Felicity took a deep breath, steadying her stance as she lifted her bow and nocked her arrow, raising it and drawing the string back just as she’d been shown countless times before. She focused on the target, aiming for the bullseye, and let her fingers brush against the corner of her mouth.
She could do this. It was just a stupid arrow, just one stupid weapon she had to master before Chiron would let her back onto the Capture the Flag field. And he better keep his promise because her team was doing absolutely shit in the standings without her strategies and why did she always get punished for not taking after her mother’s more brutal side anyway? Camp could use a few more brains and a heck of lot less brawn if you asked her. Which no one did, otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to…
“So, are you going to fire that thing or are we going to stand here all day?”
Felicity gave the boy standing next her to the worst sort of side eye she could muster up without changing her stance too much, and breathed in sharply through her nose.
“Shut up, Oliver. I’m concentrating,” she replied tersely, willing herself to focus on the target, not on whatever Oliver Queen might be doing beside her. Probably being effortlessly gorgeous and annoying, like usual.
Weapons training would be so much easier without him around. Felicity got distracted by the son of Zeus’s biceps and golden good looks enough on a normal day; putting her around him when she had sharp, pointy things within easy reach was a disaster waiting to happen. Why couldn’t Chiron have picked Diggle to be her trainer instead? Diggle wasn’t nearly as distracting as Oliver and he was actually a decent teacher. He taught all the new kids the basics during their first few weeks at camp. Not that Felicity wanted to be in a class where she’d get her butt kicked by snotty 12-year-old sons of Ares, but —
“No, you’re thinking again,” Oliver interrupted. “Put the bow down and start over.”
Felicity groaned, dropping the bow to her side, her shoulders slumping dramatically. She turned to offer Oliver a full-fledged glare over the tops of her glasses. The son of Zeus did not look impressed or intimidated. Knowing him, he’d become immune to her look in the last two weeks worth of sparring and weapons lessons they’d had to suffer through together. Stupid, buff jerk.
“Seriously? I had that lined up perfectly,” she said, gesturing at the target. “If you just would’ve let me fire — ”
“It would’ve hit the tree, just like all the others you’ve shot,” Oliver replied, jerking his thumb in the same direction. Felicity glowered at the tree in question, which had three yellow tipped arrows sticking out of it. “You’re not keeping both eyes open when you shoot, and you keep turning your chest out so your arrows are banking left instead of hitting the target.”
Oh gods, she was not going to blush because Oliver Queen had been paying attention to her chest. No, definitely not blushing because this was the least sexy scenario for Oliver to be checking out her goods during and hell, he didn’t like her like that. He was only spending time with her because Chiron had asked him to, and everyone knew he was one of the most widely skilled demigods at camp. If anyone could teach dweeby Felicity Smoak how to use a weapon, it was him.
And even if he did like her, Oliver was all serious business and no sexy times when he was on the archery range anyway. So no, she was not allowed to blush and act like a member of the Aphrodite cabin just ‘cause a cute guy said the word chest around her.
“You need a calm mind and a steady hand to be a good archer,” Oliver continued, oblivious to her blushing crisis. “You just need to work on the first part, Felicity, and you’ll be fine.”
Felicity snorted. “Right, have you ever seen an Athena kid shut off her brain? Good luck at making any progress with me. I might as well go back to swordfighting. At least I liked rolling around in the dirt with you on top of me.”
…great Athena’s owl droppings, had she said that out loud?
“Gods, that is so not what I meant,” she said hurriedly, her face truly aflame now. She ran a palm over her face, trying to ignore the burgeoning smirk on Oliver’s obnoxiously handsome face. “I am so embarrassing. Forget I said that, please.”
“I think I can do that,” Oliver replied, laughter clear in his tone, “if you manage to hit the target this time.”