest. Like he wants me to protest.
I muster a smile and nod. His eyes narrow in scrutiny like he knows I'm full of shit, but he doesn't push.
"There's a private bathroom in there if you need it and don't feel like sharing one with all the other men." He says before walking away into the room and shutting the door.
I try preoccupying myself with anything and everything I can find but it's no use. I'm too on edge and the stress of walking on eggshells around Alejandro mixed with the fear of flying is eating me alive.
I carefully unbuckle my seatbelt, stand up and make my way towards the back room, gripping onto anything I can for dear life.
Alejandro's sat at the desk on the far side, working away and when I walk in his head lifts as he stares at me expectantly.
But I chicken out.
Instead of speaking, I walk right past him and into the bathroom. I would speak to him on the way out.
I chickened out and didn't speak to him on the way out.
Instead I walked right past him and back out to my seat where I tried to work up the courage to try again.
And I tried again and again.
And each time, I chickened out.
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