Possible. Greg shrugged. “Either way, I think he’ll be happy when it’s all over.”

They were silent a moment. “How’s Reagan holding up?”

“She’s holding.” He wouldn’t let her crack. “How’d babysitting go the other night?”

Sweeney grinned. “That kid’s hilarious. Seriously. And hey, did you know there are, like, fifteen different substitutes for peanut butter?”

“No . . .” Greg said slowly. “I don’t suppose I did.”

“Some aren’t all that great in your regular PB and J, but are good for cooking. Others suck in the cooking department, but are better on bread.” He held up his hands when Greg stared at him. “What? The kid’s got allergies. We talked. I learned a few things. Have you read Kara’s blog?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s really interesting. And sort of awe inspiring, all the stuff she’s had to go through because of his allergies.”

“Well, she’s a good mom.” Anyone could see that after two minutes with her and the kid.

“She is.” Graham was quiet for a minute. “Think she’d say yes to a date?”

That had Greg swiveling his head back around. “With you?”

“No, with Coach Willis,” Graham said dryly.

They both looked forward, watching as Coach Willis leaned over his knees and discussed something with Coach Cartwright across the aisle. The man was like the Lorax come to life, with his shocking orange beard and short, stalky stature.

“I think she’d say no to Coach Willis. Just a hunch,” Greg said, grinning. “But with you, I dunno.”

“What’s wrong with me?” his friend asked defensively.

“So much,” Greg said with a grin, dodging his friend’s joking punch. “So much.”

“Cool it, or the coaches are going to come back here and separate you two.” Brad leaned over from across the aisle. “We’ve got a match tomorrow. Don’t be a bunch of assholes and ruin it for everyone.”

“Speaking of ruining it for everyone . . .” Graham dug through his bag for a moment and pulled out the morning paper. “Anyone read about the protests? It’s that guy again, the same guy who wrote the first article.”

“It occurs to me,” Brad said as he took the paper from Graham, “that this guy is getting a lot of play off what looks to an outsider to be a bunch of harmless pranks. He’s really pouring the gasoline on the fire.”

“And why?” Greg asked, angling himself to read over Brad’s shoulder. “There are more interesting things to write about.”

“Maybe he’s the one creating the story in the first place,” Graham said, voice dark. When both the other men stared at him, he added, “What? It’s a theory.”

“And hardly that,” Brad added, dryly. “He doesn’t have base access most of the time. And he barely seemed interested at all in us until those paint balloons hit. That’s when he saw gold.”

“He’s an asshole,” was all Greg felt confident in adding to the mix. He was too close to the situation—okay, too close to Reagan—to be unbiased. He couldn’t care less what people wrote about him, about the Marine Corps, about the team. But he knew it hit her so much harder than it hit any of them, and he hated that for her. “But I doubt it’s him.”

“So maybe it’s someone who got cut.” Graham stretched. “They’d have motive. That whole ‘bitter ex’ complex.”

“But not opportunity.” Brad folded the paper neatly, offered it to Greg. He shook his head, so Brad handed it back to Graham. “They all had to report back to their own commands after getting cut. It’s not like they have the chance to run around here without getting noticed. We’d have heard if one of our guys went AWOL.”

“Auxiliary staff,” Greg said, stating his own opinion. “Someone who works in maintenance, or maybe one of Marianne’s interns.”

Brad mulled over that a moment. “Opportunity,” he admitted, “but no motive.”

“Motive is as simple or as complicated as someone wants it to be,” Graham stated, sounding every inch the lawyer he normally was. “He cut me off in traffic, she stepped on my foot as she walked by and never said sorry.” He shrugged. “It’s not always a mortal wound that scars, boys.”

“Point taken,” Brad said, crossing his arms. “It’s pissing me off, whatever it is.”

“I have a feeling it’s costing Reagan,” Greg added. When both men looked interested and leaned forward, he added, “I think she’s struggling with it. She’s got to handle the fallout when something negative happens, and her superiors keep harping on her to make it stop.”

“As if she has that power,” Graham muttered. “How do you know all this?”

“We talk,” Greg said defensively. “We talked last night.”

“Just talked?” Brad asked with a teasing kick.

“You know as well as I do I was in my room last night. Alone,” Greg emphasized. “Reagan had an early start so she wasn’t going to hang out last night. She’s freaking out about making sure everything lands in place and nothing is disturbed for this trip. So if you see something suspicious, stop that shit in its tracks before it gets to her. She might lose her mind otherwise.”

“Yeah, of course.” Brad sat up straighter.

“Whatever you need, man.” Graham clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We want this team to be successful, and we don’t want her to get fired. She’s nice to look at.”

Greg growled, and Graham chuckled and settled back in his own seat.

Brad leaned in closer. “You having any problems with the whole dating-someone-close-to-the-team thing?”

“No,” Greg said with a laugh. “That was your problem, not mine. We’re adults. She’s already given it the okay, and we’re good. But thanks anyway.”

Brad scowled. When he and Marianne, the team’s athletic trainer, had first started seeing each other, they’d hidden their romance, concerned it wouldn’t look good to others. Instead, the romance itself hadn’t been the problem, but the secrecy. “Yeah, well, shut up. Not all of us are perfect, Higgs.”

“I know. Not everyone can be as lucky as me.” He grinned as Brad threw him a glaring look. “Get over it, Marine. You got the girl, so move on.”

“I did, and I am. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t walking into the same trap I was.” His roommate shrugged. “But since you seem to have it all under control, mazel tov.” Brad slipped earbuds in his ears and closed his eyes.

Brad thought he had it all together? Ha. Not even close. He was a ball of nerves around Reagan, not that he’d let her know that. She had enough on her plate without worrying about a nervous Marine. She’d make that her problem, too. No, he was nervous not because of the team, or boxing, but because of her.

He’d never held off this long from sex when he’d really liked a woman. Not that he’d been a man whore either, but when they’d both felt the urge, they’d taken the plunge.

He felt the urge with Reagan, in a big way. But it was what that urge combined with more than lust that had him holding back. He wasn’t prepared to make a mistake with her. Normally, he was of the “live and learn” philosophy when it came to mistakes in life. But with Reagan, there was an extra layer of caution in their dealings. As if both were afraid that a single mistake, no matter how small, might shatter the tentative bond they’d been building.

The only bright spot was that she seemed as aware of it as he was. And was just as reluctant to make a misstep as he was.

That did not, however, solve the problem of when they would actually take the next step in their relationship. Would she be ready soon? Or not until after their season was over?

Please, God, not that.

He could be a patient man, but even his patience had limits.

He watched as Reagan stood to reach over the next seat and ask Marianne a question. Her laugh caught the ear of several Marines, and they all turned to watch her speak.

Yeah, look all you want. But she’s mine at the end of the day, boys.

He’d just have to walk them past the point of fear and into certainty to make it happen.