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Amazingly, Quinn wasn’t bothered by his blatant appreciation. It had been so long since a man, or anyone for that matter, looked at her with anything but disgust or ownership. Once she got past her initial discomfort at being flirted with, she ate up the attention that had been severely lacking in her life up to now. The knowledge that they would remain as friends went a long way to helping her relax in his presence.
By the end of the workday, a dark cloud had replaced Quinn’s good mood. Even though she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t miserable by the fact that Rick didn’t show up at the gym today, she knew d
eep down that his absence was the reason for her sour attitude.
Rick wasn’t at work Tuesday either. By Wednesday, Quinn was positively depressed. She found that she missed him way more than she should, way more than she was comfortable with. In a mere three weeks, Rick had somehow wormed his way into her life and was now lodged firmly under her skin.
Quinn was sitting at her desk on Thursday when a tall blonde woman walked into the lobby.
“Can I help you?”
The woman smiled at Quinn. She was genuine and warm. “I’m here to see Clint.”
“Okay, I’ll track him down.” Quinn reached for the phone, but the woman stopped her.
“Don’t worry, he knows I’m here. I texted him.” She held up her cell phone, shaking it at Quinn. “You’re new, right? I’m Mara Paxton, Clint’s wife. I was in the area so we’re grabbing lunch.”
Wife?
The surprise Quinn felt must have shown on her face.
Mara laughed— a big, no holds-barred laugh, all white teeth with her head thrown back. “I’m guessing you didn’t know he was married.”
Quinn felt her cheeks heat up. “I never really thought about it. I mean… I don’t spend a lot of time with the guys or in the gym. I wasn’t, you know, interested in your husband that way.”
Mara snorted and laughed again. “Oh Quinn, I didn’t think that. You’re funny. We should hang out sometime.” She dug through her purse, pulling out a business card that she handed to Quinn. “Here, call me. We’ll get lunch or something.”
Quinn took the card just as the inner door opened. Clint came striding across the lobby, wrapping his perfectly sculpted arms around his wife.
“Hey Mar, ready to go? I could eat a horse right about now.” The tall, bulky man tucked Mara into his side. She beamed up at him, her eyes shining with love.
“Yeah babe. I’m ready.” Mara turned to Quinn. “I was just telling Quinn that me and her should hang out sometime.”
“Oh?” Clint ran a hand through his short, strawberry blonde hair. “That’s good. Quinn’s new to the city, right?” He looked at Quinn expectantly.
“Ummmm, yeah. I am. New that is. To Atlanta, not to Georgia. I grew up an hour north of here.” Quinn wanted to smack herself in the head. She knew better than to give out any information that could link her back to Travis, no matter how unlikely.
Mara clasped her hands together, bouncing on her toes. “How great! I’m from Virginia. We only moved here last year. You could probably show me a few places that I don’t know about.”
Quinn blinked, stunned into silence by Mara’s bubbly insistence that they would be friends. She finally spoke after Clint raised an expectant eyebrow at her. “Uh, okay. Sure.”
“We’ll see you later, Quinn,” Clint said as the couple headed for the door.
“Oh, Clint. I forgot to ask. Do you know where Rick has been? Is he sick or something?” Quinn felt ridiculous asking, but decided that Clint was the one to ask. He would be least likely to make a big deal of it since he hadn’t really been around the last two weeks and didn’t know she had been spending time with Rick. She knew the men traveled for training, but she hadn’t seen Rick on the schedule.
Clint twitched. Just a fraction, but enough that Quinn noticed.
“Ricochet? He’s touring with one of the UFC guys. Some last minute thing in Vegas or something for a fight. He’ll be back next week I think. Not sure.” Quinn nodded in agreement, because she didn’t know what to say.
Ricochet? Quinn had no idea what that meant or why Clint would call Rick that. She noticed Rick had an irritating, yet somehow endearing habit of giving everyone around him a nickname, but this was the first she heard of anyone using one on Rick.
“C’mon Clint. I’m hungry.” Mara tugged on her husband’s hand, leading him towards the door. “See you later Quinn!”
A soft breeze blew in the front door and they were gone.
QUINN WAITED NERVOUSLY at the bar, her eyes jumping to the door every minute or so. She sipped her drink slowly, not wanting to get drunk before her companion arrived. Her tolerance for being out was wearing thin, especially since in the mere fifteen minutes since she walked through the door of Fado’s Irish Pub, no fewer than six guys had hit on her. The bus she had to take to get here dropped her off earlier than she had liked, but the next bus would have been too late to be on time.
“Quinn!”
