Against the Ropes

by Jeanette Murray

  “Which you won’t be,” Kara added firmly.

  “You can’t know that.” God, she was being so damn sulky. But it felt just a little good . . .

  “I can be positive. It costs nothing and is scientifically proven to jump-start your metabolism and creativity. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, I’m just adding bitchy to my pity party attitude. I have one more drink to shake it off, apparently, so I’m going hog wild.”

  “Go for it.” Marianne tapped her glass with Reagan’s in a ‘cheers’ gesture and sipped. “My mom is fantastic at pity parties. I remember when I got my first period, and I felt like shit.”

  Both Kara and Reagan groaned in remembered pain.

  “So while I was taking a nap with a heating pad, she decorated the kitchen table with pads and tampons—did you know tampons can make a pretty impressive garland?—and when I woke up she had made red Kool-Aid and cookies with strawberry jam on them for snacks.”

  Kara grinned.

  Reagan recoiled. “That sounds horrifying.”

  “It was, for about seven seconds. Then I laughed. What the hell else was I gonna do? I still had my period, but I could laugh about it.” Marianne nodded. “Moral of the story . . . be able to laugh. It really cuts the party short and helps you move on with life with a better outlook.”

  “I wasn’t done with my second drink,” Reagan said, but she felt her lips curve in a ghost of a smile. “But thanks.”

  “Are we ignoring that you bypassed the whole ‘How I Feel About Greg’ essay? Because I, for one, have not.” Kara waved her hand in a come-on ’gesture. “Let’s hear it.”

  “So . . . I’m in love.” When the other two women sighed, she added, “Don’t get all gooey on me. I’m not even sure if I like it.”

  “You’ll love it,” Marianne said with confidence. “And if you don’t, then just wait five minutes. Kind of like the weather in the Midwest, I hear. Love constantly changes at the drop of a hat. One minute you’re ready to tackle the guy because you can’t keep your hands off him and you want to kiss him all the time, and then the next you’re ready to beat him with a sock of oranges until he apologizes for implying you suck at cooking.”

  “But you do suck at cooking,” Kara said.

  “He’s not supposed to say that, though.” Marianne rolled her eyes. “The point is, if you’re in love, it’s a good thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the moment. Give it a few minutes and you’ll have a new perspective on the whole thing. It’s ever-changing.”

  “That sounds like the world’s worst roller coaster,” Reagan grumbled.

  “It is,” both Kara and Marianne said in unison.

  * * *

  “SO, men, what’s first on the list of videos?” Greg settled into the couch and propped his feet up on Graham’s coffee table, a beer in his hand and a plate of finger foods on his stomach.

  Zach eyed him warily. “You’re not supposed to do that.”

  “What?” Greg looked around, found nothing wrong.

  “Put your feet on the coffee table. It scuffs the wood.”

  “Zach, my man.” Graham handed him a water and a bag of unopened Oreos. “You’re in a man’s house now. We scratch, we belch, we fart, and we put our feet on the furniture.”

  “It’s as God intended,” Greg agreed.

  “Don’t listen to these idiots.” Brad settled himself in the corner of the couch, his beer on a coaster and his feet firmly on the floor. “If your mom says to keep your feet off the furniture, do it.”

  “Fun vampire,” Greg muttered. Then he watched as Zach tore the Oreo package open. “Are you supposed to have those? Should we call your mom first?”

  Zach glared at him and popped one in his mouth, as if to show him exactly what he thought of Greg’s plan to tattle.

  “It’s all good.” Graham smiled and toasted their young guest with his own bottle of water. “I got them because I saw them in Kara’s pantry. She wouldn’t stock anything he couldn’t eat or drink.”

  “Except the alcohol. She’s got a lot of wine,” Zach said, so easily and with the ringing endorsement of innocence behind it. Greg nearly spit his beer out laughing. “What? She does. But I couldn’t have that even without my allergies.”

  “Good call,” Brad said easily. “First video, we’ve got some video from our scrimmage at Paris Island. I really want to pick up some additional notes on . . .”

  Greg tuned him out. He just wanted to watch some damn good boxing, eat some good food, drink a beer or two and bask in being with friends outside of practice.

  As they watched, Brad asked casually, “So how’s Reagan doing?”

  “Stressed.” Without taking his eyes off the screen, he reached for his beer. “Why?”

  “Just thought maybe you two were taking it up a notch, what with you two spending the night together the last few nights.”

  Greg did choke on his beer this time, and he reached for a paper towel from the roll Graham had set on the coffee table. “What the . . . how did you know that?”

  “You weren’t in our room last night.”

  “But on the road, we were in separate rooms.” He had a sinking suspicion. “Does everyone know?”

  “No.” Brad shook his head. “I knocked on your door to ask you a question the other night and you were conveniently missing. Then you and Reagan showed up within minutes of each other at the bus the next morning and . . .” He lifted one shoulder. “I put two and two together.”

  “Guys.” Graham motioned to Zach, who was staring at them with wide-eyed fascination. “Maybe we could leave the girlfriend chatter for when the runt is home?”

  “I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I know adults hang out and stuff.”

  “Oh, really?” Smiling now, Greg settled back. “We hang out?”

  Graham shot him a look that warned him not to take it too far. As if Greg were that big of an asshole. He knew when something was over a ten-year-old’s head.

  “Yeah.” Zach nodded wisely. “Grown up guys and girls hang out. It’s just what they do.”

  “But not ten-year-old guys and girls,” Greg teased, and watched Zach blush and stare intensely at his Oreo.

  “The video is still on,” Brad said mildly. “In case any of you actually care.”

  Graham and Greg looked at each other, grinned and said, “Nah.”

  * * *

  REAGAN opened her door, relieved to find Greg there. As much as she had needed the girl time to drink cocktails, bitch, complain and generally get the worst of the day out of her system, there was something about having Greg nearby that settled and soothed her more than an entire vat of cocktails could.

  Greg’s large hand cupped the back of her neck and he pulled her in for a seriously heated kiss. One that melted her memory and erased the day’s stresses.

  So he could settle and soothe, but he could also frazzle and ignite. Point made.

  “Missed you today,” he breathed as he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “Practice wasn’t the same without you clacking around the gym in those heels of yours. Where were you all day?”

  She started to answer honestly then closed her mouth. It wasn’t something she wanted to relive again, for the third time.

  She swatted at his arm and closed the door behind him. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Which explained why she was wearing a pair of ripped sweatpants and a loose, see-through ribbed cotton tank. She could have done a little better with some advance warning.

  “Missed you,” he reiterated, toeing off his running shoes. “Hanging with the guys is nice, even with a half-sized man-cub in the mix, but this is where I want to end the evening.”

  The simple statement, made effortlessly as he moved to her kitchen to get a bottle of water, warmed her even more than that kiss had. “How was hanging with Zach?”

  “Interesting. I don’t have much experience with little kids, so that was different. Sweeney guarded him like a hawk. Seriously, he had his pan
try stocked with enough Oreos to feed a platoon. He’s crazy about that kid.”

  “Aww.” She debated for a moment sharing what Kara had said about there being no chance with Graham, but she figured that was Kara’s battle to fight. Or not fight. Personally, as much as she respected and admired Kara’s independence and willingness to make it on her own, Reagan was secretly pulling for Graham on this one.

  “But he’s ten, and smart, so not completely green.” Greg grinned as he sat on her couch. “I got quite the lesson in dating.”

  “Oh, really?” Reagan straddled his legs and settled herself on his lap. Thanks to their near-identical height, her face was a few inches above his, and she had to look down to smile at him. “Share the wealth, please.”

  “Well . . .” Greg set the bottle down on her side table, careful to use the coaster she’d placed there, and ran his hands up from her hips under her shirt to press against her back. She leaned against him. “I’ve learned that guys and girls ‘hang out.’ That’s what we’re doing. Hanging out. Adults, of course. Kids don’t do this sort of thing.”

  “Naturally.” She breathed in the comforting scent of his skin and nuzzled against his neck.

  “Ah, woman. Your nose is freezing.” He pulled away a little, but she pressed harder into him.

  “Tell me about your family.”

  He stiffened under her, but she pressed a kiss to his jaw. It hadn’t escaped her that he’d fought off questions about his past before. But things were different now. It wasn’t like she needed him to spill all his deep, dark secrets. She just needed something—anything—to tell her she was important enough to open up to, even if it was crack by crack.

  He said nothing, and she felt his hands start to drift from her back. “You said you don’t have experience with kids . . . no nieces and nephews?”

  “Why are we talking about kids when I’ve got my hands on your skin?” he growled, kissing her hard.

  But she couldn’t let him get away with it this time. It was too important to her now. “Just something. Anything.”

  His hands gripped her hips, thumbs sweeping down below the waistband of her ratty sweats. “My life started at seventeen, the day I stepped onto that bus on the way to boot camp. Can you accept that?”

  She could have pushed. Probably should have. Relationship experts would have said she was a pushover. But the desperation in his voice, hidden under a thin layer of steel meant to armor, squeezed at her heart the way no amount of deflection could have.

  She smoothed a hand down his cheek, cupping his face with her palms. “Sounds like we both ran from something.”

  “So let’s start running to something.” He captured her lips with his.

  CHAPTER

  21

  His initial instinct had been to avoid. Distract, duck, evade and maneuver his way out of the conversation that led to him confessing his entire ugly childhood. He didn’t want to go there willingly.

  But as Reagan deepened the kiss, pressing into him, his motive turned from distraction to . . . oh, who the hell cared what his motives were? There was a smoking hot woman on his lap and she was kissing him senseless. Motives be damned.

  “God, you do the best things to my body,” she said, gasping when he nipped at her ear. And when she started to pull the tank up and over her head, she was grinning. She threw the fabric to the armchair and arched her back as he took one nipple into his mouth. His hands rubbed down her bare back, loving the feel of her soft, smooth skin. The arc of her body was almost artistic as she rested her hands on his knees behind her.

  He was crazy for this woman.

  Slipping one hand inside the waistband of her sweats, he squeezed her ass. No panties. Perfect. She wriggled, but made no move to help him out with the sweatpants like she had the tank. So, he’d just do it himself. He walked that hand, those fingers, around to the front, where she giggled as he pressed into her stomach momentarily before finding her center. Parting her, he found the exact spot he wanted by touch alone and rubbed at her clit.

  “Oh . . .” She rubbed against his hand. “Yes, please yes.”

  “Like I’d say no to you,” he growled, moving to pay attention to her other breast. Her hands squeezed hard on his knees in response. She was still arched back, offering herself to him in every way possible.

  After just a few flicks, a couple of caresses, she exploded against his hand. Her body raised up and then over him, pressing him deeper into the couch as he helped extend her orgasm as long as he could. Thighs pressed against thighs, skin against skin, and he was ready to throw her down, rip her pants off and plunge into her with all the grace and elegance of a water buffalo.

  But she finally stilled, gripped his wrist to pull his hand from the waistband of her sweats, and climbed off with a secret smile. “Come to bed.”

  “What’s wrong with the couch?” he protested, following along easily. He liked a bed as much as anyone else, but there were other ways to make love. Creativity and variety added a dash of something else to the mix.

  “It’s a nice couch, and I paid good money for it, that’s why.” She grinned as she entered her bedroom, then hopped out of her bottoms. “The bed’s more comfortable, and less likely to be wrecked when I attack you.”

  “Attack me, eh?” He pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed it, working on the buckle of his belt before she could say more. “Sounds exciting.”

  “Hopefully.” She chewed on her bottom lip a moment, and he immediately dropped what he was doing and walked to her.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I can’t wait to have you again. Whether it’s slow and sweet or fast and sweaty, I’m going to be inside you in the next two minutes, and it’s going to be damn good. Because it’s with you, and there’s no other way for it to be.”

  Her eyes closed briefly, and he wasn’t sure if she were composing herself or convincing herself. But either way, when her eyelids lifted, it was determination and anticipation he saw in those beautiful brown depths, not trepidation.

  Picking her up with a squeal, he tossed her on the bed and jumped on top of her. He reached into her nightstand and fished around for one of the condoms they’d thrown in there the evening before. Then he stood, shucked his jeans and donned the protection. He slithered back on bed and rolled them so she was on top, straddling him.

  “Off you go.”

  She glared at him. “Off I go? What, like I’m a racehorse now?”

  “No,” he said slowly, enjoying himself more than he could ever remember before. “But I’d been ready for some girl-on-top sex on the couch, and you deprived me of it. I think it’s only fair you make up for it now.”

  Her scowl was adorable, and totally unbelievable. “Make up for it, hmm?” Grasping him with her hand, she squeezed once, and he swore he saw stars behind his eyelids. “You want me on top, riding you, like we were on the couch? You want me to do all the work, so you can watch me bounce around?”

  “Yes, please.” He grinned when her annoyed look only darkened further. “Bounce away!”

  She positioned herself over him, slid down his length, taking him entirely. He moaned, knowing she liked the sound of reassurance. “There we go. God, that’s good. You’re amazing, Reagan.”

  She huffed.

  “A goddess. Temptress.” She pulsed around him without moving a muscle. “Ah . . . siren. Pick a noun, it’s yours.”

  She rocked, just a little. “Let’s try tease.”

  His eyes flew open. “No, please. Back to goddess. That was a good one.” When she simply stared at him, unmoving, he added, “Reagan, please move.”

  “I’m not in a very bouncing mood currently. But maybe just a little . . .” She squeezed and rolled an inch. The smile she shot him was sharp. “You did say you wanted me to do all the work. Me on top, riding you. I get to pick the pace. Girl on Top’s prerogative.”

  “Dammit!” He swore, then reached up and pulled her down for a kiss. She complied easily, meeting his thrusting tongue. But her
hips stayed irritatingly still, minus little pulses just random enough in tempo to keep him guessing.

  “C’mon baby,” he whispered as he worked down her jaw to her neck. “You can pick the speed—” He gritted his teeth when she pulsed around him, rolling forward and back quickly before stopping with a cheeky grin. “You can pick the motion, anything.” His hands glided over the smoothness of her spine, around her hips, to where they were joined. She sucked in a breath, but stayed stubborn. “Maybe this will help?”

  He fought for his most contrite look when she reared back and glared at him. But as his fingers played through her intimate curls, then found and played with her folds, her eyes closed as if in unbelievable pleasure. He removed his hand, and her hips rocked forward to find his fingers once more. He did it again, playing for a moment then removing, and she moved without thinking, seeking his touch. Then her eyes popped open, aware of the game he played.

  “You suck,” she bit out, thrusting again. “You suck so bad.”

  “But you like it.” He grasped her hips, pulled her hip a bit, then let her naturally slide back down. Their twin groans were in harmony. “Let’s do this, Reagan.”

  As if those words unlocked her willingness, she started to move. Slow at first, then gradually picking up steam. Relief at finally having a pace he could match, could anticipate was quickly covered by the realization he was going to come way faster than her.

  Those little pulses and quick thrusts, frustrating as they were, had done a number on him.

  “Not so fast,” he muttered, finding her clit once more with his thumb.

  “You wanted fast. You begged for fast.” She let the motion of their hips rock her, and she arched back, face tilted to the ceiling. She was a goddess. “Now you want me to slow down?”

  “No, I . . . forget it.” He pinched her between two fingers. From the way she tightened around him, he’d found what she wanted. “You do whatever you want, baby. Your show.”

  “You say that now, after you manipulated me to—oh!” She shot up straight as an arrow, looking down at him. “Do that again.”