Against the Ropes (2 page)

“Hey.”

“Oh my Jesus!” Rocking back in the springy chair, Reagan grabbed the edge of the desk, praying it would keep her from being thrown to the floor. A few seconds of bronco-riding later and she was right side up. When she heard a snickering from the doorway, she shot a glare at Marianne Cook. “Why is that so funny?”

“You'd have to see it from my angle to understand the humor.” Marianne grinned and shut the door behind her, flopping into the seat across the desk. Normally, the short, spritely athletic trainer wore a Marine Corps boxing team polo and khaki bottoms of some kind, combining the practicality of being able to move with the professionalism expected of her. Today, however, she wore simple sweatpants and a large man's T-shirt.

Feeling testy, Reagan gathered the piles she'd scattered and started stacking them back together. “Where's the work uniform?”

“My day off equals my day to slop it up. No point in getting all dressy to watch them go at quarter speed. They're barely breaking a sweat out there.” She tilted her head to indicate the gym beyond the office door. “Most of them are so thankful they made the team their legs are still like jelly.”

Reagan could relate. She finished stacking and slapped the last pile down a little harder than necessary. “I spoke with Brad.”

“Hmm.” Marianne picked up one of Coach Ace's pens and started twirling it.

“We talked a bit about you and the situation with your relationship.”

“Uh-huh.” She doodled a bit on the edge of a piece of paper. Reagan shifted it slightly to the left, out of range. Marianne just settled back and watched her. Then, with a sigh, she added, “Am I supposed to be defensive about it? Reagan, you knew we were dating. He made the team on his own merit. I'm still here on
my
own merit. That's really all.”

“He said as much. And you don't have to feel defensive. I'm
not the one in charge of hiring or firing anyone.” Reagan blew at the hair that threatened to fall over her eyes. Why didn't her hair stay in its nice, professional chignon like it was supposed to? The women in the
Harvard Business Review
made their hair look effortlessly professional and grown-up. “But I still had to ask. I can't just stop doing my job. If there's a PR disaster or treasure trove, it's my job to find it and use it.”

“Well, there's neither. No treasure troves or disasters. We just want to date in peace.” Marianne propped one running shoe–clad foot on the corner of the coach's desk. “As long as that's clear.”

“It is.” Reagan debated it a moment, but then decided to try. “Wanna get drinks later?”

Marianne blinked in surprise. “I just gave you a snotty warning and you invite me to drinks? You have very weird responses.”

“I'm desperate,” Reagan said honestly.

“Well, in that case, sign me up!” Marianne said with a laugh.

Reagan's mouth dropped open when she realized what she'd said. “No! Oh, God no. That's not what I meant.” She let her forehead drop to the desk, lifted it and dropped it once more. “I'm awful at this.”

“If you're asking me out on a date, then I have to tell you, it's not going very well.”

Reagan tilted her head so she could look up with one eye. Marianne's amused face told her the trainer was kidding. “You're not my type.”

“Shame. Now why are you desperate?”

“I'm desperate for female company. Legit, intelligent female company. I still don't know my way around this town, I get lost on base anytime I have to go somewhere besides here, and I'm about eight states away from anyone I know.” She sighed and settled back, smoothing down her jacket. “Desperate.”

“Sounds like it.” With a gentle smile, Marianne stood and held out a hand. “Phone.”

Reagan handed it over without protest, knowing what the other woman was up to. “Call yourself or text yourself or something so you have my number, too.”

A few seconds later, a pocket low on Marianne's thigh began to sing. She pressed a button through the fabric of the sweats and shut the music off. “Got it. I already promised I'd go out with my friend Kara tonight—”

“Oh. Right, of course. Plans. You've got plans.” And here she was, horning in like a lost puppy, desperate for a belly scratch and a single word of praise. Would she ever get it right?

“But,” Marianne added, “we'd love to have you join us. Normally it's just us chilling at her place because she's got a son, but she sprung for a babysitter tonight. We're painting the town red.”

“Isn't it already red and gold everywhere around here?” Reagan asked, looking around Coach Ace's office. The predominant pair of colors were splashed all over. The Marine Corps colors were deeply embedded everywhere.

“Good point. Nevertheless, I officially invite you to join us out. I know what it's like being the new kid, and it's not always easy. So it's time to join the in crowd.”

“The in crowd, huh?” Reagan took her phone back from Marianne, feeling like she was being handed a lifeline. “That's you and your friend?”

Marianne
pffft
ed. “Who the hell knows? I'll text you the location, but be ready for questions. Kara and I are going to demand to know your life story from beginning to end.”

“Right. Life story. So that will take up five minutes. What will we do with the rest of the night?” She laughed when Marianne did, feeling more relaxed since the trainer had come into the room. “Thank you.”

“No prob. I'll see you later on tonight.” With a wave, the short woman disappeared into the gym. Not five seconds later, Reagan could hear her voice shouting, “No, Carmichael! You're going to blow out your elbow like that! I gave you a pamphlet on that last week!”

2

G
reg settled into what he officially referred to as his spot on Sweeney's couch. He'd just about broken in the end cushion to his liking. Lifting his beer, he saluted his two teammates. “Well done, men.”

Sweeney lifted his own bottle in return. Costa acknowledged it with a small tip of the water bottle.

“One beer, for crying out loud. Just one.” Greg took a sip of his own and gestured toward the kitchen. “Go get one. I'm begging you.”

Brad simply shook his head and capped his bottle. “I have my reasons.”

“If you reach for your phone to check it again, I'll sit on you and let Higgs toss it out in the front yard,” Sweeney warned as Costa reached into his pocket.

Costa's hand froze. “You know, I'm not sure why I agreed to be dragged out here tonight. We've got practice in the morning, our first
official
practice as a team. One might think you two would want to be rested up. We're the old ones out there. We have to keep up with the infants.”

“Speak for yourself. Everyone else has to keep up with
him
,” Sweeney said with a mock sneer for Greg. “Greased lightning asshole.”

“Jealous,” was all Greg said. “Don't reach for the phone. Don't be that guy.”

“You'll be sorry when I read you this text,” was all Costa said, and did it anyway. “Yup. Just like I thought. The ladies are ready to mingle.”

“Ladies?” Greg and Sweeney said at the same time. Both sat up. “Which ladies?” Greg added, not ready to get his hopes up yet.

“Yeah, because Cook is cute and all, but I heard a rumor she's spoken for,” Sweeney added, which earned him a half-hearted kick from Costa.

“She's on some girls' night crusade with her friend Kara and the liaison woman.”

“Yoga lady,” Sweeney breathed.

“No, Legs,” Greg corrected.

Costa looked at him, then at Sweeney and shook his head. “You're both right. Kara is the yoga and Pilates instructor, and ‘Legs,'” he added with air quotes, “I can only assume is the liaison lady. I can't remember her name.”

“Reagan,” Greg said automatically, then glanced between the other two men. “What? I had that interview with her today. You did, too. Weren't you paying attention?”

“Uh-huh.” Sounding unconvinced, Sweeney stood. “I'm one beer down, so you have to drive, Costa.” He tossed Brad the keys to his SUV. “Let's roll, gentlemen. There are ladies waiting.”

Brad joined him quickly. Greg waited a moment. He could stay here, or have them drop him off at the BOQ on the way.

But the thought of Reagan in those tight suits she wore, in those sweet heels that did impossibly sexy things to her legs, and what she might look like when she let her hair down off the clock had him jogging after them. “Wait up, I'm coming, too.”

*   *   *

“I'VE
missed this,” Reagan said, finishing off her drink. “Okay, not the martini, maybe. That was terrible.”

Kara and Marianne both laughed. “I warned you not to order anything they had to mix,” Marianne said with a grin. “This is strictly a bottle-or-tap sort of place.”

“And yet neither of you strike me as the brewski type,” Reagan said, setting down the martini glass and pushing it away. Lesson learned there. “So why pick here?”

“It's a hub for adorable men,” Kara said matter-of-factly. “In fact, Marianne's mom likes to come here and scope out the scenery a few times a week.”

Marianne simply rolled her eyes.

“Oh.” Reagan glanced around, but mostly only noticed Marines out of uniform. They were impossible to miss. The oldest male who wasn't with a woman looked like he would barely pass thirty. “Uh, how old is your mom again?”

“Old enough to drive me crazy,” Marianne muttered. “She's been happily married for almost thirty-five years, and yet, is still boy-crazy. But can we please not spend our girl time out talking about my mother of all people?”

“Yes, let's talk about the ever-adorable, slightly brooding Bradley Costa,” Kara said with a smirk. She sipped her beer with dainty movements that made Reagan think of a queen at high tea. “How are things with you?”

“Things are good. Great, actually.” Reaching for her own beer, Marianne froze and watched Reagan. “Sorry, is this weird? Hearing about one of the teammates and me, personally? I can stop if it's a conflict of interest or something.”

“No, not at all. As long as it's something I can use for media,” she added. Counting to three, she burst out laughing at the twin jaw-drops on Kara and Marianne's faces. “Oh, come on! I'm kidding.”

Marianne shook it off and grumbled, “I knew that.”

Kara just smiled serenely. “So how about you, Reagan?
Any guys waiting for you back in . . . where was it you said you were from again?”

“Wisconsin. And no, absolutely not. There was nothing for me back there.” And she meant that literally. “I mean, I had to come all this way just for this tiny job. Clearly, things were not happening in my hometown. Which works well for those who live there by choice. Me, not so much.”

“And this is your first job post college, right?”

Reagan nodded, flagging down the waitress to ask for a beer. “Yeah. I know I have to start at the ground floor, and frankly I'm glad I even got this job with zero work experience. But sometimes I think—”

“Hello, pretty ladies. Can we buy you a round?”

Marianne's eyes grew soft as she glanced over Reagan's shoulder. “Don't look now, ladies, but we're about to be invaded.”

Reagan glanced at Kara, who shrugged and scooted her chair over. If they didn't mind girls' night being invaded by a male, who was Reagan to argue? She was the outsider in this group.

But it wasn't just any male who slid into the chair beside Marianne. Brad Costa, Marianne's boyfriend, took the seat and draped an arm over the back of her chair in a proprietary, “This Is Mine” sign to any other men at the bar. The way he leaned over her while talking into her ear was about as obvious as if he'd whipped it out and peed on her to mark his territory.

The imagery both horrified Reagan and made her smother a chuckle, which ended up coming through as a snort that choked her a little. She coughed, then flew forward as a large hand thumped her on the back. Catching herself a half second before her chest flew into the table's edge, she barked out another cough to clear her throat. Glancing behind her, ready to give hell to whoever thought that was amusing, she found herself eye to eye with none other than Gregory “just Greg” Higgs.

“Sorry about that,” he said sincerely, sitting beside her. “Didn't mean to hit you so hard. I thought you were choking on an olive or something.”

There was no way to be mad at a guy who'd had noble intentions . . . even if she might be sore in the morning from his
help
. “It's okay. I'm fine.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then took his hand off her back. Was it her imagination, or had he grazed his fingertips across her shoulder?

Pull yourself together, Reagan. You're an adult, act like it. He was just being helpful.

Graham Sweeney—who Reagan only recognized because he was another of the main team leaders—sat down beside Kara, who scooted over a few more inches to give him space. If he noticed the subtle don't-touch-me vibe he didn't say so. Kara, for however sweet she was, definitely had the ability to put on her Cloak of Solitude when she wanted to.

“So what's everyone drinking?” Graham asked. Kara and Marianne immediately held up their beer bottles as Brad waved down their server.

“Did you want another martini?”

The question, so close to her ear, made Reagan shiver. His breath was warm, warmer even than the air in the bar. She turned to answer him, only to find Greg's face a mere two inches from hers. She could actually lick his lips right now without moving.

And again with the poor thoughts, Reagan.

She settled back in her chair and shook her head. “No, definitely not. That thing was . . .”

“Bad?” Marianne suggested.

“Horrible,” was Kara's offering.

“Lethal,” Reagan decided on. “Lethal, with a deadly aftertaste. I'll just have a diet Coke.”

“Driving home?” Greg asked as they gave their orders to the server, who jotted them down without a word and left the
same way. “We can drop you off if you want to grab another drink or two. I hear it's a special ladies' night out.”

“Of which it is no longer just ladies,” Kara said pointedly.

“Sorry,” Marianne said with a flushed smile. “I told him where we were and, well . . .” Brad nuzzled against her neck and whispered something in her ear, which made her smile grow and her flush deepen.

Greg snickered, Graham rolled his eyes, and Kara and Reagan chose to look at each other rather than the new lovebirds. Kara's lips rolled in, as if trying to keep from smiling.

Of course they wanted to spend time with each other. If Reagan had a boyfriend as cute as Brad, she'd be with him, too.

Brad's phone rang, and he reached into his pocket for it. Graham booed, and Greg threw a napkin. “We just got here, man. Put it away.”

“Could be important.”

“Could be his mom,” Graham said with a grin. “Tell her I said hi.”

“You know his mom?” Kara asked, surprised as she turned to Graham.

“No, but that's not the point. It's just a thing.” Graham started to say something else, then froze as he watched Brad's face turn from jovial to grim. “Hold on, looks like we've got a problem. What's up, man?”

“Jesus H.,” Brad muttered. “Someone slashed Tressler's tires outside his barracks.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “And according to him, his wasn't the only one hit. Two of your guys got slashed too, Sweeney.”

“Any of mine?” Greg asked, standing beside Reagan.

“Didn't say so, but who knows? Let's head out there and see what's up.” Brad went to the bar to grab their tabs.

“Looks like it's back to ladies' night,” Graham said with a shrug. “Sorry for busting in and running out again.” He bent down to give Marianne a kiss on the cheek, then waved to Reagan. For Kara, he tipped his head, then headed for his car.

“I'll go pay my tab and be right there.” Reagan stood.

Greg grabbed her elbow, stopping her from moving. “There's no need for you ladies to call it quits. Stay.”

“If it concerns the team, it concerns me. Maybe it's nothing, but with everything else that's gone on, I want to make sure of it.” She gave his grip a pointed look, and he released her. She took two steps, then turned back around. “Uh, where exactly are the barracks on base again?”

Marianne laughed. Kara groaned. Brad came back to give Marianne a quick kiss. “You can follow us, if you want,” he added to Reagan.

She bit her lip. “I just have to pay the tab and I'll meet you outside.”

He nodded and followed Sweeney out.

She waited for Greg to go, but he didn't. Instead, he followed her to the bar while she paid for her one drink and left a tip. Finally, when he stalked her out to the parking lot, she halted by her car door. It occurred to her then, as he pressed in close to her side, that she was almost an inch taller than him in her heels. “What? Why are you playing the creeper game?”

The corner of his lips twitched, but he gave her a serious look. “Know where you're going?”

“I'm following you, I guess. Past that, I'm pretty much clueless.”

“Okay then.” He went to open her car for her as soon as she'd hit the unlock button, waited for her to slide in, then jogged around to the other side and got into the passenger seat.

“Uh, hi?” Reagan stared at him. “Going somewhere?”

“You don't know where you're going, it's dark, and you could easily lose Brad driving Sweeney's SUV. So I'll just ride with you and make sure you get there okay.”

She glared at him a moment. “Purely out of the goodness of your own heart, huh?”

He held his hands up, a boyishly innocent face on. “Hey, I'm a civil servant, what can I say?”

Right. She twisted to put her purse in the back, recoiling a little when her breasts brushed against his biceps. Her car was small—read: affordable—and he was, well, he wasn't the biggest guy but he was still an imposing male. Plus, her boobs were larger than the average woman's, so this had all the hallmarks of a disaster.

“Just head for the main gate—you know where the main gate is, right?”

She shot him a look that warned him to lock down the idiotic comments ASAP.

Smart man that he was, he heeded the call. “Get to the main gate and then we'll go from there. Shouldn't take us more than ten minutes, fifteen if there's weird traffic.”

“The back gate isn't anywhere close to here, is it?” she asked as she pulled into reverse and backed out of the parking spot.

“Not even remotely.”

“So why is this bar called the Back Gate if we're so close to the front gate?”

“Someone's idea of a joke, I guess.”

“Some joke.”

“No kidding.”

*   *   *

GREG'S
nerves were on high alert and had been since the second he'd ever-so-smoothly thumped Reagan's back. That delightful move had earned him the Dumbass of the Night award. And the hits just kept on coming. But fate had thrown him a bone and given him a very good reason to get the luscious Reagan Robilard alone in her car.

“Just keep driving straight now,” he said as they pulled through the main gate and past the sentry.

“There's nowhere to go but straight,” she pointed out.

“Could turn right here for the hospital.”

“I don't want that,” she said, her voice tight.