Against the Ropes

by Jeanette Murray

  She felt his fingers push a strand of hair behind her ear. “You believed it wasn’t me, even after hearing my past. So I’m guessing, even though you might not like me very much right now, you love me, too.”

  “You suck,” she whispered. “I was supposed to say it.”

  He gently pried her hands away from her eyes. She probably looked like a red-eyed wreck, but he smiled and pretended not to notice. “I’m all ears.”

  “I love you,” she whispered. He kissed her softly, and she said it again, though there was no way he could have heard her. She let her fingers roam up his jawline, across his brows, through his short hair, back down to the back of his neck to pull him in tighter.

  After another minute of nerve-firing kisses, Reagan pulled away. “This is great, but it doesn’t solve the problem of me being fired. I mean, knowing you love me is fantastic, but I’ve gotta have rent money.”

  “You and your shoes will have plenty of space, I promise.” Greg sat back on his heels and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. “I wrote down as much as I could, from my side of things. If you want to go ahead and use this for quotes or whatever you need, feel free. I figured you’d want to make it more newsy though.”

  “‘Newsy’?” she said, raising one brow and unfolding the paper.

  “Hey, it could be a word.”

  She quickly scanned the sheet. “This is all the stuff you told me. The whole . . . oh, Greg.” Her eyes watered. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. It’s good for you, but it’s definitely the right thing for me.”

  She sighed and refolded it. “I’m not sure this is the right job for me, honestly. Maybe I shouldn’t even fight to keep it. I could . . .” She raised a shoulder. “I don’t know, get a job as a cashier at the Piggly Wiggly.”

  “Reagan Robilard.” His voice had some snap to it, and she looked at him in surprise. “You did not come three thousand miles to be a cashier. Maybe this isn’t your dream job after all. Most people don’t find it the first time out. But you’re not giving up. You’re not walking away from this job having been fired. Get your job back, and we can talk about the rest as it comes.” He started to smile, slowly. “Besides, after the season’s over, I’m hoping you’ll come back with me, anyway.”

  “Come back . . . to California?” She blinked. “Seriously?”

  “Hell yeah.” He kissed her again. “I don’t want to be away from you. Just think about it.”

  He left to head to the kitchen for some water, and her mind started to dance.

  * * *

  TWO days later, Greg pulled open the door to Back Gate, letting Reagan in ahead of him. From the back, he heard their friends let out a wild greeting, all raising a glass.

  Marianne and Kara jumped up and ran to hug Reagan. “Sit down! Sit, sit, sit,” Kara said, dragging Reagan with them to their table. “We ordered you a drink, we weren’t going to wait.”

  “That’s fine.” Flushed and grinning, he watched Reagan sit and lean into her friend’s side hug. He loved seeing her so damn happy.

  “So?” Marianne leaned forward, arms crossed over the table. “How’d the meeting go?”

  Reagan glanced between her friends, then Brad and Graham, before landing her gaze on him. “Do you want to tell it?”

  “Hell no, it’s your story. You tell it.”

  “Someone tell it!” Kara said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I told the babysitter I’d only be gone two hours.”

  Graham opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of the idea and shut it again.

  “Well, I . . . oh, thank you.” Reagan paused to smile at the waitress, who set her drink down on a napkin.

  The group groaned.

  She took a small sip of the light beer and closed her eyes in bliss. “Mmm, good choice, ladies.”

  Brad growled. “How the hell do you put up with this?” he asked.

  Greg just smiled and shook his head.

  “So, I showed up, my article in hand, at the office. My supervisor didn’t want to see me at first.”

  “Asshole,” Graham muttered. Kara nodded in agreement.

  “But I convinced him it was worth his time. He got all excited I’d ‘pried’ the story out of Greg.” She grinned at that. “Pried. Right. Anyway, so I say that it’s a good one, and I’d love to let him have it, since it would help the team. And I’m a team player,” she added seriously.

  “Of course. Go on,” Greg encouraged.

  “But when he just held out his hand, and I didn’t give it over, he got all flustered. I said it was conditional on having my job back. And he got frustrated and said this wasn’t how team players worked. And when I reminded him I got kicked off the ‘team,’ he got angry.”

  “Nice,” Brad murmured.

  “So after some negotiating, he agreed I would come back, just for the rest of the boxing season. Once that’s over, he can find someone else for the next season. He’s right, this isn’t where I belong in the long haul.” She looked at Greg then, and his heart swelled. “I’m not sure exactly where I do belong, geographically, but I think I’m not on the right coast.”

  “Right coast,” Kara repeated, confused a moment. “You mean, east versus west coast? Oh,” she added, looking between him and Reagan. “Oh!”

  “I might end up seeing what my prospects are like in California.” She shrugged, as if no big deal, and took another sip. “This really is tasty.”

  “And that’s her version of a mic drop, ladies and gentlemen.” Graham clapped, startling a few patrons at surrounding tables, causing them all to laugh. “Well played, Ms. Athlete Liaison.”

  “Thank you, thank you.” Reagan nodded her head regally at the congratulations. “So for my first job out of school . . . I wouldn’t call it an unqualified success, but I definitely got more out of it than I anticipated.”

  “Experience?” Mariane asked, eyes twinkling. Brad nuzzled at her temple.

  “Oh, definitely.” Reagan nodded quickly.

  “New and exciting opportunities,” Kara added, and Graham stared at her so intently—not that Kara noticed—that Greg felt a little drop in his own belly for his friend’s intense longing.

  “No doubt.” Reagan squeezed Greg’s knee under the table. She turned to look at him. “And a new appreciation for what the word ‘independent’ looks like in practice, not just theory.”

  “They’re gonna kiss now,” Graham anticipated. “Let’s talk amongst ourselves while they’re over there being gross.”

  “Ignore them,” Greg said under his breath, pulling her chair closer to his so he could give her a long, slow kiss. Without breaking contact with Reagan, he flipped off his groaning friends.

  “Love you,” Reagan whispered as they pulled an inch apart. His heart clenched, and he prayed he never learned to take those words for granted. “Now, how long before we can get out of here? I have a lot of shoes to pack.”

  He laughed, pulled her close, and mentally sent another mental message to his sixteen-year-old self.

  Yeah. It really does get better. The best is coming up. Just hang on.

  TURN THE PAGE FOR A PREVIEW OF JEANETTE MURRAY’S

  FIGHT TO THE FINISH

  COMING MARCH 2016 FROM BERKLEY SENSATION!

  How did someone just knock on the door of the sexiest man ever? One who sent your pulse racing, your blood pounding, your knees weakening, and one who you could never actually be with?

  Kara breathed in, then out. In one more time through the nose, and out, two, three, four . . .

  “Mom!”

  She jerked from her yoga breathing and looked down at her son. Not as much “down” as “over.” In the last three months he’d grown nearly three inches. Her little boy was no longer so little. “What?”

  Zach indicated the door with both hands, which were still gripping the three bags of allergy-approved potato chips she’d brought so he didn’t feel bad being left out of potato salad. “Are you going to open the d
oor? My hands are losing their grip here.”

  “Be glad you aren’t one of those animals whose mothers eat their young. I’d be tempted.” With a sigh, she knocked on the door. There. That sounded like a normal knock. “Where’d a ten year old get such a smart mouth, anyway?”

  “I come by it naturally,” he said with a grin that had her flashing an identical one back at him. The kid was incorrigible. It was one of the things she loved about him.

  The door opened a moment later with her best friend, Marianne, standing in bare feet, jean Capris and an oversized Marine Corps boxing t-shirt. “Hey! Why’d you knock? We said to come in.”

  “I like to be polite when I haven’t been to someone’s house before.”

  “I have,” Zach reminded her, gliding past Marianne with a curt “Hey,” before dashing off to the backyard.

  “He’s so refined,” Kara said with a groan. “Mr. Manners, for the win.”

  “He’s ten. If he wasn’t a little obnoxious, I’d worry.” Her friend pulled her inside and gave her a side hug while closing the door. “But you know you’re welcome to walk in. Graham said as much.”

  “Graham said as much,” Kara muttered under her breath. “Am I overdressed?”

  Marianne surveyed Kara’s sun dress and wedge heels that had seemed like a good idea, and now appeared very out of place. “You’re cute. It’s a cute dress. Let’s put that away. Zach’s dessert?” she asked as she took the glass dish and walked it to the fridge.

  “Says so on the label. He’s got some chips he can eat, though there’s plenty of that to share. Just have to—”

  “Keep the utensils properly labeled for zero cross contamination. Graham’s already on it. He went out and bought big plastic blue serving spoons, because that’s Zach’s favorite color, and has warned everyone that using them improperly is punishable by death.”

  Kara had to bite back the misty tears that threatened at the sentiment. “That’s . . . a little extreme, but sweet.”

  “He’s a sweet guy.” Marianne popped the dessert in the fridge and hooked an arm around hers, linking elbows. “When are you going to let him take you out? The man seriously has it bad for you. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.”

  “It’s not a good idea, and you know exactly why.” Feeling like an idiot because she couldn’t fix what wasn’t her problem to begin with, she shook her head. “I agreed to come over here because everyone else would be here and it’s a get-together and I could bring Zach, not a one-on-one thing. If you think my being here is giving him the wrong impression, I’ll grab Zach and we can go.”

  Marianne’s teasing eyes softened at that. “Don’t go. I’m kidding. Not about him wanting you, that’s true. But you shouldn’t feel bad about it. He won’t make it uncomfortable.”

  That was a fact. Though he had hinted, and made her very aware of his presence and desire, Graham Sweeney had not once pushed the issue of asking her out. It was as if he sensed her invisible male-repelling force field she had erected around her life and Zach’s, and respected it by standing just outside of it. Every so often, his toes might bump against the edge, but he remained outside the shield.

  “Guess who’s here!” Marianne walked out through the back door and announced them with a flourish. “Which isn’t much of a guess, since Zach came out here five minutes ago.”

  Reagan, all five foot ten goddess inches of her, stood from the patio chair and came to give her a hug. “Yes! Now we’re not outnumbered.”

  “Hardly,” Graham said by the grill, hooking an arm around Zach’s head. The boy put up a token protest and squirmed, but Kara saw him grinning. “Us men still have four, to your female three.”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t counting those who couldn’t drive yet.” Reagan blew Zach a kiss, which caused him to blush and run for a soccer ball in the corner of the yard to practice dribbling.

  “Nice.” Kara settled down in a free chair and smoothed the skirt of her dress down primly. “What are we talking about?”

  “First match,” Brad said. “Not for practice.”

  Gregory Higgs, upon whose lap Reagan was perched, groaned. “Man, we’re here for fun. Don’t bring work into it.”

  “But it’s something we all have in common,” Marianne pointed out. “We’re all connected to boxing, or the Marine Corps team, in some way.” She flushed as she looked at Reagan. “I mean, uh . . . okay sorry.”

  Reagan waved that off. “I got my job back. But it’s not for me. Watching you guys box sort of made me queasy to my stomach. I’ll be looking for a new job after this for sure.”

  “Then what else do we have to talk about?” Graham set a plate of burger patties on the table. “Hey, kid! Food!”

  Kara bristled, then realized Zach liked the nickname and took no offense. He sprinted over to grab a burger, slap it on a bun and take off again.

  “Guess he was hungry,” Graham said with a smile.

  “Are those—”

  “They’re from a peanut-free factory,” Graham assured her.

  He settled in a chair beside Kara, crowding into her space without even moving closer. The man was just . . . potent. That was the only word for it. Potent. It was as if he took over everywhere he was.

  “He was. I didn’t let him chow down on lunch like usual. Uh, the food,” she began, but stopped short when he held up a hand.

  “I made some potato salad without mayo or eggs. Extra relish and mustard so it’s almost soupy, how he likes it. I double checked your blog to make sure the brands were the right kinds, without any of the cross-contamination stuff. And no tomatoes for the burgers.”

  She stopped, stunned. “Thank you.”

  “I like the kid.” He shrugged and sat back with a beer. “I’d rather he didn’t keel over in my backyard.”

  So many danced around her son’s serious allergies, or made them something sacred they had to talk about in hushed tones, or treated them like the most annoying inconvenience in the world. Graham simply made it normal, and didn’t seem to shy away from using them as a good-natured joke.

  So, tally time. The man looked like a Greek god, was smarter than anyone else she’d met, had the body of a serious athlete, and was contentious and sweet about her son’s limiting allergy needs.

  The man had to be stopped.

  * * *

  SHE was fire and light. Energy, amusement. Everything a man needed to survive. Kara was everything he wanted.

  Zach, Graham thought as he watched the boy spend thirty futile seconds attempting to kick the soccer ball from its wedged position in the corner of his fence before resorting to his hands, was a brilliant bonus.

  Kara leaned forward, animatedly talking to Marianne about something. He caught a glimpse of the tops of her breasts, with a few freckles dusting the creamy skin. The straps left her toned, muscular shoulders and arms bare. Yoga and Pilates had definitely done her body good. And the frilly hem of her dress fluttered around her calves, tanned and toned from summer sessions outdoors.

  Her dress was the perfect showcase for what she was, class and femininity encased in a tough exterior that took no shit and managed to keep up with a tireless young boy by herself.

  He’d been attracted from the moment they’d met. Her single mom status had given him a moment’s pause—dating a woman with a child wasn’t something he’d considered before—but he’d very quickly moved past that nonexistent hurdle. The fact that she was still single amazed him. Either the men in this town were morons, or she was very good at hiding herself away.

  “Any new yoga stories?” Marianne asked, settling down on the bench with her legs draped over Brad’s thighs, a plate of the trifle-like dessert Kara had brought balanced on her knees. She brushed one hand over the back of his neck, as if she couldn’t help herself. The Marine looked like he could slide into a puddle at her feet. Very different from how he’d been two months earlier . . . the stick-up-the-ass guy nobody wanted to hang out with because he was too intense for his own good.

  “N
o new yoga stories.” With a secret smile, Kara sipped her water and crossed her legs at the ankles. A delicate silver ankle bracelet winked in the fading evening sun. “I’ve been dealing with these guys too much. Well,” she added, tapping a finger to the corner of her mouth. “There was that one . . .”

  “Gimme!” Marianne leaned forward, upsetting the balance until Brad wrapped an arm around her waist and righted them again. “Spill. You know I live for these.”

  Her finger tapped once more, and he had the urge to press his lips against that corner. As if she knew tapping there would draw his attention. “I really shouldn’t. Client privileged information.”

  “That’s for lawyers and shrinks. Tell her, Sweeney,” Greg prompted.

  “That’s for lawyers and shrinks,” he repeated, deadpan, and they all laughed.

  “Well, have I told you all about . . .” She looked up, scanned the backyard to see where Zach was, then ended on a whisper, “Shrink Wrap Man?”

  Most shook their heads. Greg grinned and rubbed his hands together. “This is gonna be good.”

  “Okay. So you know how when you get hot dogs, they’re all smushed together in a pack of eight? And the plastic is pulled tight over each of the hot dogs?”

  Graham started to grin slowly.

  Kara sat back and waved a hand as if she were telling a classy joke in a cocktail lounge. “His penis looks sort of like that in his skin tight leggings when he does Downward Dog.”

  Marianne burst out laughing, and Reagan gasped, eyes wide. “No!”

  “Yes,” Kara said solemnly, taking a sip of her water. “I wish not, but very true. I’ve actually considered having Marianne make one of her famous pamphlets about the importance of wearing clothes that breathe during yoga, so he stops wearing those pants.”

  “I’ll do it,” Marianne said with a gasp. “I’ll do it, just for you.”