I think what we can learn from this story is that I have a really hard time actually naming my protagonists.
Also I'm adding some stuff here (just a little), because man I just did not describe anything ever. I'm barely better these days ;_;
The Courier padlocked her bicycle to a street sign and stepped off. The shooting range was in a short, squat building, painted a sickly faded yellow. She narrowed her eyes at it for a minute, then walked inside. There was a thick wall between the lobby and the range itself.
"Hi," she said awkwardly to the man behind the counter. "I haven't been here before. Or shot anything. Except in video games, I guess."
"No problem," he said. "Let me show you some things." He stepped out from behind the counter, and handed her a pair of earplugs and a pair of earmuffs.
"Both?" she asked.
"Mm-hmm." He lifted her arm, examining her wrist. Her pulse quickened a little, and she wondered if he could feel it. He was tall. Muscular. Shaved head. Wore sunglasses, though they were inside. Kind of hot.
"You should probably start with a .22. Maybe a .357. Wouldn't recommend anything bigger than that."
"No Desert Eagles, then?" she asked hopefully.
"Afraid not." He put a gun and two boxes of ammunition on the counter. "You know how to load one?"
"Nope."
"Okay. Watch close."
She watched him. "Were you in the army?"
He didn't look up from the gun. "I was."
"Were you in Iraq?"
He paused for a moment. "I don't really want to talk about it."
"Sorry."
He shrugged. "Okay. Lane three. Keep your finger off the trigger. I'll show you how to stand."
She followed him.
"Is he German?" asked the Courier.
"Is who German?" Veronica shoved her gloves and mouthguard into her sports bag.
"Your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend."
"He looks German! But Israel's not really a German name, is it?"
They looked at each other uncomfortably.
The Courier narrowed her eyes. "Did I say something anti-Semitic?"
"Not yet," Veronica said, slowly.
"Israel and Germany have a 'special relationship'," she said, thoughtfully. "Much like you... and your boyfriend." She ducked, giggling wickedly, as a pair of socks flew at her.
"So," she said. "Are you going to be home tonight?"
"Nah. Not till late. After MMA finishes, I'm going to Chrissie's to study."
"Yeah, "study"," muttered the Courier. "Does your boyfriend know about this?"
Veronica laughed. "Geez, if you're so fixated on him I'll introduce you. He might talk about theoretical physics a bit much for you though."
"Ugh," she said. "Physics." She squinted into the mirror on the wall, poking at her eyelashes with a mascara wand. "I might go back to the shooting range. It's pretty awesome to be honest."
"You with a gun is kind of a scary thought." Veronica zipped up her bag. "Wait, are you putting makeup on to go to the shooting range? What are you not telling me?"
The Courier frowned into the mirror. "Is it too much?"
"I'd lose the lipstick. Otherwise, yeah, I'd do you."
"Excellent." The Courier wiped at her lips with a tissue. "The Veronica seal of approval. Well, see you tonight. Maybe."
"You're getting a lot better," he said. "Actually hitting the target lately."
She laughed and punched him in the arm lightly. "What a dick," she said.
It was the first time she saw him smile. "You're still gripping it a bit tight. Maybe a bit low, too." He covered her hands with his own. "Just relax." He shifted her hands slightly, checked her grip. "That's better."
"Cool," she said, lifting the gun. "Uh... could you put my earmuffs back on?"
She squeezed the last few shots off. The range was deserted, the last few customers having left a while back.
"Guess I'll close up," Craig said.
"Want to get a drink afterwards?" she asked.
"Uh," he said. "No."
"Why not?"
"I'm not... great company."
"Sure you are," she said. "I like you."
He shook his head. "Maybe next time."
She raised an eyebrow. "Next time it is, then." She didn't look back as she walked out to the parking lot. She unlocked her bike and pedalled away.
Veronica wasn't home when the Courier got home, so she sent her a text message: Oh God. Shot down. So embarrassing.
A couple of minutes later she got her response: Don't let the threat of a restraining order put you off!
She was woken up the next morning by her cellphone jangling an obnoxious pop song she couldn't remember downloading. It was work. She had a hard time finding the answer button through her sleepy haze.
"What up?" she said, finally.
"Hey, hun, got some bad news." Rose was nothing if not direct. The Courier appreciated it.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We gotta put you on administrative leave while this theft's being investigated."
"Shit," she replied. "Well, how long's that going to take?"
"I don't know. I'm real sorry about this. Apparently it was something really valuable. Our insurance is being a fucking bitch about it."
"Well then why the fuck would they send me and not like an armored transport van thing?"
"No fuckin' idea." Rose said. "Anyway, Mr. House is apparently having it investigated privately as well, so you may hear from them too."
"Shit," said the Courier again. "Well, thanks for letting me know."