Free To Love a Soldier by Sophie Monroe

erupted in laughter. “What? Why is that so funny?” I asked. “I’ll go to the city with you afterwards, but no muddy farms.”
    “Range,” John said, trying to not laugh. “It’s a shooting range. You know, where you shoot guns at targets.”
    “Oh, that’s not funny. How was I supposed to know? I don’t know anything about guns or those shooting range thingies.”
    “The range opens in an hour. We should probably hit it early, especially if we want to spend the rest of the day in the city.”
    We all agreed. John and Liz headed back to their house to grab John’s guns , while I ran upstairs to take a shower and get ready. What the fuck do I wear to a shooting range ? I picked out some comfortable clothes and then tossed another outfit to wear in the city into my duffle bag. I was back down in the kitchen finishing my lukewarm coffee when they came back. John knocked at the door and let himself halfway in.
    “Mandy,” he called. “You ready?”
    “John, you can come in, y’know.”
    “Oh, okay.” He started to explain, “I just didn’t want…”
    “To assume,” I interrupted him, knowing what he was going to say “I’m kinda nervous about shooting a gun.”
    “I’ll be with you and walk you through every step. Stop worrying.” He held out his hand. “Can we go now?”
    “Let me guess,” I said, in a smart-ass tone. “You have us on another one of your schedules.”
    He just smirked and nodded. Standing up, I gave him a quick kiss and ushered him out the door and over to Liz’s car. Since it was a two-door compact, I knew there was no way that John was fitting in the back.
    “Shotgun.” I yelled.
    “Oh, come on,” he grumbled. “I can barely fit in the front of this thing, never mind the back.”
    “I’m just fucking with ya,” I laughed, giving him a smack on the ass. I pushed the seat up and climbed in the back.
    When we arrived at the range, I was thankful to see that there were barely any people other than employees walking around. I didn’t want an audience watching as I embarrassed myself. John pulled several cases from the trunk of the car.
    We walked in and gave our IDs to the man who welcomed us at the front counter.
    “Thanks for your service, son. God bless,” the elderly gentleman behind the counter said handing John back his military ID. There were guns and bullets everywhere. All the employees were dressed in plain clothes, but had guns on holsters at their waists and dangling off of straps over their shoulders. It was intimidating, to say the least. “Will you be needing any ear plugs or glasses?”
    John declined, tapping the camo bag on his shoulder. It was safe to assume that he had them neatly organized inside. They exchanged a quick handshake before we headed to the range area, and he began to unpack his bag. At least I won’t feel so stupid since Liz has to do this with me.
    “Give me the .380 and I’ll leave you two to it,” Liz said to John.
    You’ve gotta be kidding me! “Liz, you already know how to shoot a gun?” I asked.
    She chuckled. “Yeah, I grew up in a military family.” She picked up a small handgun with a box of bullets that John had placed down for her. “My dad had me shooting a pink .22 rifle when I was three.” She looked so confident as she headed down a few stalls.
    “See,” John said. “If she can do it, so can you.”
    He handed me earplugs and a pair of yellow safety glasses. I put them both in place and stepped back, waiting for my first lesson to begin. John pulled out a larger handgun. He started trying to explain all the parts and how they go together to make it work; he was talking about a clip, barrel, chamber, and iron sights. I stopped him.
    “As if I’m going to remember any of that. Can you just get the thing ready and show me how to shoot?”
    “All right, all right.” He laughed. He did some things to the gun and told me to step up. He handed it to me and stood behind me, pressing himself up against me as