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The silence rang in Hunter’s ears after the blasts from the gun. He really should stay out of the woods. People always tried to shoot him while he was out there. He stood up and brushed dirt of his hoodie.
“I thought you said you couldn’t shoot.”
Ian shrugged. “I said I wasn’t very good at it.”
“You could have hit me!” Hunter shouted.
“That’s why I told you to get down.” Ian was annoying calm. Then again, the bullets hadn’t been whizzing past his head.
“Yeah, and that’s another thing! You just assumed I can speak Klingon! I mean, I totally can, but what if I hadn’t?”
“Hope that I’m a better shot than I am, or I’d have to get a new boyfriend,” Ian cracked, pushing his glasses up his nose. Hunter was still scowling slightly, and his hand was beginning the inevitable migration to the back of his neck.
The silly ginger. Ian softened somewhat. “Relax. Will you? I always speak your language.”