“A really kind one?” Kara offered, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Reagan’s back. “You didn’t know, that’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t know. But that is my fault. It’s my problem. This might have ended if I’d been more forceful. If I’d been more take-charge.” She sighed and finished her drink in one swift gulp. “Or if I’d just known what the hell I was doing. How naïve am I?”

She didn’t miss the looks Kara and Marianne exchanged as they waited for her to continue. But what more was there to say?

“So let me get this straight.” Marianne waved her hand for the waitress, indicated they wanted another round, waved thank-you, then settled back in her chair, fingers twirling her empty glass. “You’re responsible for all the vandalism happening around the team.”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“But you did say it wouldn’t have happened if you’d been better at your job,” Kara pointed out.

Thanks for the backup . . .

“What I meant was—”

Marianne cut her off. “You did something proactive, albeit a bit naïve, to attempt to shake loose the culprit, and you’re beating yourself up for it because it didn’t work.”

“I’m not beating myself up, I’m—”

“Having a pity party, which is totally logical,” Kara said kindly. “But can’t last forever. I’ve only got one more drink in me.”

“So I get exactly two cocktails’ worth of pity, and then I have to . . . what?” Reagan frowned at her empty glass, which apparently represented exactly half the amount of pity she was allotted.

“Put on your big girl panties and try something new.”

“And if I fail?”

“Then you did your best.”

She closed her eyes a moment. “Then I have to head back to Wisconsin, the loser who thought she was better than her friends and family, and failed miserably. Not to mention leaving Greg behind.”

The three women were silent while their replacement drinks were laid down.

“Which part of that is bothering you more?” Marianne waited a half second. “I’m guessing the second part. The part about leaving Greg behind if you get fired.”

“Which you won’t be,” Kara added firmly.

“You can’t know that.” God, she was being so damn sulky. But it felt just a little good . . .

“I can be positive. It costs nothing and is scientifically proven to jump-start your metabolism and creativity. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, I’m just adding bitchy to my pity party attitude. I have one more drink to shake it off, apparently, so I’m going hog wild.”

“Go for it.” Marianne tapped her glass with Reagan’s in a ‘cheers’ gesture and sipped. “My mom is fantastic at pity parties. I remember when I got my first period, and I felt like shit.”

Both Kara and Reagan groaned in remembered pain.

“So while I was taking a nap with a heating pad, she decorated the kitchen table with pads and tampons—did you know tampons can make a pretty impressive garland?—and when I woke up she had made red Kool-Aid and cookies with strawberry jam on them for snacks.”

Kara grinned.

Reagan recoiled. “That sounds horrifying.”

“It was, for about seven seconds. Then I laughed. What the hell else was I gonna do? I still had my period, but I could laugh about it.” Marianne nodded. “Moral of the story . . . be able to laugh. It really cuts the party short and helps you move on with life with a better outlook.”

“I wasn’t done with my second drink,” Reagan said, but she felt her lips curve in a ghost of a smile. “But thanks.”

“Are we ignoring that you bypassed the whole ‘How I Feel About Greg’ essay? Because I, for one, have not.” Kara waved her hand in a come-on ’gesture. “Let’s hear it.”

“So . . . I’m in love.” When the other two women sighed, she added, “Don’t get all gooey on me. I’m not even sure if I like it.”

“You’ll love it,” Marianne said with confidence. “And if you don’t, then just wait five minutes. Kind of like the weather in the Midwest, I hear. Love constantly changes at the drop of a hat. One minute you’re ready to tackle the guy because you can’t keep your hands off him and you want to kiss him all the time, and then the next you’re ready to beat him with a sock of oranges until he apologizes for implying you suck at cooking.”

“But you do suck at cooking,” Kara said.

“He’s not supposed to say that, though.” Marianne rolled her eyes. “The point is, if you’re in love, it’s a good thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the moment. Give it a few minutes and you’ll have a new perspective on the whole thing. It’s ever-changing.”

“That sounds like the world’s worst roller coaster,” Reagan grumbled.

“It is,” both Kara and Marianne said in unison.

*   *   *

“SO, men, what’s first on the list of videos?” Greg settled into the couch and propped his feet up on Graham’s coffee table, a beer in his hand and a plate of finger foods on his stomach.

Zach eyed him warily. “You’re not supposed to do that.”

“What?” Greg looked around, found nothing wrong.

“Put your feet on the coffee table. It scuffs the wood.”

“Zach, my man.” Graham handed him a water and a bag of unopened Oreos. “You’re in a man’s house now. We scratch, we belch, we fart, and we put our feet on the furniture.”

“It’s as God intended,” Greg agreed.

“Don’t listen to these idiots.” Brad settled himself in the corner of the couch, his beer on a coaster and his feet firmly on the floor. “If your mom says to keep your feet off the furniture, do it.”

“Fun vampire,” Greg muttered. Then he watched as Zach tore the Oreo package open. “Are you supposed to have those? Should we call your mom first?”

Zach glared at him and popped one in his mouth, as if to show him exactly what he thought of Greg’s plan to tattle.

“It’s all good.” Graham smiled and toasted their young guest with his own bottle of water. “I got them because I saw them in Kara’s pantry. She wouldn’t stock anything he couldn’t eat or drink.”

“Except the alcohol. She’s got a lot of wine,” Zach said, so easily and with the ringing endorsement of innocence behind it. Greg nearly spit his beer out laughing. “What? She does. But I couldn’t have that even without my allergies.”

“Good call,” Brad said easily. “First video, we’ve got some video from our scrimmage at Paris Island. I really want to pick up some additional notes on . . .”

Greg tuned him out. He just wanted to watch some damn good boxing, eat some good food, drink a beer or two and bask in being with friends outside of practice.

As they watched, Brad asked casually, “So how’s Reagan doing?”

“Stressed.” Without taking his eyes off the screen, he reached for his beer. “Why?”

“Just thought maybe you two were taking it up a notch, what with you two spending the night together the last few nights.”

Greg did choke on his beer this time, and he reached for a paper towel from the roll Graham had set on the coffee table. “What the . . . how did you know that?”

“You weren’t in our room last night.”

“But on the road, we were in separate rooms.” He had a sinking suspicion. “Does everyone know?”

“No.” Brad shook his head. “I knocked on your door to ask you a question the other night and you were conveniently missing. Then you and Reagan showed up within minutes of each other at the bus the next morning and . . .” He lifted one shoulder. “I put two and two together.”

“Guys.” Graham motioned to Zach, who was staring at them with wide-eyed fascination. “Maybe we could leave the girlfriend chatter for when the runt is home?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I know adults hang out and stuff.”

“Oh, really?” Smiling now, Greg settled back. “We hang out?”

Graham shot him a look that warned him not to take it too far. As if Greg were that big of an asshole. He knew when something was over a ten-year-old’s head.

“Yeah.” Zach nodded wisely. “Grown up guys and girls hang out. It’s just what they do.”