He waited for her to finish the question. When she didn’t he thought she’d fallen asleep midsentence. “Hmm?” he prompted quietly.

“Tell me something,” she repeated. “Anything about you. Just . . .” She fisted one hand over his heart, then spread it flat. He felt his heartbeat quicken again, as if it wanted to pound harder just for her. So she could feel the physical way she affected him. So she would know what she made him feel just by touch.

“I need something, Greg. Please.”

He debated throwing out something pithy, just to answer the question. But he had a feeling “I secretly like lima beans” wasn’t what she wanted. He ran fingertips up her bare back, tracing her spine until he reached the soft, baby-fine hairs of the nape of her neck.

“I’m jealous of your family.”

He felt her eyelashes blink several times against his shoulder. He’d surprised her. “You’ve never met them. And I . . . they’re . . . I don’t know.”

He knew. Despite the fact that she felt like they held her back, wanted less for her, he understood. They didn’t know any more than what they knew. And they wanted the best for her of what they knew. He could see her side, and didn’t blame her for her feelings of guilt and embarrassment. She was entitled to them. But at the end of the day, even if they were horrendous at showing it, they loved her. She had brothers who would show her how to use a power tool, a mom who called to check in on her and make sure she had a place to land if she stumbled.

It wasn’t conventional, and it wasn’t what Reagan had hoped for, but it was a family Greg would have killed for as a child.

She was quiet so long, and her breathing evened out enough he knew she’d thought herself to sleep. He’d have to answer more questions later, there was no avoiding it. He’d opened a can of worms, and they weren’t going to be stuffed back in again.

He just prayed when she finally got a good look at what she’d been after, she still wanted him.

*   *   *

“HEY.”

Reagan batted at the thing—whatever it was—that was attempting to shake her awake. “No,” she mumbled.

“Reagan,” the intolerable thing whispered again.

“Go away,” she whimpered and rolled onto her stomach, pressing her face into her pillow.

“I just wanted to let you know I was taking off.”

That had her raising her head. It was still pitch black in the bedroom, and she had to blink several times before the bleariness cleared enough to see her bedside clock. “It’s not even three in the morning yet.”

“I know, but I didn’t bring anything over, and I’ve got a hella early workout with Coach Cartwright this morning.”

She rolled onto her back, draping one arm over her eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I didn’t want you to wake up and wonder why I’d split in the middle of the night.” Greg kissed her lips, and she let him because biting him in retaliation would have taken too much effort. “Now go back to sleep, and I’ll see your sexy ass in the gym.”

She grumbled, but he just chuckled and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

She woke several hours later, not feeling nearly as refreshed as usual, and cool. Though the temperature wasn’t all that chilly in her apartment, she knew it was because she’d grown used to a furnace lying beside her in bed. When her feet grew cold, she’d been able to slide them under his legs, relish his momentary gasp of breath, and warm right up.

“Men,” she said, sitting up. “And now I’m talking to myself. I should get a cat so this is less weird.”

She thought about that a moment.

“Nope, it would still be weird.”

There were still benefits to waking without a man, she realized as she trudged to the bathroom to heed nature’s morning call. She wouldn’t be sharing the bathroom with anyone who had to have the world’s closest shave. Wouldn’t find his stuff lying around everywhere and trip over his ginormous shoes. Wouldn’t be making a breakfast for two—one of which was a nasty protein shake that smelled like dirt and tasted worse. And she could take her time this morning, since she wasn’t in a rush to get to the gym with him. There was time to really read the newspaper, not just skim, with a cup of coffee. Maybe even do some Internet surfing before getting ready for work.

Throwing on her bath robe, she started the coffee, pulled a bagel out of the fridge to toast, and went to her front door to grab the paper. She really should just pay for the subscription online, but she wasn’t prepared to give up the actual physical words just yet.

She flipped through the first section—crime, death and taxes, as usual—and set it aside to get to the sports section. Now there was a shocker. A year ago, she would have bet a quarter of her shoe collection she would never hustle to get to the sports pages first. Now, it was all she could think of. If they didn’t mention her team or any other base teams, she still read, because she wanted to see what the media was focusing on these days.

Same with blogs. Her blog roll used to be nothing but fashion blogs that featured the Look For Less and other ways to spiff up her wardrobe on the cheap. Now she had more sports newscasts than anything.

She was on her second cup of coffee when her phone rang. She sighed, seeing Marianne’s number. She answered the call, crossing one leg over the other. “If you’re calling to wake me up, you’re late. If you’re calling to demand I bring you breakfast, you’re early.”

“I’m calling to demand you get here now.”

Reagan froze on her stool. “What happened?”

“Stuff’s missing. Remember the video equipment the coaches had last week?”

“Sure,” she said slowly, getting up and moving to the bedroom. Her leisurely morning before work had been cut short.

“Missing. All of it. It had been locked in the storage cage, but it’s gone now. Along with some other training equipment, but only the more expensive stuff. They left the grimy, daily use junk alone.”

Coach Ace had told her about some missing gear, but the video equipment was news to her. “Have they called the MPs yet?”

“No. They asked me to call you. I think the coaches are fed up with the lack of progress.” She lowered her voice, to the point Reagan could barely hear her. “Something else is going on. I can feel it. But nobody will say anything. Get here fast.”

“Sure, right.” She hesitated as she picked out a cami top from her dresser. “Why are you there so early? Practice doesn’t start for another hour.”

“Brad wanted to get in a quick workout with the bags. I wanted to get some paperwork done. We came in early, and found the coaches setting up, except for Cartwright, who’s running Greg ragged. They realized the equipment was gone when they went to watch some practice tape and asked me to call you.” She sighed. “Sorry for the crappy morning.”

“It is what it is. Let me call my supervisor and then I’ll be over. Tell them not to mention anything to the team. Just keep going with the day. Kara’s running yoga this morning, so focus on that.”

“You got it, dude.”

“Uh-huh,” Reagan said, and hung up. Two minutes later, she had her supervisor on the phone.

“Robilard, you need to come in.”

“Yes, sir, but first I’d like to run by the gym and—”

“This is about that . . . sort of.” Her supervisor made a gruff sound that she couldn’t decipher over the phone. “Just come in to the offices first.”

“Sure thing.” She hung up the phone, dread creeping through her veins, along with the feeling that everything was about to change, and not for the better.

*   *   *

SITTING in her supervisor’s office, waiting for him to come in, Reagan thought back to her final interview. She’d been down to her last fifteen dollars, and ready to promise the world to land the job. It hadn’t come to that . . . just close enough.

“Robilard.” Andrew Calvant, her supervisor, a trim man in his late forties, came in and tossed a file folder on his desk. The papers beneath fluttered, then lay still, as if they didn’t dare fly off for fear of his wrath. “We’ve got a problem.”