Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(36)

While they stretched and jogged a few laps in miniformation, she did her best to get her body under control before she spent an entire class leading with hard nipples and shaking hands.


*

KARA held up two different earrings and judged each one in the mirror. She’d worn black tonight, the better to hide small splatters if she made a last minute mess in the kitchen. Not that she’d made a fancy dinner. Her budget didn’t run to steak and lobster, nor did her schedule run to three-hour prep time. Chicken, vegetables, and potatoes. But good chicken, veggies and potatoes. It was something. And men liked simple home-cooked meals, didn’t they?

Her phone rang, and she glanced down to see Marianne’s face grinning up at her. She swiped a finger over the screen and immediately pressed the speaker button. “I’m telling him tonight.”

“Telling who what? Oh, wait, is this a guessing game? I’m going with Mr. Plum, in the solarium, with the secret baby.”

“No. Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with the long-lost twin brother. Now focus.”

Marianne snickered. Kara went with the less dangly earrings. Too dangly looked like she was trying to be fancy. And she was anything but fancy. The exact opposite.

“I’m telling him tonight about Henry, and the whole mess I’m in with that. He needs to know that despite the fact that we . . . you know,” she added after a moment. Zach was still in his room—or so he should be—cleaning up so he could show Graham a new video on his used laptop, but little ears had a way of popping up just when things got interesting. “Despite that, we still have no actual future.”

“Yeah. Okay. And when he ignores you and acts like it’s not a big deal, then what?”

“Then . . . I don’t know.” In exasperation, Kara sighed, laid her palms on the dresser and let her head fall. “I obviously don’t know much of anything in this arena. I got pregnant at eighteen. I’ve had, like, three potential contenders for relationships that never even got off the ground. I’m not built for this sort of dramatic adult relationship.”

“It doesn’t have to be drama, and you absolutely are built for a relationship. You are the most loving person I know. You should be giving that love to someone else. Besides Zach,” she added, reading Kara’s mind with the frightening accuracy of a long-time best friend.

She’d have given her parents love. She wanted to, desperately. Hated that her son didn’t have grandparents he could spend the night with, grandparents he could call when he thought his mom was being unfair, grandparents who could give him wise advice from well beyond his own mother’s years.

Stop that. You can’t change their attitude, you can’t change their way of thinking. Move on.

“Kara?”

“Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “We will figure it out. I don’t have a lot of time to devote to a relationship anyway, thanks to Henry threatening to drag me to mediation again.”

“Will you do me a favor?”

She grinned, and could only imagine the wide range of ideas that Marianne could come up with. “I won’t promise to kick him in the balls for you if and when I see him next. Much as I’d love to.”

“That’s a close second to my real favor. Lean on Graham. Don’t just tell him about the big picture. Ask for his advice on this situation. Don’t say you don’t want to dump on him. Or burden him. Just do it.”

She bit her lip, studying her reflection. Minimal makeup, hair half-braided, then swooped up for a bun, nice black top and a simple pair of capris. She’d be barefoot, because she always was at home. “Maybe.”

“Do it.”

“Stop pushing, Marianne.”

“If you don’t want a best friend to push you when you need to be pushed, what the hell good am I to you?”

She thought about that for a moment. “You know how to tape Zach’s ankle if he sprains it playing soccer.”

Her friend let out a half chuckle, half sigh. “I worry about you. Have fun tonight, regardless. And get yourself a decent good night kiss. Zach won’t die if you send him to his room for a few minutes.”

“Go get your own good night kiss,” Kara instructed. She could have sworn her friend muttered, “I’ll get better than that,” before hanging up.

After another quick glance in the mirror, she closed her eyes. Pep talk time.

But a knock on the door, and her son’s enthusiastic whoop and, “I’ll get it!” shout stalled any pep talk she’d hoped for. Time to figure it out on the fly.

No problem there. She had about ten years’ worth of practice.


*

“HEY, kid.” Graham held out the small bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”

Zach scrunched up his nose and shook his head. “Why would I want those?”

“Oh, right.” Kara rounded the corner, and Graham let out a long breath while Zach shut the door behind him. “Then they must be for you.”

She smiled, walking slowly to him on bare feet. She took the flowers, then rose up on her toes and pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek. The skin beneath her lips tingled, and it had nothing to do with his fresh shave. “Thank you. I’ll get them in water. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Plain chicken,” Zach muttered, glancing at Graham in a plea of understanding. “I told her since we were having company, we shoulda had something good, like wings, or pizza . . . or pizza and wings. But instead we just get plain chicken.”