The Competition
Amanda trekked through the woods, following Francine. Why in the world had she let Francine talk her into this hair-brained scheme? She was going to make a fool of herself. She knew it.
“Tell me why we’re doing this again?”
Francine stopped and turned around. “Because the guys do this every year.” She threw up her hands. “One of them will say they’re a better shot than the other, and the next thing you know, they’ve set up this contest. For once, they’re going to find out women can be great marksmen, too.”
“Why don’t they use the target range at the Agency?”
“Because they don’t want to incur the wrath of Smyth. They’d tried it the first time, and when he found out, he said anyone participating would be sent on an assignment to Hell. So they changed the location to the place out here in the woods. All this little pissing contest gets them is bragging rights for the next year that they’re the best with a gun. It’s like men comparing their ‘packages’ to see whose is bigger.”
“They don’t do that. Do they?” Amanda couldn’t fathom Lee comparing the size of other men’s “packages” with his own.
Francine rolled her eyes. “They check out the competition just like women do. They just won’t admit it. I’ll bet if they’re in the bathroom together, they’ll slyly glance over to see if the person next to them has something bigger in there. Don’t tell me you’ve never looked at one of Lee’s old bimbos and compared her body to yours. Now let’s get a move on, we’re going to show them that men aren’t the only ones with balls.” Francine walked along the well-worn path.
Okay, so maybe Francine was right in a roundabout way. How many times had she compared herself to one of the women from Lee’s past? She’d lost count, but she hadn’t done that since the day he told her he loved her. Those three little words had stopped her comparisons. Maybe men did the same thing. They were extremely competitive. Take sports, for instance.
Stop that. Stop trying to figure out men. She should know better. They were complex creatures.
Sounds of male laughter filtered through the trees. They were getting closer. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Even though Francine had told her she’d improved one hundred percent, she still doubted it. Especially when she’d be shooting in front of everyone. It was different on the range, with only her and Francine. Or even when she and Lee practiced. There wasn’t an audience to make her nerves go haywire.
They entered the clearing, and Amanda saw Lee, Leatherneck, Fred, Ephraim, and numerous other agents huddling around a table, checking out various weapons.
Lee hurried over to Amanda and pulled her aside. “What are you doing here? I told you I’d see you later this afternoon,” he ground out in a hushed voice.
Amanda became slightly miffed at his tone, and she could feel the testosterone in the air. Just like that, the butterflies fled and she was infused with steely determination. “Who says this contest has to be men only?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Francine and I have every right to be here.”
“Yes, we do,” Francine added, as she came up to stand next to Amanda. “In fact, I’m the one who told her about this little contest, and we,” she pointed to herself and Amanda, “decided we wanted to participate.”
Lee looked from Amanda to Francine and back to Amanda and held up his hands. “You’re right.”
Amanda could tell by his eyes that he really meant what he was saying and regretted snapping at her. But she wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “Besides, we came to see who has the biggest.” She smirked.
“The biggest what?”
She looked at Francine, who nodded. “The biggest dick.”
Lee’s face turned ten shades of red. “La-ladies first,” he stammered.
Amanda stood ramrod straight and walked over to the table. She picked up a handgun, pivoted, aimed at the wooden target twenty-five yards away, and fired.
All the men gawked in disbelief.
She’d hit the bulls-eye point-blank center.
This from the woman who’d had a negative score the first time she’d ever gone to target practice. She laid the gun down on the table, crossed her arms, and grinned. She’d done it. If she’d taken her time, her hand would’ve shaken and she’d have missed it entirely. But firing fast and not thinking about it was what enabled her to become a more accurate marksman. Not that she could do it every time, but at least she hit the target more often than not.
Lee pulled Amanda into his arms. “Nice dick.”
The End
Story Notes:
Disclaimer: Scarecrow and Mrs. King and its characters belong to WB and Shoot the Moon Productions. No infringement is intended. This is written for entertainment purposes only. Please do not redistribute or reproduce this story without my permission.
Thanks: Rita and Miss Edna, you make my stories readable by catching all my grammar and other errors.
Thanks: Rita and Miss Edna, you make my stories readable by catching all my grammar and other errors.