Innocent Milf Ch 08

Chapter 8

Prom season had come and gone, and graduation loomed just a week away. We Three Musketeers were about to head into a paintball arena to get bruised and splattered by hard pellets. Jack's paintball friends had set up a day-long event, and Jack had invited both Cary and me. Because I was eighteen and stupid, I assumed that I would be naturally good at it. After all, I had seen

Commando

and

First Blood

several times each. Cary was a little nervous on the way over, but excited.

We had clarified ahead of time that because this was a private event, we could go full

Predator

and carry our plastic Bowie knives for surprise close encounters. In fact, it was what had gotten us the invitation from the rest of Jack's friends. Apparently, the opportunity to do "some real Ranger shit" had gotten them all excited.

I'd always loved Halloween—getting a costume was part of the fun that I missed from being a little kid. Mountain Man re-enactment gave me a chance to do something similar, but with a bunch of goofy adults. You better believe I brought some Army Surplus camo for this game. Surprising me, Cary had also bought a set, although finding some small enough for her had apparently been a challenge. We showed up looking like extras from

Full Metal Jacket

.

Several of Jack's friends met us at the entrance, and we dropped off extra clothes, keys, wallets, and stuff in the locker room. Cameron—the

de facto

leader of the group and Jack's friend—outlined the event-specific rules for us, speaking with a gravity that I usually reserved for explaining knife safety. I appreciated his earnestness when it came to this hobby. I appreciated his glances towards Cary a little less, and it soon became apparent that he was more than a little arrogant. It made a sort of sense. He was a college sophomore, and most of us were high schoolers, so he probably felt a little like he was babysitting.

Cary wasn't the only girl there—Cameron's younger sister Amber had geared up and sat in on the "briefing" for our team once the safety discussion was over. She had been in my homeroom last year and in my trigonometry class in my first semester this year. I got a familiar nod from her, but she seemed more interested in talking with her friend Heather and with Cary.

Jack was psyched as hell—he had been waiting for this opportunity to mix his two big hobbies together. Usually we called each other the Three Musketeers, but today it was all

Predator

jokes. Jack was "Dutch" and I was "Mac." When it came time to choose a nickname for Cary, she made a face.

"I only saw the movie once—with you guys," she said. "But the only woman I remember in that was the cookie who tagged along with them and didn't do much."

"Anna," Jack and I supplied in unison.

"I'm not her," Cary said firmly. "Wasn't there a lady in those

G.I. Joe

cartoons?"

"Lady Jay?" I guessed. Jack shrugged. He had been a

Transformers

kid. "Baroness? She was the Cobra lady. She wouldn't have gone down like some chump if she were with Dutch and Mac when the Predator attacked."

"Baroness." She said it as if trying it on for size. "I guess that'll do. It sort of makes me sound like I'm in charge. I bet 'baroness' outranks whatever you guys are."

Jack smirked. "Okay,

Baroness

. Let's see if that attitude keeps you alive."

Cary gave her knife a twirl and jammed it into the cuff of her boot, sticking her tongue out at us.

The employees of Second Unit Paintball came and gave us their no-nonsense official safety briefing. They both looked like they could have been minor villains in

Commando

—big, beefy dudes as tall as Jack and I, but even more muscular than Jack had gotten in the past few months. They gave off an air of having survival bunkers hidden in a remote location, just in case society ever went down the tubes. If Cameron's lingering glances at Cary had been annoying, these two guys seemed to single her out for special attention in a way that made me grit my teeth.

"You sure you want to be doing this?" the bald, bigger one asked her. "Could get pretty rough. These things hurt."

Cary wasn't having any of it. "I've had two kids. You couldn't possibly tell me anything about pain that I don't already know," she quipped, to a heartbeat stunned silence.

"Yeah, girl!" Amber cheered, and the rest of us applauded, making Cary blush. The bald guy nodded equably, and treated her with a little more respect after that.

"Two kids? No way!" I heard one of the other guys mutter. "What, did she get knocked up when she was fifteen?"

I couldn't fault him, even though it annoyed me. Since she had left her husband, Cary was looking happier, and even younger and more vibrant than she already had when we first met. The police officer on the night of her birthday party might have mistaken her for a high schooler, but that was mostly shadows, association, and luck. But now in broad daylight, I would swear she didn't look a day older than college graduation. I guessed I just went to show how much impact a person's living circumstances could make. Of course, it might also have been my own inability to see past my infatuation with her.

With the safety briefing over and all of us putting on goggles and checking the CO

2

cannisters for our guns, Cary bounced over to me. "Can you believe that guy?" she said. "Acting like I couldn't take it?"

I shrugged. "He doesn't know what a wildcat you are with the knife. He just sees a delicate flower who looks too pretty to get hit in the face with a paint pellet."

Cary blushed at my words, but smiled. "Wildcat with a knife. I like that."

Cameron came over and started dividing us into teams—I noticed that even though he appeared to choose us at random, Cary ended up on his team, while Jack and I were on the opposite side. As we started to move towards our bases, Cary gave Jack and I the "watching you" sign with a mock-threatening stare. We chuckled as our team captain led the way towards our base on the other side of the complex.

Paintball was different from anything else I had done—even laser tag with Sascha. Instead of smoke and pulsing techno music in the background (which now made me think of Jake pounding Jenna every time I heard it), there were only the ambient sounds of wind, distant traffic, and occasional scuffling. Once in a while, a bird would fly over us as we "deployed" to our base.

Through the landscape of tenacious scrub oak, piled crates, and various apparently random plywood structures draped with camouflage netting, we crunched through the dirt. Each team had for its base a large army-green canvas tent that somehow managed to smell vaguely mildewy despite the constant dry Arizona heat. Inside the "command tent" was a table with secret plans spread across it. Our objective for each round was to steal the enemy plans and bring them back to our base with minimal loss of "life." Inside the tent, a closed-circuit camera had been mounted in a corner and covered with plexiglass so that the staff could see what was going on.

"All right," began BJ—our team captain for this round. He was a guy not much shorter than me with dishwater-brown-blonde hair and a face like an English bulldog. "Cam will want to send out scouts first to see where we've got guards first. So let's post some guards, but rotate around. Jack, you can figure that. Amber, you want to counter-scout like usual?"

Amber gave a mock salute and took off.

As everybody else made movements to go, I turned to BJ, feeling sort of useless. "Uh . . . what should I do?"

He scratched his chin, which had some stubble on it even at seventeen. "Hmm. You're new, so you'll probably get taken out pretty early unless you just sit in the tent and snipe anybody who walks in the door."

I shook my head. "Boring."

He nodded. "Well, you have to sit out for five minutes if you get tagged, so why don't you go blunder about and make some noise to cover Amber's scouting?" he suggested. "Do some knife stuff if you can. Once you get capped, you should still be able to make it back here before things really start to get hot."

I smiled sardonically. "A sacrificial lamb?"

He smiled as well. "We call it the Scapegoat."

"Baa-aa," I said, mimicking a goat sound. Pulling my goggles a little tighter, I jogged slowly in the direction I assumed the enemy base would be. My heart was thundering as if I were going into actual danger, and I smirked in spite of myself. Taking some deep, slow breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, I found it a little easier to concentrate.

Pop!

I felt something sting my cheek, and scrambled awkwardly for the nearest crate. I touched my cheek as I settled behind cover—it had a small spatter of paint on it, but nothing more. Glancing backwards, I could see a shiny new splotch of neon-green paint on the plywood wall right next to where I had been walking. Head level—what a dick move.

I had an idea. Quietly pulling my knife, I made a show of rattling my gun and grunting, "How the hell do you make this work?" Sure enough, announced by some quick scuffling, a guy in tan camouflage and a full grilled face-mask and goggles jumped around the crate, ready to shoot me. I shot him twice in the chest and leaped up with my plastic knife to his throat.

He held up his gun in the "dead" sign, and drew breath as if to say something. But he shook his head and walked towards the "waiting room" to start his time. Once we were "dead" we weren't supposed to say anything. I grinned to myself and moved further along. An old, twisted Joshua tree spattered with the multicolored paint splotches of battles past stood beside a pile of crates. I could see the shadow of a human figure shifting. If I hadn't been on high alert, I would have mistaken it for just part of the shadow of the tree trunk.

I glanced back and forth and saw Amber about a hundred feet away, apparently watching somebody intently. I decided it was time to earn my title as Scapegoat, so I pulled my knife from my belt and walked forward loudly, keeping an eye on the suspicious shadow down the way. Sure enough, as my scuffling footsteps drew nearer, the shadow moved and melted into a full human figure. I tossed my knife overhand, and heard a satisfying

thunk

followed by "Fuck!"

One of the other team sauntered out and towards the "waiting room," rubbing his chest where the training knife had presumably hit. He caught sight of me and smirked appreciatively. I went to retrieve my knife as loudly as I could, to draw some folks out for Amber to either shoot or take note of. It worked—as I crouched to pick up the black plastic Bowie knife trainer, I felt a sharp, percussive sting on my ribs. A neon-blue paint splatter had bloomed.

I held my gun above my head and walked to the "waiting room" where my two kills were—along with Cary. The guys nudged me good naturedly. "You sneaky bastard," the first one said with a smile. "Should have expected it from one of Jack's friends." He stood and stretched. Pulling his goggles and face mask down, he nodded to Cary. "See you back at base, Wildcat."

I gave her a look. She smiled broadly. "They sent me out for reconnaissance! I forgot I had my gun—I got so excited I knifed one of your sentries before I got shot. It didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would, although I bet it will leave a bruise." She pulled the Velcro of her jacket open wide enough to reveal a pink welt just below her collarbone.

I grinned, delighted that Cary was already having fun, and trying not to look to closely at the expanse of skin. "Why Wildcat?"

"Oh," she answered, "I used your line. When I got back here, I told the two guys who had just gotten here the story, and said that I would try to remember my gun next time instead of just being a wildcat with a knife." She velcroed back up.

"It's a better nickname than 'Baroness,'" I admitted as she pulled her own goggles back down and headed out. "Here's hoping you don't get any more of my team."

"At least I know it doesn't hurt so much, now," Cary said with a backward glance. "Those two guys took a look and said it probably wouldn't even leave that much of a bruise."

As she disappeared around the corner, I frowned. Did that mean Cary had halfway-flashed those two guys? If the feeling in the back of my throat wasn't jealousy, it was close enough that I couldn't tell much of a difference.

The rest of the first round was a blur of adrenaline and bruises. I got killed four times, and saw Cary coming back a few times as well. Not surprisingly, Jack stayed "alive" for the whole game. At the end, Cameron's team made a rush on our base when a couple of us were already "dead" and got our plans. We all took a break for water and some snacks while the teams got reshuffled.

Two more rounds before lunch, and we were having a lot of fun. Our team won the second time, and lost the third time (although I took out three guys coming into our base at the last moment before getting popped by Cameron). The more I got shot, the less it hurt, but the more I felt like every exposed moment outside of cover made me itch in expectation of a paint-pellet.

I couldn't help but notice that during the brief downtimes, Cary was laughing and smiling at a lot of the other guys—more than she usually did. They sure noticed, too. I caught them sneaking glances at her every time she turned around. It didn't take me long to realize that she was flirting with them on purpose—or very nearly flirting. I couldn't figure it out.

After the third round, we were all thoroughly hot and sweaty. Our team sat in the shade and stripped off our camo jackets, letting the air cool us. Cary did a double-take as I peeled off my jacket to reveal my black sweat-dampened tank-top. A few small bruises dotted my arms, and I could feel one or two on my chest as well.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Nothing, just . . . wow. I guess I'm used to Jack being the muscular one." She wasn't quite blushing, but I was delighted by her frank gaze. "You've really toned up since you started working out in the past couple of months."

"I had to do something with my time once I didn't have afternoon classes," I shrugged, please that I was the focus of her attention rather than the other guys. "And it couldn't

always

be work or walks in the park. You have to work

sometime

."

She nodded absently, and then suddenly realized she was staring. She started fanning herself. She was clearly sweltering under her fatigues, but kept the jacket on. I offered her some water, which she accepted gratefully. After wrestling with my conflicted feelings for a moment, I spoke up. "The guys here sure seem to like you."

Cary grinned wickedly. "Good. I'm hoping that if they think I'm flirting, they'll be too chivalrous to shoot me sometimes."

I goggled. "You're devious!"

"All's fair . . . " Cary began with a raised eyebrow that reminded me that she wasn't just fun and adventurous—she was also the same woman who planned to use her ex-husband's suspicions against him with stories of a fake affair. I laughed and shook my head, equally impressed and aroused.

She gulped down her water and fanned herself again. I wondered why she didn't take her jacket off like I had, but for all her flirting, she seemed shyly determined to stay covered up—at least until Amber and Heather trotted over from the other team with their shirts around their waists and their tank tops darkened by sweat. Cary shrugged and took hers off, revealing only a dark green sports bra and her flat tummy. I made it a point not to stare, even though I felt like I was blushing with my whole body. The other guys made no such attempts to hide their interest.

"Ha. You look like Sonya Blade," Jack laughed when Cary pulled her hair back into a temporary short ponytail to cool her neck. Was I imagining it, or was her hair longer than she usually kept it?

Cary looked confused for a moment, "Is that good or bad? Are you making fun of me?"

I waved it away. "Sonya Blade is the army chick from Mortal Kombat," I explained. "She kicks ass."

Cary's face lit up in recollection. "I know that one!" she grinned. "Finish him!" she intoned in a mock deep voice. The rest of the team cheered.

"Wow," Cameron said. "Good with a knife, hot,

and

knows about Mortal Kombat?

Tell

me you're not spoken for."

Now it was Cary's turn to blush. Amber punched her big brother with slightly more force than seemed necessary. "Leave her alone, Cam. We want her to come back, and I don't need you being all insufferable when you're home."

For my part, I was fighting a churning sensation in my stomach. Of course

I

thought that Cary was gorgeous, but it made me weirdly jealous to hear another guy close to my age say it out loud. It was one thing to help her chase off drunken middle-aged office workers. It was another to feel like I had real competition.

It took me a moment to realize that I was thinking of her as somebody to be competed

for

, and not only a best friend. It was such a shock, I lost track of the conversation for a few moments. But as we buttoned back up and looked for our much-abused goggles, Cary was chuckling. "I think I have just the thing," she said in response to something I had missed. She gave me a conspiratorial wink and wriggled back into her jacket, to the visible disappointment of the rest of the guys around her.

All three of us Musketeers were on the same team for this last round. Jack took the lead as team captain and started sending people here and there with practiced ease. He came over to me and Cary. "What's your plan then, 'Wildcat?''" he asked.

Cary smiled. "Matt and I go out and only use our knives. Silent, no sound of clicking triggers or CO

2

cannisters to alert anybody else. We clear the way along the sides and then you guys all rush the tent down the middle. Matt and I pick off anybody who pops up to shoot at you from behind after we've sneaked in."

Jack considered it. "A little risky, but fun. Worst case scenario, you both get shot a lot, and we have to re-evaluate. Go for it."

Cary grabbed my arm and started hauling me towards the side of the arena. "I go left, you go right. Last one to clear out their side has to buy snacks later. Got it 'Mac?'"

I smirked. "You're on."

I took out two people before I realized a potential flaw in Cary's plan—since the people we "killed" would be back out in the arena after a five-minute wait, we had to move both quickly and quietly while still trying to locate and "kill" the enemy guards or scouts. I started to be a little less quiet, hoping to draw people towards me.

As my third victim rounded the corner, I tapped my knife once on top of his helmet and once on the side of his neck to let him know he was "dead." He turned towards me, eyes wide, and I recognized BJ. I grinned apologetically, and headed further down the line. As I did so, I could see off to my left across an unimpeded view that Cameron had his back turned to me and was sneaking up on somebody.

I slung my paintball gun across my back by its strap and moved as quietly as I could towards him. However, I almost stopped dead. Cary was standing upright beside one of the stacks of crates. She was leaning backwards, head tilted back, as if posing for the front cover of

Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition

. She was in the middle of pulling off her jacket with one hand and fanning herself with the other. I wondered briefly if she was having trouble with the heat, but soon grew distracted by how hot she looked in the other sense. It was a good thing I was crouching.

Cameron seemed to be having trouble, too. He had slowed to a near stop, and I suddenly grinned. Cary wasn't too warm—she was being an intentional distraction, and counting on the chivalry of the other players in not shooting her bare skin as her jacket slipped down to her waist, revealing her shoulders and midriff. It seemed like it should be against the rules, it was so mean. Just as I started to think that somebody was bound to come along anyway, Cary suddenly jerked her head up and pulled her gun into position to shoot. She shrugged her jacket back up and stalked out of view behind the crates.