Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(2)

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 gluten-free 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 close. 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. Hungry, I mean. 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 hard-boiled 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 conscientious 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 fluttered around her calves, tanned and toned from summer yoga 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.

“No 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.”