The Harder He Falls: 2 (So Inked) by Sidney Bristol Page B

his side of the picnic table. Behind him the food truck was starting to pack up.
    “Can’t handle the heat?” It was too much to ask that the man be able to cope with everything. He’d sat through the tattoo yesterday without complaint, being a heat weenie wasn’t terrible.
    His brilliant blue eyes stood out in the dim illumination of the parking lot light. “When you have A/C, why should you?”
    “You do realize that it’s going to get at least ten degrees hotter and stay there, don’t you?” She unwrapped the tacos and inhaled the spicy aroma of peppers and onions mixed with tender beef.
    Quin made a show of wiping his forehead with a napkin. “I’m going to melt.”
    “Why the hell are you still here then?”
    He hefted his burrito and wrapped the tortilla tighter. “Family.”
    She nodded, understanding that reason above all others.
    They descended into companionable silence while they ate. The garbled sounds of a Tejano station melded with the distant sounds of Highway 75 and the light street traffic up and down Greenville Avenue.
    “What are you so wound up about, doll?”
    Her head snapped around. Quin watched her with one brow arched.
    “What?” she asked.
    “Your knees are bouncing and you keep looking around. Are you expecting someone I don’t know about?” He glanced over each shoulder.
    The bubble of anger swelling in her breast burst. It wasn’t Quin’s fault she was suffering from a case of bitchitis.
    Instead of snapping at him, she put her taco down and massaged her temples. “No, I’m just sitting on too much energy and not enough time to expend it.”
    “Ah.” He nodded as if he understood. “We used to call that the fight or fuck stage.”
    It was her turn to quirk a brow at him. She shivered despite the heat. He had a point; one or the other would help. “Fight or fuck stage? What did you used to do?”
    “First I was in the Marines, then I used to fight MMA, semipro.”
    Her eyebrows crept upward. Mixed martial arts? She saw Quin in a whole new light, and when she looked at him in this proverbial light, he looked damn good. Fighters came with their own set of issues, but as an MMA hobbyist herself, Kellie had to admit that her bad boy draw was sitting across from her. Growing up around the gym meant she’d become more than competent in a few martial art forms. As an adult, branching out into the grappling, wrestling and more violent aspects had given her a much needed outlet.
    Kellie grabbed her drink, the cup covered in condensation, and gulped it down to get moisture back in her dry mouth.
    “Why’d you stop?”
    “I got hurt. Fractured a few vertebrae. Everyone was amazed I could walk after that. Realized there was little to no chance of me coming back from the injury, so I switched over to training. I like it.”
    “Do you train around here?” An invisible fist clenched her heart. There had been a time when she would have known the different gyms, who trained where, which ones were worth going to and so forth.
    Quin didn’t answer immediately. He chewed his food without haste and took a drink before replying. “I’m transitioning locations. Parting with someone. It’s a little messy.”
    Her nose wrinkled. “Yeah, I’ve been there. I’m lucky to have Mary as my co-owner. The guy I worked with before her was a man-child.”
    He snorted. “Man-child?”
    “Yeah, you know. Frat boy types.”
    He tilted his head back and laughed. “That’s a good one, doll. Man-child. I’ll have to remember that.”
    The pet name slid over her nerves as if it were sandpaper. “Do you have to call me that?”
    “What?” He blinked as if he had no clue what she was talking about.
    “Lay off the doll crap already.”
    He shrugged. “You look like a doll.”
    Her scalp itched and her hand balled into a fist. “You think I look like a whore?” she growled. Moments like these she felt as if she were a passenger in her own body. The urge to do something, or even the man