Friendly Fire (Ricochet 2)

“I think I preferred being called stud to asshole. Now quit bitching and finish up. This is nothing compared to Recon boot camp. If you ever want to get back in the field or hell, even back in the cage training, then you’ll do what I say without complaining like a little pussy.”

Rick’s arm shot out to land a hard punch on the big man’s massive bicep before Clint could react. Clint scowled, moving to punch him back, but stopped when he saw Rick laughing at him.

“Real funny, Rick. Don’t poke a sleeping bear. Especially when you’re not at one-hundred percent.” Clint gave Rick a sadistic looking grin. “Now finish your crunches so I can go home. My wife is making her special lemon chicken tonight and I’d like to eat it while it’s still hot.”

Rick finished his last sit up and grabbed his towel off the mat, wiping the sweat off of his face and neck. “Tiger is making her lemon chicken?” His eyebrows raised and his stomach growled at the thought of eating Mara Paxton’s home cooked meal. That recipe was his favorite and that bastard Clint knew it.

Dickhead, rubbing it in.

“Yeah.” Clint gave Rick an evil smile. “Why, you like her lemon chicken?”

Rick scowled. “You know I do. It’s my fucking favorite.” He grunted, standing up with less difficulty than he had last week when his stitches came out.

“Well, come over then. Mara always makes plenty. She was just saying how she hadn’t seen you in a while.” Clint grabbed his bottle of water, downing half of it in two big swallows.

Rick paused, the thought of having a real dinner with friends and not crappy take-out while sitting on his couch alone was enough to make his stomach growl. “If you’re sure, I’m not going to say no… stud.”

Clint laughed. “That’s better! I’ll see you at seven.” The big man turned and walked towards the locker room.

Rick was more excited than he had been in a while and that was depressing. Chicken was the only thing in his life he had to look forward to? His usual night out of going to a bar and meeting a nameless girl to get laid didn’t have the appeal it used to have.

Shaking his head, he followed Clint, wondering when fun, charming, bed-hopping Ricochet became so fucking pathetic.

Chapter 7

Quinn’s mind was completely preoccupied the entire thirty minute drive over to her best friend Mara’s house. Good thing she’d been there before, or she would probably have gotten lost along the way to their Brookhaven home because her mind was wandering all over the place.

Knowing that Travis had been served with divorce papers today had her stomach twisted up in knots to the point she almost pulled over to throw up. Now he would know where to find her, there was no way around that. He may not have her exact address, but the law office would be listed on the paperwork, letting Travis know she was somewhere in Atlanta and he certainly was aware of where she grew up.

Quinn stopped the truck in front of the Paxton home, sitting in the cab for a moment to calm her racing thoughts. Metro Atlanta was enormous, consisting of over thirty-nine counties and six million people. She convinced herself that there was no way Travis could find out where she lived or worked. Especially with Mack paying her in cash every week.

Quinn shook her head, refusing to worry about Travis tonight. She was here to visit her best friend and have a good meal to distract her from all that crap. Mara planned this dinner specifically so Quinn wouldn’t sit around alone in her apartment freaking out about her divorce. Determined to have a good time, she yanked the keys out of the ignition and headed for the front door.

“Quinn.” Mara answered the door with a tight smile replacing her usual wide grin, her forehead and the corners of her eyes puckered from stress.

“Mara? Is everything okay?” Quinn dropped her voice to a whisper. “You and Clint aren’t fighting or something are you?”

Her normally exuberant friend gave her a stiff hug, whispering in her ear. “I’m sorry Quinn. Clint invited him without asking.”

“Huh?” Quinn knitted her brow, confused by Mara’s random apology.

Quinn was still trying to figure out what Mara was talking about as they entered the great room. It didn’t take long for it to become clear. Surprised, she came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, nearly tripping on her own feet. Before she could think to hide it, her mouth gaped open as her eyes locked with a pair of deep blue-green ones that she knew all too well. Rick.

Christ Mara, this isn’t going to be six degrees of awkward or anything!

“Quinn! Glad you could make it!” Clint broke the obvious tension with his usual cheerfulness, crossing the room to give Quinn a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey Clint. Thanks for having me.” She gave her friend’s husband a weak smile. Her gaze darted back to Rick to find him blatantly staring at her, his face unreadable. Holy uncomfortable. “I–I think I’ll go help Mara in the kitchen.” Quinn turned tail and hurried out of the room like the coward that she was.

Run from my dad, run from Travis, run from Rick, run from my life… I need a new pair of Nikes if this is going to be

my way of dealing with things.

“Mara,” she hissed, “I can’t believe you didn’t at least call to warn me that he’d be here!” Quinn snatched up a glass and the bottle of wine that was airing out on the countertop, poured a healthy serving, and quickly downed a third of it.

“I told you, I didn’t know until it was too late. Besides,” Mara put down the tongs she was using to mix a huge bowl of salad so she could face Quinn, “you would have cancelled if you knew he was here, and you need this to get your mind off of that ass ex of yours. Let it go for just one night. Please?” She put her hands on Quinn’s shoulders, looking her in the eye. “You need to deal with Rick. You work together and you were friends. Good friends. Maybe tonight is the perfect time to fix that.”

Quinn huffed loudly. “He made it quite clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with me, Mar. He even sneaks into work through the back door now just to avoid talking to me.” She took another big swig of her wine.