Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(14)
Kara chewed on the straw a bit. A disgusting habit, but she couldn’t quite stop herself. It was better than chewing her bottom lip raw. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Because he’s so ugly and smelly and spending a lot of time with him might make you vomit.”
“Marianne,” Reagan scolded.
“No, obviously that’s not it. The exact opposite, *. But I don’t want to impose on him. He’s got so much going on right now with boxing and matches coming up, and then the All Military games. It would be wrong of me to dump this on him, too.”
“It’s rather simple. You invite the guy over for dinner, you spend ten minutes laying out the issue, you spend ten minutes listening to him talk, and then you eat. Done.”
Reagan patted Marianne’s forearm. “It’s not that simple, and you know it. There are feelings involved.”
Smugly, Kara smiled at her friend. “Yeah, it’s not that . . . wait. Feelings for who?”
Reagan looked disgusted. “Don’t act like that. We aren’t stupid.”
“I’m not friends with stupid people, so of course you aren’t. But I never said I was feeling anything.”
“We’ve got eyes,” she pointed out.
“I don’t want to lead him on. Nothing will happen there, so . . .” She raised her hands and lowered them again. “I just can’t.”
Reagan looked like she wanted to argue, but ducked her head and went back to the bad aftertaste smoothie. Marianne simply shook her head and kept quiet.
When these two chatterboxes went quiet, Kara knew she had a problem.
*
REAGAN sat in front of the Marines, her top foot swinging over the other as she waited for Coach Ace to stop talking. Graham let himself zone out a bit, watching the high heel swing back and forth like a metronome. It was soothing, really, and he could almost feel himself float away to a place where his solar plexus didn’t sting like a sonofabitch and his jaw didn’t hurt.
God, boxing was fun.
“Dude.” Greg elbowed him in the ribs as he hissed, “Are you staring at my girlfriend’s legs?”
He blinked, shook his head to land back on this planet, and turned his head. “No?”
“Is that a question or an answer?” Greg, the easygoing, affable team member who could make anyone laugh, looked pissed. “Please tell me you’re not actually checking out my woman.”
“Chill, man. I zoned out. Her foot was in the way. Calm down.”
Greg rolled his shoulders back, looking uneasy with the whole thing, then mumbled, “Sorry,” from the corner of his mouth.
Graham started to say it was no big deal, when his head snapped forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Greg’s had done the same. They’d both received a head slap.
“Quit your gossipin’ and listen,” Coach Cartwright said from behind them in a low tone. “Don’t make me separate you two like a bunch of damn kindergarteners.”
Greg looked over and grinned at him in a way that said, Business as usual.
“And now, I’m turning it over to Ms. Robilard, who will be speaking about this weekend, as well as a few other pressing matters.”
They waited quietly while Reagan stood, smoothing down her skirt with businesslike brushes of her hand. She took the spot Coach Ace left and cleared her throat. “We all know the match this weekend is an important one. It’s the last one before the All Military games. It’s also against men you’ve probably seen around, working out. Many of you came from Lejeune, so these are former teammates. It’s important to note that while this is meant to be a training exercise, it is also designed to be fun camaraderie.”
Graham thought several of the younger guys, with bloodlust in their eyes, could stand to be reminded a few more times before the match began. He’d be watching for them to go too hard, too heavy.
“We also need to talk about how we will be handling the vandalism.” She took a quick breath, let it out slowly in a parody of their yoga breathing. She always presented a strong, polished front, but he had a feeling she was more like a master at hiding her real feelings. “We need to keep a sharp eye out. You guys are trained to notice details. You need that. I am not saying, nor do I want you to ever accuse one of the Lejeune team members of anything. I simply want you to be on guard. There will be more people in and out of the gym, and I’m asking you to be alert. Nothing more. If you see something, do not take it upon yourself to address the situation. Call the MPs.”
Graham barely held himself back from snorting. He knew she was doing her job, asking them to bow to the closest authorities, but there was no way any of his teammates would see someone screwing with their gym and just walk away to get better cell phone reception. From the look on Greg’s face beside him, he knew his friend was thinking likewise.
“Okay, so, uh . . .” She clapped her hands together. “Have a good practice!”
“Less than two weeks,” Brad muttered as he walked over to join their group to stretch out before the afternoon practice. “We’ve got less than two weeks before we head to the games. And this junk just keeps on coming.”
“So we do what the lady says.” Lacing his fingers together, Graham stretched his arms high and felt the pull. “We keep our eyes open, our ear to the ground, watch everyone and pay attention. It’s like when you’re trying to deal with a large group of eyewitnesses. The odds are, more than one of us has seen something suspicious, but we didn’t realize it at the time. Connected together, it might mean something.”