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“Trains?” Rick growled. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Tucker sat up straight and crossed his arms, giving Rick his full attention, something the socially challenged man almost never did. “What’s it to you, Ricochet?”
Rick scowled at Tucker’s use of his nickname, knowing that the man was baiting him. Tucker might look small and geeky and love computers, but he was a fifth degree black belt in Shotokan karate. He had held his own in a spur of the moment karate match with UFC welterweight champion George St. Pierre.
“Nothing. Forget it.” Rick huffed, storming past the front desk and the smirking Tucker. He swiped his badge, irritated at himself for letting Tucker get under his skin. Hell, he was irritated at himself for letting Quinn get under his skin. Rick was even too pissed to call the small guy “big man” like he usually did.
Twenty-eight fucking years without a single person to worry about except myself. Less than a month after Quinn walks through the front door and I barely recognize the guy in the mirror or the thoughts in my own head anymore.
Rick marched into the training area in a cloud of anger.
Fucking Tucker, messing my head all up.
When he reached the edge of the mat covered floor, his world stopped spinning and came to a screeching halt. He blinked, certain that his mind was playing tricks on him. Nope. It wasn’t. Across the gym, standing in front of the heavy bag wearing a tank top and those damn miniature shorts, was Quinn. She was barefoot, punching and kicking the bag with a jab-front kick combo.
Quinn all sweaty, wearing next to nothing, was a sight to see. But what made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, what Rick immediately zeroed in on, was Xavier’s fucking hands on Quinn’s hips, touching what belonged to Rick.
Belong to me? Quinn doesn’t belong to me.
Rick shook the thoughts from his head, squeezing his eyes shut until the angry red haze cleared. When he opened them back up, he saw Xavier and Quinn staring at him, their lesson interrupted by his odd behavior.
“Hey man.” Xavier held up a wrapped hand in greeting. “Good to have you back.”
Rick’s furious scowl surprised his friend, causing Xavier’s dark eyes to narrow suspiciously. Rick flicked his gaze over to Quinn. She stood next to Xav, unmoving, her face blank as she waited for her lesson to continue. It made Rick feel as if he were a mere annoyance.
Already pissed and now embarrassed on top of it, Rick spun on his heel and stomped down the hall. He swiped his badge and punched in his code, opening the door to an empty Mission Control. Rick paced the room, raking his hands through his hair in frustration. He wanted to tear the room apart, but knew he’d face everyone’s wrath if he destroyed the expensive equipment.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
These unfamiliar feelings were messing with his head. Rick couldn’t define them, couldn’t explain them, and had absolutely no idea how to deal with them. The only way he knew how to release frustration was fucking or fighting. Right now, he was way to volatile to fuck.
Fighting it is then.
Decision made, he threw open the door and made his way towards the locker room.
“Ricochet!”
Rick stopped in the hall, letting his head fall back until he was staring up at the acoustical tile ceiling.
“Get your ass in here.”
Shit.
He turned around and skulked into Mack’s office.
“Close the door and take a seat.” Mack pointed to one of the well-worn chairs in front of his desk.
Rick scowled, but did as he was asked, sliding into the seat cautiously. He knew he was about to get his ass handed to him. What he didn’t know was why.
“Chief.” Rick nodded at Mack who was studying him thoughtfully.
“I see you got back from the Middle East okay.”
Rick’s tense frame relaxed. Maybe he wasn’t here to get chewed out.
“Yes sir. Arrived yesterday.”
“Ready for your debriefing later?”
