Friendly Fire (Ricochet 2)

“T-that’s… ridiculous!” Mara stuttered and started laughing.

Quinn had to admit that it was in fact absurd. Big bad Ricochet Brennan, avoiding tiny little Quinn Wallace because his feelings were hurt.

They both cackled like hyenas until it was almost time to eat.

Mara bumped Quinn’s hip with hers. “Go talk to him while I distract Clint.”

“What?” Quinn’s eyes bugged out. “Are you nuts?” The wine gave her a warm, tingling feeling all over. She may be slightly buzzed but she wasn’t that brave yet.

“No,” Mara scoffed. “Let him know that you’re okay with everything. That it doesn’t have to be so—weird between you.” She waved her arm at Quinn to scoot.

“But I’m not okay with it. I don’t know what I want, Mara.”

“I know that, Quinn. But he hasn’t said anything about what he wants either, right?” Mara pointed at her with a serving fork. “Go.”

“Fine. I hate you.” She put her glass down, giving Mara an exaggerated pout.

“Love you too.” Mara blew her a kiss, before turning to the archway leading into the great room. “Clint? Can you come here, honey?”

She shooed Quinn out of the room, grinning like the devious master-planner Quinn knew her to be.

“I must be insane to be doing this,” Quinn muttered out loud.

“Doing what, exactly?”

Quinn’s head snapped up at the unexpectedly close proximity of Rick’s rich, seductive baritone.

Whoops! Jeez, he always catches me talking to myself.

“Ummmm,” Quinn knew her face must be as red as when she forgot her sunblock and got sunburned in the Bahamas— it blistered it was so bad. She stood motionless, helpless to do anything but stare at the beautiful face she once touched and kissed freely.

“I’m sorry I’m making you uncomfortable, Quinn.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” she responded automatically, her focus drawn to his full lips. Lips she knew to be soft and warm and very talented.

Rick smiled, his eyes lighting up in a disarming way that Quinn hadn’t seen in a while. “That’s why you’re strung so tight it looks like your back is strapped to a wood plank. Because you’re not uncomfortable.”

“I have a lot going on right now. Everything’s not always about you, Rick.” Quinn cringed at the low blow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” She dropped heavily onto the couch. “I really do have a lot going on. I haven’t been myself lately.”

“It’s okay. I guess this is good. Talking, I mean.”

Quinn allowed herself to smile. A real smile. “Yeah, it’s good.” Her eyes dropped to the side Rick had been favoring. “It looks like you’re feeling better.”

“I am. Much better. I almost feel human again.”

Quinn had already gone over Rick’s injury in her mind, knowing it didn’t add up, but no way was she going to push the subject at Clint and Mara’s house.

“Hey guys, ready to eat?” Clint appeared in the doorway with two beers in his hand. He handed one to Rick as they made their way into the dining room.

“Smells unbelievable, tiger. Thanks again for having me.” Rick smiled at Mara, who grinned at the nickname he bestowed on her, and took the seat across from his best friend’s wife.

Listening to Rick use his endearing pet name for Mara made her sad. As much as it had irritated her at first, Quinn found that she missed being called “doll”. When she approached the table she found the only available seat was between Rick and Mara. Mara winked at her husband as he filled her wine glass.

Why do I get the distinct feeling that the very nosy Paxton’s planned this?

“More Quinn?” Clint held the bottle out to refill her glass.

“No thanks. I have to drive home later. I’ll stick to water.” Plus, she didn’t want alcohol to impair her senses tonight and make her say something stupid to Rick. Or kiss his delectable lips. Or run her hands all over his rock hard body.