Against the Ropes

He snorted at that. “Nobody gives a crap about the Marine boxing team but Marines . . . and maybe the other branches’ boxing teams. We’re not exactly professional athletes here, Mrs. Robilard.”

“It’s miss,” she corrected absently, glancing through the biography the program director had given her. Like the others, it was mostly details. Important dates, FITREPs, any awards given, and a list of the numerous deployments and TDYs. Unlike the other bios, though, where he’d had the option to fill in personal information himself—hometown, family, interests outside of boxing—he’d left it blank.

“I’ll need you to fill this out all the way.” She slid the paper toward him, doing her best to avoid touching him at all. “You left the bottom blank.”

He glanced at it, then passed it back. “I filled out all the necessary stuff. Nothing more to say.”

“There’s always something more to say. If you could just—”

“Look, Miss Robilard,” he said, standing abruptly, “I didn’t sign on to be a talking figurehead. I came here to box and have some fun with my new teammates. That’s all. If that’s not enough for the Corps, then I can just as easily head back to my home base and be done with it. It’s no skin off mine.” With that, he slipped out of the office like smoke.

“Well,” she muttered, noticing her hand had begun trembling again. “That just about sucked.”

*   *   *

AN hour later, Reagan’s heart rate had returned to normal and her hands had calmed down enough to sort through all the Marines who had been cut and the ones who had made the team. Those Marines who had stayed for the impromptu, off-the-books workout had been called in one by one to evaluate potential PR gold mines, and there was a list of the few she hadn’t seen yet. She was in control. A force of organizing nature. A professional, competent, capable woman. She was a cool cucumber who—

“Hey.”

“Oh my Jesus!” Rocking back in the springy chair, Reagan grabbed the edge of the desk, praying it would keep her from being thrown to the floor. A few seconds of bronco-riding later and she was right side up. When she heard a snickering from the doorway, she shot a glare at Maria

“You’d have to see it from my angle to understand the humor.” Maria

Feeling testy, Reagan gathered the piles she’d scattered and started stacking them back together. “Where’s the work uniform?”

“My day off equals my day to slop it up. No point in getting all dressy to watch them go at quarter speed. They’re barely breaking a sweat out there.” She tilted her head to indicate the gym beyond the office door. “Most of them are so thankful they made the team their legs are still like jelly.”

Reagan could relate. She finished stacking and slapped the last pile down a little harder than necessary. “I spoke with Brad.”

“Hmm.” Maria

“We talked a bit about you and the situation with your relationship.”

“Uh-huh.” She doodled a bit on the edge of a piece of paper. Reagan shifted it slightly to the left, out of range. Maria

“He said as much. And you don’t have to feel defensive. I’m not the one in charge of hiring or firing anyone.” Reagan blew at the hair that threatened to fall over her eyes. Why didn’t her hair stay in its nice, professional chignon like it was supposed to? The women in the Harvard Business Review made their hair look effortlessly professional and grown-up. “But I still had to ask. I can’t just stop doing my job. If there’s a PR disaster or treasure trove, it’s my job to find it and use it.”

“Well, there’s neither. No treasure troves or disasters. We just want to date in peace.” Maria

“It is.” Reagan debated it a moment, but then decided to try. “Wa

Maria

“I’m desperate,” Reagan said honestly.

“Well, in that case, sign me up!” Maria

Reagan’s mouth dropped open when she realized what she’d said. “No! Oh, God no. That’s not what I meant.” She let her forehead drop to the desk, lifted it and dropped it once more. “I’m awful at this.”

“If you’re asking me out on a date, then I have to tell you, it’s not going very well.”

Reagan tilted her head so she could look up with one eye. Maria

“Shame. Now why are you desperate?”

“I’m desperate for female company. Legit, intelligent female company. I still don’t know my way around this town, I get lost on base anytime I have to go somewhere besides here, and I’m about eight states away from anyone I know.” She sighed and settled back, smoothing down her jacket. “Desperate.”

“Sounds like it.” With a gentle smile, Maria

Reagan handed it over without protest, knowing what the other woman was up to. “Call yourself or text yourself or something so you have my number, too.”

A few seconds later, a pocket low on Maria

“Oh. Right, of course. Plans. You’ve got plans.” And here she was, horning in like a lost puppy, desperate for a belly scratch and a single word of praise. Would she ever get it right?

“But,” Maria

“Isn’t it already red and gold everywhere around here?” Reagan asked, looking around Coach Ace’s office. The predominant pair of colors were splashed all over. The Marine Corps colors were deeply embedded everywhere.

“Good point. Nevertheless, I officially invite you to join us out. I know what it’s like being the new kid, and it’s not always easy. So it’s time to join the in crowd.”

“The in crowd, huh?” Reagan took her phone back from Maria

Maria

“Right. Life story. So that will take up five minutes. What will we do with the rest of the night?” She laughed when Maria

“No prob. I’ll see you later on tonight.” With a wave, the short woman disappeared into the gym. Not five seconds later, Reagan could hear her voice shouting, “No, Carmichael! You’re going to blow out your elbow like that! I gave you a pamphlet on that last week!”

CHAPTER

2

Greg settled into what he officially referred to as his spot on Sweeney’s couch. He’d just about broken in the end cushion to his liking. Lifting his beer, he saluted his two teammates. “Well done, men.”