Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3) (3 page)

“Now that we've got our rides here to take our wine-soaked butts home, we're going to take off.” Reagan stood, holding a hand out to Greg. When he raised both brows, she shook the hand, insisting.

“We just got here. Don't we at least get some cheese and crackers?” Brad asked. Marianne reached over, grabbed a cracker and shoved it in his mouth.

“And that's all, folks. See y'all at practice tomorrow morning, bright and early!” Marianne kissed the top of Kara's head as they passed. “Don't get up, we'll let ourselves out.”

“But you—” The door snapped shut before she could even get out her sentence. “Wow. They're in a hurry,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“They've got someone to keep them company tonight. I can't blame them.” When Kara glanced at him, he shrugged. Then he stood and started gathering oranges into the basket they'd come from.

“You don't have to pick those up. I can do it.” She reached for it, but he kept it out of reach. “Really, Graham, you should get going. I'm sure you've got plans.”

“I have nothing. It's a school night,” he added with a smile over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. He pitched the oranges and set the basket by the sink. “Do you mind if I get a glass of water?”

“Sure thing,” she called from the living room. He heard the jumble of EpiPens and knew she was putting them all away safely. “Glasses are in the cabinet beside the sink.”

He opened the one to the right, and came face to face with a mini pharmacy. It took him a moment to catch his breath after seeing the medications. He hoped some were just for emergencies, and not all for daily use. He couldn't imagine Zach having to take that much regularly. He was a tough, smart kid, but even tough kids had limits.

Closing the cabinet quietly, he opened the right one and got water from the filter pitcher in the refrigerator. He carried it back to the living room and settled into the armchair. She'd want him to go, and he was fully prepared to miss all her subtle hints. He was about to be rude, on purpose, for the first time in his adult life.

“I'm sure you've got things to do.”

Hint number one to get out. “I'm free.”

“Really, I don't want to keep you.”

Hint number two. “It was no problem. I'm glad I know about it now.” He grinned when her hand clenched around the edge of the coffee table.

“I appreciate you coming by.” Her voice was firm, but her hands shook a little as she started to sweep crumbs onto the platter. She wouldn't make eye contact. “Zach adores all you guys, and you taking an interest in his medical needs says a lot. Not every adult in his life cares enough to bother.”

“Then they're assholes.” Graham took a calm sip of water as her head snapped up. “He's got allergies, that's all. It's changing a few ingredients to a recipe here or there. Buying a different brand of food, or keeping an eye on the utensils. It's not the end of the world, far as I can tell from reading your blog.”

She sat back on her heels. “You really did read it.”

Hell yeah, I read it. I want you. I've wanted you for weeks. And I'll use everything at my disposal to get to know you.

All he said was, “Yep. It's a good blog, lots of easy-to-understand info. You could really make that a full-time gig.”

She blushed, then continued scraping off the totally clean coffee table. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Why do I make you nervous?”

She jolted, as if he'd touched her with a hot poker instead of just asking her a question. “I'm not nervous,” she lied, not making eye contact. “That's ridiculous.”

“You're cleaning the coffee table instead of looking at me. You've been trying to push me out the door since I got
here. And you don't want to be alone with me. Why? What is it about me that freaks you out?”

“I'm not freaked out by you.” She stood and gave him her back as she walked to the trash can with cupped palms and dusted the crumbs into the trash can. “I'm just not sure being alone like this is wise. Nothing can happen, and I don't want to accidentally encourage you, so . . .” She looked back at him, hands in the air in defeat. Her eyes were sad, like she regretted it more than she could voice.

“Kara.” He spoke softly, and she instinctively walked to him on bare feet. “Kara, nothing
has
happened. I'm trying not to push you.”

“I know that. And I appreciate it.” She halted a foot away. “More than you know.”

“But at this speed, we might make it to our first date when we're eligible for the early bird special. I like you. I hate games, so I'm telling you now, I like you.”

There. Cards laid out. He wasn't kidding. Games were the worst. He watched game players all day in his office, and he did everything he could to avoid the bullshit in his personal life.

She swallowed, and he took a half step toward her. Closing the gap slowly enough she could move back if she needed to. But she didn't move back, only tilted her head up slightly to look at him. “Graham . . .”

His lips quirked. “Kara.”

“Graham.” Her voice had softened, almost to a slur, and her eyelids closed a fraction. “I—my phone.”

He hadn't even heard it ring, he was so lost. “Get it later.”

“I can't. Zach. Zach's with a friend.” She patted the pockets of her jean shorts, did quick spins in place looking frantically for the still ringing phone. “Phone! Where's my phone!”

“Here.” He found it on the floor beside the leg of the table and handed it to her just as it stopped ringing. He waited while she checked the call, then immediately called them back.

“Stacy? Hey, sorry, couldn't find my phone. Is Zach okay?” She placed a hand to her heart, and Graham dug in his pocket to get his keys ready to roll. If something happened with Zach, he'd be driving her there. No way could she drive if she was panicked about her son.

After a few moments, Kara sagged a bit, shoulders drooping. Her eyes closed and she let out a sigh. “Yeah, definitely. Oreos are one of his main food groups. No, it's fine, I'm glad you called. You know the deal . . . any questions, always call. I hope the boys are having fun. Sure, I'll say good night to him.”

Sensing the call was coming to a close, and there was no immediate crisis, Graham decided to give her some privacy. He headed for the door, but as he opened it, he felt her hand on his back.

As he turned around, she leaned forward and gave him a quick hug, phone still up to her ear, then stepped back, out of reach. He smiled slightly, then waved and stepped out just as she said, “Hey, Zach, you doing okay?”

It wasn't quite how he'd envisioned the evening ending . . . but the spontaneous hug, started by her, would tide him over. For now.

3

T
uesday morning brought yoga and Marines. Tuesdays were good days. Kara walked in early to the training room, ready for muffins and Marianne time, and stopped short as she caught Nikki, one of Marianne's trainers, with her butt in the air and her head stuck under the ice machine. Her skintight khaki shorts looked like they were painted on as she wriggled and scooted around.

Kara cleared her throat, heard a muffled, feminine curse, then Nikki emerged from under the machine. Her dark blond hair was pulled back into a messy bun, but not of the fashionably messy variety. There were smudges under her eyes, and her polo had dust on it. The girl was a mess.

“Hi.” She stuck her hands behind her back and rocked back on her heels, looking younger than her early twenties, as Kara knew her to be. She looked like Zach when he'd been caught in the act and wasn't ready to fess up yet. “Marianne's not here yet. Did you need something?”

“Hmm.” She couldn't say what, but something wasn't quite
right. Instead of backing out and waiting for Marianne in the more open gym, Kara let her bag hit the desk chair and settled the muffin basket on the desk. “I'll just wait in here.”

“Oh, but . . . I'm cleaning.” As if struck by sudden inspiration, Nikki's baby blue eyes lit with excitement. “I'm cleaning, and the smell . . . you don't want to sit in here with it. It'll ruin the taste of your muffins later.”

Kara sniffed delicately. Smelled just like it always did in the mornings before the sweaty Marines invaded the room. Like faded cleanser and plastic. Not the most delightful scent in the world, but not the worst. “I'll be okay. Just do whatever you need to.”

Nikki's eyes looked a little panicked, and she searched around before grabbing a rag and dry-wiping down the wall beside the ice machine. Kara huffed quietly and sat on one of the exam tables. She let her clogs clatter to the linoleum floor and stretched out, reaching her toes and holding. There was almost nothing a good stretch and some deep breathing couldn't solve, as far as she was concerned.

Okay, so stretching and breathing hadn't managed to solve her unfortunate, but unwaning yearning for one specific Marine boxer. But that's why vibrators and batteries had been invented.

Nikki continued to clean the same exact spot on the wall, without moving. Kara wondered what her motivation for being in the gym so early was. She could have been searching for a lost earring from the day before. Maybe they were her grandmother's and very precious.

Kara did her best not to scoff, even in her own head. More like she lost some cheap earring the night before after trying to climb on the lap of some unsuspecting Marine. The men, she gave them credit, all did their best to avoid giving her the wrong idea. But the young trainer-to-be seemed bound and determined to snag a Marine. Any of them. Pickiness was not in her personal dictionary.

“Hey,” Marianne said, running in on a dash. If she were a cartoon character, there would be dust clouds billowing in her wake. “Sorry I'm late. Brad slept over, which he doesn't always do, especially not when I've got to get here early, and before I could get out of bed he—”

“Hey, Marianne!” Kara said loudly. “Look who's here early! Nikki!”

Marianne froze midstep, then looked around wildly. Her ice blond hair swirled around her shoulders, not yet pulled up in its typical ponytail. “Wha . . . oh. Nikki . . . what are you doing here so early?”

“Cleaning,” came the curt reply. The woman turned and tossed the rag in a bin. “Why is that so weird?”

“It's weird because—never mind.” Marianne cut herself off and let her tote bag drop on her desk chair beside Kara's. “We've got an hour or so before you need to be back. Why don't you go grab a donut and coffee at the Dunkin' Donuts on Mainside.”

“I don't want a donut,” she said, sounding to Kara like a snotty brat.

“Let's try this again.” With a deep breath, and the patience of a saint, Marianne calmly said, “I want some privacy in my training room for the moment. You need to head out for a while. You can come back at your regularly scheduled time.”

“You've let Levi come in early before,” she said, looking a little hurt. Kara tried to feel some form of sympathy, but the young woman made it difficult.

“I've asked Levi to come in for a specific project where I needed an extra pair of hands. Right now, I'm about to have a meeting in my office, in which I need privacy. You're excused,” she snapped when Nikki opened her mouth again, likely to argue. “I'll see you in an hour.”

Nikki flounced, yes, flounced, out the door, grabbing her knockoff designer purse from the hook behind the door before she left. The door slammed shut behind her.

“God, she's insufferable. How the hell have you not sent her back yet?”

“She's twenty-one. We were all insufferable then. Well, maybe not you,” she conceded when Kara raised a brow. “But you had a three-year-old. Hard to be insufferable when you're responsible for another human life. She's immature. She'll either grow out of it, or life will slap her back hard. She'll figure it out.”

“Maybe slapping her now is the answer.” Kara grinned as Marianne handed her a muffin from the basket. “I mean, metaphorically.”

“Of course you do,” Marianne said, then took a bite of her own muffin. “You're not in a very Zen place today. What's going on with you?”

“I nearly kissed Graham.” Picking at the paper from the muffin, she didn't look up. She believed in honesty, especially with those closest to you. But she also believed you didn't have to make it harder on yourself than necessary. Right now, staring at her muffin made it easier. “The night you came over for the EpiPen demo. You left, he stayed, and . . .”

Marianne said nothing, and Kara felt an odd need to fill in the silence.

“It's not my fault. He's just standing there so, so . . . male. And caring, and he seems to really like Zach, and he's, you know, well, he looks like how he looks and . . .” The muffin crumbled on top of the exam bench, and Kara knew Marianne was listening intently, if she didn't scold for the crumbs on her pristine work space. “I don't know.”

“First off . . .” When Marianne didn't continue, Kara finally looked up cautiously. Her friend's face was serious. “First off, crumbs.”

Kara grinned. She couldn't help it.

“Secondly, hell yeah, you should have kissed him. What stopped you?”

“A call from Matt's mother. Matt was the friend Zach
was staying with.” When Marianne nodded in understanding, she added, “He was fine. Just a question on snack food. But it definitely derailed the whole thing. And thank God,” she added, wondering why her friend wasn't equally shocked by the entire ordeal. The silence meeting that statement was deafening. “Because it would have been a disaster.”

“You forgot how to kiss?” Marianne smiled. “It's pretty easy. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to spend an hour or three practicing with you.”

Kara held up a piece of muffin over the edge of the table, just waiting for a good reason to drop it on her friend's pristine floor.

“Okay, okay! Put the muffin down. Asshole.”

“Jerkface,” Kara shot back, very maturely, from the ease of long friendship.

“Come on, Kara. He's into you. He's an awesome guy. He's insane to look at, with all those bronze muscles and that dark hair. And you know how, even if he's shaved like, ten minutes ago, he still looks like he's got stubble? And those eyes . . .” Marianne sighed.

“Uh, remember Brad? The Marine you chose? And love? And are probably going to marry and make babies with?”

Marianne shook her head a little, as if coming out of a dream. “I'm taken, not blind. The guy's seriously hot. And he's awesome to boot. How many men are there in the world that have both the looks and the personality to match, with the added bonus of intelligence? Five?”

“And you and Reagan got two of them. Very unsporting.”

“I know.” Smug with it, Marianne took another bite of her muffin. “You really should sell these things, you know. They're actually good, as compared to some of those other allergen-free mixes we've tried.”

“Owning my own kitchen and distribution and the start-up costs . . .” Kara sighed. She'd looked into it. Nearly ten years of baking and cooking for her allergic-to-everything son had
taught her enough tricks of the trade that she could make most things palatable. Sadly, she knew they would never compete with the real deal, but as far as substitutions went, it was acceptable.

“You should at least create a cookbook. That's an almost zero startup cost. If you can't get it published, you could make one. Self-publish it. You've got such a huge blog following, they'd totally be behind you.”

Somehow, that one hadn't pinged her radar. “Hmm.” She broke off another piece and ate it thoughtfully. “Maybe. It's just that teaching and the blog and keeping up with Zach's schedule really keeps me so busy, it's hard to justify the additional time. I have to sleep at some point.”

“Sleep is overrated.” Brad walked in, waving to Kara and bending down to press a kiss to the top of Marianne's head. He made his way to the ice machine, well familiar with the routine by now, tossing his knee brace on the table next to Kara's.

“So you proved this morning with my wake-up call,” Marianne said, a gleam in her eye.

“Ew. No. Stop.” Kara covered her ears with her wrists—her fingers were too crumby—and hummed. “You two can't do that crap with an audience. It should be illegal.”

“She's jealous,” Marianne yelled at Brad, clearly for Kara's benefit. “She could be getting some but she's being
stubborn
about it.”

Kara flipped her off, then hopped down off the table. “I'm setting up early and stretching. In the gym. In private. With no wisecracks from you. Brad,” she added as she grabbed her tote from behind Marianne's back, “you've got your hands full with this one. Good luck.”She grinned as her friend flopped a little with the force.

“I'll need it,” he agreed as he settled the ice bag over his knee. Marianne growled and stood, probably to punch him in the arm. Kara left before she could get caught in the middle.

*   *   *

GRAHAM
entered the gym with sweating palms. It was yoga day, which translated in his mind to Kara Day. Capital letters, because it was that important. He scanned quickly for Zach, but reminded himself that wasn't to be expected. It was enough that she was here.

Reagan clacked in behind him. He knew it was her before he turned around. The heels she wore habitually were unlike any other sound in the sweltering, dark gym. “Good morning, Graham. You're a bit early.”

“Extra yoga practice.” He flashed her a grin when she smiled. “You're here early,” he shot back at her.

“Extra . . . never mind.” Her smile turned a bit sly, and he shook his head and walked toward the pile of mats Kara had brought out from the storage room. He grabbed one and found her face down, arms at her side, doing a good imitation of a plank of wood on her own personalized mat.

“Hey.”

Her back moved, a sign of her breathing, but she said nothing. Assuming she was deep in some trance, he left her to it and rolled out his own mat in the front. He normally preferred the back, because the more distance he created from Kara, the easier it was to watch her without her noticing. The easier it was to keep his hands to himself.

But, despite no longer being in charge of a mini platoon of Marines trying out for the team, he knew he should be in front. Yoga wasn't his thing . . . in fact, he sucked at it. But he still wanted to be a leader to the younger guys. Being one of the oldest meant he assumed the responsibility of being a good example. A task that wasn't all that difficult, under normal circumstances. He'd lost his wild edge years ago.

That long lost wild edge seemed to flare back to life anytime he caught Kara in a compromising position . . . yoga-related or otherwise. As she breathed deeply enough
for him to hear, and rose her torso up from the mat, palms flat, arching her back, he bit back a moan. The position thrust her breasts forward, and the look on her face, eyes closed and serene, was akin to the look of a woman after a good, satisfying lovemaking session.

He'd be fighting a semi for the rest of practice at this rate.

The sigh of relief as she rotated her hips back and sank into Child's Pose—and wasn't it a kick he knew what it was called—made him smile. Then she rolled up, graceful as an otter in the water, and gave him a small smile of her own. “Hey. Sorry I didn't answer you earlier. I wasn't quite ready to move on yet.”

“No rush.” Except he felt the rush inside him, pushing him to move faster. It was like having a hive of bees rolling inside his skin, pushing every direction, and mostly toward her.

“How are you?” she asked, brushing her hands off and sitting cross-legged to fix her ponytail, which didn't look like it needed fixing to him.

So they were really going to play the Nothing Happened game. Fine. He could play for now. “Good. Great. Getting ready to morph into another scrimmage match this weekend. What are your plans for the week?”

“Nothing, really.” She twisted, pulled and secured until her hair was in a silky bun at the top of her head. Having watched her work before, he knew it wouldn't be long into their yoga session before strands were falling down around her temples, framing her heart-shaped face. It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. “Relaxing with Zach, for the most part. New school year means I'm at the ready for problems.”

“He's a great kid. I'm sure there aren't too many problems.” He heard a short bark, almost like a yell, but ignored it. “Maybe this weekend you could bring Zach to catch the match. We're just competing against the local Lejeune team. No travel.”