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“Yes
sir.”
“Good. Now, I want to talk about Quinn.”
Rick stiffened in his chair, his ingrained training kicking in as he began to feel cornered. Every muscle was suddenly at attention, ready to respond at a moment’s notice to the interrogation.
Crap. He cleared his throat. “Quinn, sir?”
Mack glared, his stern expression letting Rick know that he saw right through his bullshit.
“Quit the sir shit, Rick. Yes, Quinn. You fucking her?”
All of the blood drained from Rick’s face. Then his skin heated up as it rushed back in. All of the times in his life that Mack had yelled at him, humiliated him, made him feel pain like he’d never felt before, he never wanted to hit the man. Today was the closest he’d ever come to seriously thinking about it. “No, I’m not. Not that it’s any of your business… chief.”
Mack leaned over the desk, his face so close that Rick could see every line, every battle scar, and every distinct feature that was earned over the course of twenty years of serving his country.
“Get this straight, Ricochet. Quinn is family. My family. Don’t even think about treating her like you do all your other whores. You want her, you better mean it and make it stick, or you’ll be dealing with me. Are we clear?”
Rick’s eyes went wide as his boss read him the riot act. He was used to having Mack up in his space, yelling. That’s what boot camp was— sixty days of being reamed up and down by your commanding officer. This was a different Mack than Rick was used to. This Mack wasn’t trying to whip a corpsman into shape for Recon. No, he was protecting someone he cared about. Rick knew he wouldn’t cross Mack, but then he didn’t think he could stay away from Quinn either.
“I think…” Rick struggled to come up with words that could define his scattered thoughts. He huffed out an exasperated breath, uncomfortable discussing this with anyone, let alone his boss. “I think I might actually like her, Mack.”
Rick dropped his head into his hands to hide his embarrassment. He rubbed his face tiredly.
Who the fuck talks feelings with their C.O.?
Mack lowered himself back into his chair, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“Are you shitting me, Rick? Because if you are—”
“No. I’m not.”
“Well holy shit.” Mack’s angry scowl morphed into a knowing smirk. “Ricochet’s gone and found himself some real feelings. And here I didn’t think you had any.”
“Fuck you.” Rick glared at Mack from between his fingers.
“Is that any way to speak to your boss?”
“It is when he’s giving me shit about my personal life.”
Mack grunted his assent. “Don’t fuck it up, Rick. That’s all I’m going to say. She deserves respect.”
Rick stood up. “Can I go now? Or are we gonna sit here all day and have heart to hearts and braid each other’s hair?”
With a deep chuckle, Mack waved a hand, dismissing Rick. “Hey,” he said as Rick’s hand touched the doorknob, “debriefing in the conference room at fourteen hundred hours.”
Rick’s shoulders sagged. “I know.”
God I hate those fucking debriefings. I think I’d rather talk feelings.
Chapter 8
QUINN FLOPPED DOWN onto her couch, completely drained. She had no idea what happened on Rick’s trip to make him such an angry grouch, but it took all of her energy to deal with him since he returned three days ago. He’d been rude, grumpy, and easily provoked. Now that it was Friday, Quinn felt relieved to be done with work, a relaxing weekend ahead of her.
She got up and went to her closet, figuring that deciding what to wear for her date tomorrow would keep her from obsessing over Rick’s strange behavior. Quinn flicked through her meager belongings. It took about three seconds for her to realize that she had nothing to wear.
“Crud.”
