Against the Ropes (29 page)

His friends watched with amusement, and Reagan's eyes twinkled as Kara sighed with resignation and lifted her arms. He wiggled until the sleeves were in place, then stuck her head through it and let the material drift down. His fingertips skimmed the silky underside of her arms before dropping away.

Even that one touch would torment him for hours. God, she had the most beautiful skin.

And a missing head. Zach's giggles caused him to look back. The hood had flopped forward, and Kara's hands—covered by the too-long sleeves—were unable to push it back so her face could pop out. He helped maneuver the fabric until her head emerged. She gasped, as if coming up from a crashing wave. Her hair, once a smooth line of strawberry blonde silk, was fuzzy and a little mussed. For reasons that bewildered him, the flustered look on her face and the hair draped all over only made her more beautiful.

She met his eyes from upside down, and for a moment, the whole world faded away. His nose was an inch from hers. Her hair caught on her eyelashes, which were nearly as light as the strands. Those aqua blue irises were piercing. Was it his imagination, or did he hear her breath hitch a little, like his did . . .

“Mom, are they all coming to my Epi Pen party?”

Moment shattered, Graham jerked up and away.

“What'd I miss?” Marianne jumped back down from behind him out the back door.

“We were about to be invited to a party,” Reagan said. To Zach, she asked, “What's an Epi Pen party?”

“My pens are expired, so I have to get new ones. Andplusalso, I'm getting bigger.” To illustrate, he flexed and showed off a puny adolescent biceps muscle. “So I get new pens and I get to play with the old ones.”

“First off,” Kara said calmly, “andplusalso is not a word, as I've told you a dozen times.”

“Mrs. Wrigby says it,” he said defensively.

“Mrs. Wrigby has twenty-five ten year olds she has to garner the attention of. I'm sure if she thought it would work, she'd teach you geography while doing an Irish step dance. She says it to be funny. And secondly, they don't all need to come.” She sighed and looked at Marianne. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come over and check out his new pens, since the new pens are different, and you might watch him from time to time.”

“Because I'm a baby and can't stay home alone,” Zach added, looking disgusted by the thought.

“Because you're ten, and I'm not comfortable with it yet,” she shot back. “When he gets a new set of pens, I use the old ones for a quick brush up on training.”

“Can I come?” Reagan sat forward. “I'm interested. I've read your blog a little, and I'm intrigued. I can bring a movie and popcorn, and we can make a night of it.”

Graham waited for Kara to invite them all. After all, the guys had hung out with Zach on occasion, and Graham had taken the chance to hang out—not babysit, as he would never use the offending B word—with the kid to get to know him one on one. But Kara said nothing.

“Sounds good. Tomorrow night?”

Both other women nodded.

She sighed and rubbed a hand over her knees. “I think we'll head out then. Thank you,” she added to Graham as she stood, “for the sweatshirt and the invitation.”

He shook his head as she started to pull her arm out of one sleeve. “Keep it until you get to the car. You know how chilly it is now.”

She glanced up at the sky, with the sun that still hadn't quite set yet, and the balmy seventy-three degree weather. “Right. Zach, head in and grab the dessert dish. We've got to go.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but one fulminating glare from his mother had him nodding and going in. But he ducked his head back out again and said, “Thank you for inviting us,” before closing the door behind him.

“Mr. Manners,” Kara murmured before standing herself. “Girls, I'll see you tomorrow. Gentlemen, Tuesday at the gym.”

“I'll walk you out,” Graham said before she could escape. “Not a problem.”

She wanted to argue, but he sent her the same fulminating stare she'd given her son, and she simply stood and walked into the house. Zach was already heading through the front door to the car, so he had her in the house alone.

“Thanks again for coming.”

She played with the strings of his hoodie. Though she was tall, the shirt swallowed her slender form. “You're really nice to keep asking us . . . I mean, including Zach and all. I know his allergies make stuff like this difficult.” Her eyes, which had been wandering everywhere but at him, made contact with his. “I really appreciate that you made the effort.”

He'd have done it even if he'd disliked the kid's mom. But the way she looked at him now, and the emotion in her voice for having made a simple potato salad . . . he'd keep a vat of the stuff in his fridge forever if she'd just keep looking at him that way. “It's seriously no problem.”

“I've been doing this almost ten years. I know it's not ‘no problem.'” She started toward the door, then, almost as a second thought, came back and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Graham.”

She took off before he could ask her to stay, or ask her to dinner, or ask her to marry him . . .

You know, the usual.

Probably best she made her escape now. He could tap dance around a closing argument in court, and couldn't manage to ask a woman to dinner. Or not that specific woman. He needed more time to prepare, and be ready to handle any argument she tossed at him for getting out of it.

He'd see her again soon. And he'd be
ready.

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