We turn around to see ten dudes in head-to-toe black, clutching paintball guns. I roll my eyes.
“Uh.” Hank clears his throat. “Folks, this is a gun-free establishment. You’ll need to leave those in your vehicles.”
“C’mon, man,” the guy who yelled and is the obvious ringleader says, “paintball without guns is for pussies.”
His whole posse chuckles.
Everyone else is behind me, so Christopher is the only one I see opening his mouth to say something, but I speak before he can. “How about you boys take your sexist bullshit along with your inferiority complexes and give them a flex somewhere else?”
Bea, standing on my other side, slips her hand inside mine and squeezes. I don’t squeeze back. I’d crush her fingers if I did, I’m so angry.
“I’m sorry, what was that, baby doll?” the guy says. He’s bigger than the rest of them, red-cheeked, eyes narrowed, chest puffed up as he stares me down.
I snort. He’s such a misogynist cliché.
“Something funny?” he sneers.
“Your pathetically uninspired insults would be funny for how predictable they are, except for the fact that they reveal your disgusting bigotry,” I tell him.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Aw, we got ourselves a little snowflake who likes big words, boys.” They laugh again. “Did I hurt your feelings, princess?”
“The only feelings I have when it comes to you, Chad, is pity for every poor soul who’s had to suffer your presence.”
The asshole takes a sudden step toward me. I take a step toward him. Which is when Christopher wraps an arm around my waist and drags me back. “That’s enough,” he growls at the jerk, then he spins us both so I’m settled in front of him, facing Hank, with Christopher between me and Chad the Asshole behind us.
Hank takes that opening and says once again to the butthead brigade, “As I explained, you’ll need to return those paintball guns to your vehicles if you want to play. Otherwise, we do ask that you leave.”
I glance around Christopher long enough to see Chad or Brad or whoever the hell he is curl his lip and stare me down as he tells Hank, “Nah, we’re staying.” He smiles, a creepy, predatory glint in his eyes. “We’ll stash these and be right back.”
As soon as they wander out, I finally manage to yank myself out of Christopher’s grip. “Don’t manhandle me, Petruchio.”
Christopher opens his mouth like he’s about to answer me, but infuriating tears prick my eyes, and I can’t let him or any one of those dick bags see it. Spinning away, I stand with my back to him and glare at the ground, blinking until my eyes clear and the threat of tears is gone. Hank answers Jamie’s questions about the history of Peace, Love, and Paintball while we wait for the team of jerks to come back. I’m too angry to hear anything that’s said.
When the bros in black are back, paintball-gun-free, Hank starts to go over the rules, droning on about minimum proximity permissible to strike someone, parts of the body that are off-limits, and other instructions so bone-dry, I’d have a hard time paying attention to his words on the best of days, let alone when I’m fuming.
A sudden nudge of an elbow makes me glance up.
Christopher’s finally looking at me. I hold his eyes, clinging to my anger and hurt.
“I dragged you away,” Christopher says under his breath, “because he’s not worth it, Kate.”
“Gee, I wonder why men keep acting like vile creatures,” I hiss-whisper. “Oh wait, I don’t wonder—I know it’s because other men enable them. You should’ve been telling him to shut the hell up and exactly why what he said was offensive; instead, you’re corralling me.”
Christopher lowers his head, his breath warm against my ear as he says quietly, “I tried, but you got to him first. When I could get a word in edgewise, I told him it was enough. There is a giant paintball field out there where we can make him suffer for his assholery, and I promise you we will. I pulled you away from him because I’m trying to make sure you actually make it out there to put him in his place.”
I blink up at Christopher, a little stunned, right as Hank says, “Any questions?”
Christopher drags down his goggles, then drags down mine, too. “C’mon, Katydid. Time to kick some ass.”
* * *
—
I really thought that without the whole firearm aspect of paintball, this would be less stressful.
I was wrong.