Sweeney lifted his own bottle in return. Costa acknowledged it with a small tip of the water bottle.

“One beer, for crying out loud. Just one.” Greg took a sip of his own and gestured toward the kitchen. “Go get one. I’m begging you.”

Brad simply shook his head and capped his bottle. “I have my reasons.”

“If you reach for your phone to check it again, I’ll sit on you and let Higgs toss it out in the front yard,” Sweeney warned as Costa reached into his pocket.

Costa’s hand froze. “You know, I’m not sure why I agreed to be dragged out here tonight. We’ve got practice in the morning, our first official practice as a team. One might think you two would want to be rested up. We’re the old ones out there. We have to keep up with the infants.”

“Speak for yourself. Everyone else has to keep up with him,” Sweeney said with a mock sneer for Greg. “Greased lightning asshole.”

“Jealous,” was all Greg said. “Don’t reach for the phone. Don’t be that guy.”

“You’ll be sorry when I read you this text,” was all Costa said, and did it anyway. “Yup. Just like I thought. The ladies are ready to mingle.”

“Ladies?” Greg and Sweeney said at the same time. Both sat up. “Which ladies?” Greg added, not ready to get his hopes up yet.

“Yeah, because Cook is cute and all, but I heard a rumor she’s spoken for,” Sweeney added, which earned him a half-hearted kick from Costa.

“She’s on some girls’ night crusade with her friend Kara and the liaison woman.”

“Yoga lady,” Sweeney breathed.

“No, Legs,” Greg corrected.

Costa looked at him, then at Sweeney and shook his head. “You’re both right. Kara is the yoga and Pilates instructor, and ‘Legs,’” he added with air quotes, “I can only assume is the liaison lady. I can’t remember her name.”

“Reagan,” Greg said automatically, then glanced between the other two men. “What? I had that interview with her today. You did, too. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Uh-huh.” Sounding unconvinced, Sweeney stood. “I’m one beer down, so you have to drive, Costa.” He tossed Brad the keys to his SUV. “Let’s roll, gentlemen. There are ladies waiting.”

Brad joined him quickly. Greg waited a moment. He could stay here, or have them drop him off at the BOQ on the way.

But the thought of Reagan in those tight suits she wore, in those sweet heels that did impossibly sexy things to her legs, and what she might look like when she let her hair down off the clock had him jogging after them. “Wait up, I’m coming, too.”

*   *   *

“I’VE missed this,” Reagan said, finishing off her drink. “Okay, not the martini, maybe. That was terrible.”

Kara and Marianne both laughed. “I warned you not to order anything they had to mix,” Marianne said with a grin. “This is strictly a bottle-or-tap sort of place.”

“And yet neither of you strike me as the brewski type,” Reagan said, setting down the martini glass and pushing it away. Lesson learned there. “So why pick here?”

“It’s a hub for adorable men,” Kara said matter-of-factly. “In fact, Marianne’s mom likes to come here and scope out the scenery a few times a week.”

Marianne simply rolled her eyes.

“Oh.” Reagan glanced around, but mostly only noticed Marines out of uniform. They were impossible to miss. The oldest male who wasn’t with a woman looked like he would barely pass thirty. “Uh, how old is your mom again?”

“Old enough to drive me crazy,” Marianne muttered. “She’s been happily married for almost thirty-five years, and yet, is still boy-crazy. But can we please not spend our girl time out talking about my mother of all people?”

“Yes, let’s talk about the ever-adorable, slightly brooding Bradley Costa,” Kara said with a smirk. She sipped her beer with dainty movements that made Reagan think of a queen at high tea. “How are things with you?”

“Things are good. Great, actually.” Reaching for her own beer, Marianne froze and watched Reagan. “Sorry, is this weird? Hearing about one of the teammates and me, personally? I can stop if it’s a conflict of interest or something.”

“No, not at all. As long as it’s something I can use for media,” she added. Counting to three, she burst out laughing at the twin jaw-drops on Kara and Marianne’s faces. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding.”

Marianne shook it off and grumbled, “I knew that.”

Kara just smiled serenely. “So how about you, Reagan? Any guys waiting for you back in . . . where was it you said you were from again?”

“Wisconsin. And no, absolutely not. There was nothing for me back there.” And she meant that literally. “I mean, I had to come all this way just for this tiny job. Clearly, things were not happening in my hometown. Which works well for those who live there by choice. Me, not so much.”

“And this is your first job post college, right?”

Reagan nodded, flagging down the waitress to ask for a beer. “Yeah. I know I have to start at the ground floor, and frankly I’m glad I even got this job with zero work experience. But sometimes I think—”

“Hello, pretty ladies. Can we buy you a round?”

Marianne’s eyes grew soft as she glanced over Reagan’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, ladies, but we’re about to be invaded.”

Reagan glanced at Kara, who shrugged and scooted her chair over. If they didn’t mind girls’ night being invaded by a male, who was Reagan to argue? She was the outsider in this group.

But it wasn’t just any male who slid into the chair beside Marianne. Brad Costa, Marianne’s boyfriend, took the seat and draped an arm over the back of her chair in a proprietary, “This Is Mine” sign to any other men at the bar. The way he leaned over her while talking into her ear was about as obvious as if he’d whipped it out and peed on her to mark his territory.

The imagery both horrified Reagan and made her smother a chuckle, which ended up coming through as a snort that choked her a little. She coughed, then flew forward as a large hand thumped her on the back. Catching herself a half second before her chest flew into the table’s edge, she barked out another cough to clear her throat. Glancing behind her, ready to give hell to whoever thought that was amusing, she found herself eye to eye with none other than Gregory “just Greg” Higgs.

“Sorry about that,” he said sincerely, sitting beside her. “Didn’t mean to hit you so hard. I thought you were choking on an olive or something.”

There was no way to be mad at a guy who’d had noble intentions . . . even if she might be sore in the morning from his help. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then took his hand off her back. Was it her imagination, or had he grazed his fingertips across her shoulder?

Pull yourself together, Reagan. You’re an adult, act like it. He was just being helpful.

Graham Sweeney—who Reagan only recognized because he was another of the main team leaders—sat down beside Kara, who scooted over a few more inches to give him space. If he noticed the subtle don’t-touch-me vibe he didn’t say so. Kara, for however sweet she was, definitely had the ability to put on her Cloak of Solitude when she wanted to.

“So what’s everyone drinking?” Graham asked. Kara and Marianne immediately held up their beer bottles as Brad waved down their server.

“Did you want another martini?”

The question, so close to her ear, made Reagan shiver. His breath was warm, warmer even than the air in the bar. She turned to answer him, only to find Greg’s face a mere two inches from hers. She could actually lick his lips right now without moving.

And again with the poor thoughts, Reagan.

She settled back in her chair and shook her head. “No, definitely not. That thing was . . .”

“Bad?” Marianne suggested.

“Horrible,” was Kara’s offering.

“Lethal,” Reagan decided on. “Lethal, with a deadly aftertaste. I’ll just have a diet Coke.”