Текст книги "Loving Him Off the Field"

Автор книги: Jeanette Murray

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“What was I?” he asked into her ear, helping keep her upright.

“Not company,” she said, then gasped when he nipped her ear before letting her go. She put her bag on the floor and walked over to greet her unexpected guests lounging at the end of her bed. “Cassie, Trey, nice to see you both. Sorry about the last game, Trey.”

He smiled, his arm slung around Cassie like he didn’t have a care in the world. “It happens. Sorry you missed it.”

“It happens,” she echoed, grinning as he did. “Are you two in hiding or something? What’s going on?”

“The opposite, actually.” Cassie straightened on the bed, shifting so that her legs crossed beneath her. Her feet were only in socks, with her running shoes on the floor by the bed. “We’re ready to make an official, on-the-record statement about our relationship. Sort of our preemptive strike for when we’re seen together in public.”

“I’m done with the hiding,” Trey growled.

Cassie patted his thigh. “Yes, yes. No more fake glasses for you.” They grinned at each other, enjoying the private joke. Aileen glanced at Killian, who looked equally confused. So at least she wasn’t alone in being outside the loop there.

“Okay,” Aileen said slowly, opening her tote and taking her laptop out. She set it on her desk, along with her phone, and stored the bag to the side. Sitting in her computer chair, she was an arm’s length away from the bed. Killian perched on the arm of the sofa. “And you want me to help you figure out the next step? Pick a news station? Go with you to the interview? What?”

“We want you to do it.” Cassie reached over and grasped Aileen’s hands in hers.

“I’m fired/quit,” she said, deciding that combo worked best to describe her current unemployed status. “Why don’t you use the guy who did your interview with your dad when you guys first—”

“Different situation,” Trey cut her off. “We want you.”

There was only one thing she had to know. “Why?”

“Because you’re good,” Killian said. She looked over and found him staring straight at the floor, his arms crossed defensively. “You’re honest, you’ve got integrity, and you’ll respect their boundaries. They trust you.” He looked at her then, his eyes burning with words unsaid.

Words she hoped sounded like I trust you, too. But maybe that was wishful—hopeful—thinking on her part.

She squeezed Cassie’s hand and let go. “Yeah, sure. What do you want me to do with it afterward?”

“That’s up to you. However you best see fit. Use it as leverage for a new job at a station or network, go freelance and get paid for it solo, totally up to you. We trust you’ll do what’s right with it.” Trey hugged Cassie to his side and kissed the top of her head. “We just want things out in the open so we can move on and have a life together.”

Aileen’s smile widened, and her eyes stung a little. It was sort of beautiful, watching two adults who’d found each other despite the odds, making it work and carving out their own path with their bare hands. “I’ll ask questions.”

“I figured you would,” Trey shot back.

“Some, you won’t like.”

“I figured I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll annoy you.”

“Starting now?” he asked, blinking innocently when she laughed.

Throwing her hands in the air, she conceded. “Fine, fine. Let me get my tripod and camera. It’s going to be informal, I guess. Low-tech and—thanks to my menial editing skills—not all that visually stimulating. Are you wearing that?”

Cassie looked down at their outfits. Both wore T-shirts—Trey’s a broken in-Bobcats shirt; Cassie’s, a shirt with a waving flag carrying the word “Nerd”—and jeans. Though Trey had kept his running shoes on. “We want it to be casual. Like it’s no big deal that we’re dating, so we didn’t get all glossed out to do the interview. Just a casual one-on-one with a friend.”

“Two-on-one, but gotcha. Works for me.” She moved them over to the couch and asked them to hold still for a while while she fixed up the tripod and some lamps. “Killian, are you staying?”

“Just consider me your assistant.”

She glanced toward Trey and Cassie, cuddling on the couch, and lowered her voice. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Emma got him early this morning.” He hadn’t bothered to lower his voice at all. “Before that, Irene babysat him while I was at the game, and Mrs. Reynolds while I was at practice.” When she blinked in surprise, he added, “Irene Jordan, Coach’s daughter?”

“Yeah, I . . . oh.” When she glanced back at the couch, Trey and Cassie were smiling widely at them, clearly in on the situation. “So they know about Charlie.”

“They do, and a few others. I’m not going nuts like these two and broadcasting his existence, but its time to stop being scared about it when I’m with people I trust.” He brushed a hand over her cheek, working his way around to the back of her neck to cup her head. “We’ll talk about it later. But just know . . .” He kissed her gently before stepping back. “I’m done with secrets.”

“Oh,” she breathed. It wasn’t quite the declaration of love she’d hoped for, but it was something more than she’d had five minutes ago. Something to build on. “Okay, well . . . if you’re staying, can you run down to the manager’s office and confiscate two lamps?”

As he gave her a little cheeky salute and headed out the door, she blew out a breath. Time to make some magic.

And then, time to do it all over again. With Killian.

* * *

Killian and Aileen waved good-bye to Cassie and Trey as they headed out her door, letting it close behind them. She flopped onto the couch with an exhausted huff. “That was insane.”

“That was . . . actually fun.” He sat next to her, pulling her feet into his lap. She’d kicked off the dressy flats an hour earlier, and he rubbed a thumb against her arch. She purred, the sound sending a bolt of lightning straight to his groin. “Different being on your side of the camera. No wonder you like it.”

“You were just an assistant. When you’re the one calling the shots, asking the questions, and trying to coax the right answers out, it’s not so much fun as a big puzzle that you’re not allowed to lose.” Her eyes sank closed and she nudged at his wrist with her other foot. “Switch, please.”

He did.

“Do you miss him when he’s gone?” she asked quietly after a minute had passed.

“All the time. He’s a cool kid.” He waited for her to shift and settle back down. “He loves Legos and the Avengers. He’s awesome with numbers, but hates spelling. Identical to me when I was that age.”

“He’s exactly what I think of when I try to picture you as a kid.”

“You’ll meet him next visit.” When she didn’t answer that, he looked at her. She was watching him with intensity, but no hint of where her mind was heading. “If you want to, that is. Do you like kids?”

“I do, for the few I’ve had interaction with.” She slid her feet from his lap and sat up, putting a distance between them he didn’t care for. “Killian, I feel like we’re skipping a dozen steps here. There’s still stuff I don’t know, that you don’t know, that—”

“I know you never would have run the story about Charlie, even before we first made love,” he interrupted, wanting to get through the worst of it before she could argue. “I know I should have trusted you sooner. I know your job and my job together might make things awkward from time to time, and I know I don’t care.”

“Killian—”

“I know that the last week without having you near me sucked so much, I was ready to come kidnap you in the middle of the night just to have you near me.”

She breathed in deeply, but didn’t try to interrupt.

“And I know I love you,” he finished quietly, watching her eyes widen in shock. “I know I could have really broken something forever—or maybe I did—and I’m too stubborn to admit it. But I know I won’t give up on us yet.”

When she just watched him, leaning forward a bit as if anticipating another round, he nodded. “Okay. So . . . that’s what I know.”

That’s what I know? He’d had a week to prepare for seeing her again, and the best closing line he could come up with was, That’s what I know?

“Do you want to know what I know?” she asked primly, not reaching for him.

Damn. “Maybe,” he said warily. She laughed, and he prayed it was a good sign.

“I know you were hiding your son for good reason. I know your son’s needs, wants, and overall well-being come first, no matter what. I know you were doing what you thought was best, and I can’t fault you for it. Yes, it hurt to realize you didn’t trust me, but I know I’m not a parent, and until I am, I won’t understand the level of protection you feel for your own kid and how far that would push me.”

It was good. It was damn good so far. He started to haul her into his lap, but she stood and evaded him.

“I know I’m not done,” she said with enough bite he didn’t give chase. His butt sank back down into the worn cushion. “And I know we have a long way to go, you and I.”

“Are we done with the ‘I know’s’?” he asked irritably.

She scowled. “You started it.”

“I know,” he said without thinking, then rolled his eyes when she snorted a laugh. “Come here.” He bounded off the couch and tackled her, taking her down onto the mattress of the bed. Tiny apartments had their advantages. The bed was always mere steps away. Laying on their sides, he ran his hand from her shoulder to her hip, pulling her into him. Even their emotional conversation couldn’t staunch the erection he seemed to perpetually have around her.

“I love you,” she whispered, and kissed him softly. “Sorry, I’ll rephrase. I know I love you.”

“Freckles,” he growled, then rolled over her and pinned her to the mattress. “My having a kid doesn’t freak you out?”

“He’s a child, not an alien.” She blinked up at him. “Right?”

Killian punished the question with another kiss, this one long and sensual and so charged it was torture to break it off.

“We’ll ease into it. He sounds like a cool kid. I’m not looking to replace his mom, since it sounds like his mom’s not too bad. Maybe a little flakey,” she said, and he smiled at that. “But I’m not out to replace anyone. I just want to stand beside you.”

“That’s where I want you.” He glanced at her tripod, still set up, though empty of her camera that was now charging on her desk. “If those two knuckleheads can work out a relationship, there’s got to be a way for us.”

“There is.” She smiled and combed her fingers through his hair. “But we’ve got one problem.”

His gut tightened. “What?”

With a serious face, she said, “Your bowling . . . is atrocious.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Three months later . . .

Aileen sat on the floor, surrounded by toys and wrapping paper that littered the floor up to her elbows. “This is insane.”

“This is ah-mazing!” Charlie shrieked, diving into a pile of paper and ribbons. The colorful confection exploded and she closed her eyes before getting decked by a piece of Styrofoam.

Ernie—or Grandpa Ernie, as he’d insisted Charlie refer to him—and Mrs. Reynolds—Nanny R, at her request—had both left an hour ago to head home. As Aileen had suspected, they’d gotten along pretty well with one another. Little had she and Killian known they were each bringing a truckload of gifts for Charlie’s birthday. Between the haul he managed from his pseudo-grandparents, plus the gifts she and Killian had given him, he’d scored. Big time.

“Hey, buddy, come here.” She held out her arms, tears stinging the backs of her eyes as he crawled into her and nuzzled at her shoulder. He’d accepted her in Killian’s life as easily as she could have imagined any child. It probably helped that his mother had paved the way by starting to date someone seriously herself. From the sounds of it, Aileen wouldn’t be shocked to hear Emma report an engagement from their spring trip to Jamaica.

A trip she didn’t envy them for, as it meant Killian got to spend Charlie’s entire spring break—including Charlie’s actual birthday—with his son.

“You’re looking pretty spiffy in your new shirt, aren’t you?” She pulled Charlie back enough to look at his polo shirt. The shirt was royal blue with gold stitching. Bobcat colors, Charlie had proudly exclaimed as he’d pulled it from the box. His name was embroidered over the right breast pocket with a set of bowling pins. It matched the larger version both Aileen and Killian were wearing. Gifts from Ernie, who proclaimed them to be their own team now. And every team needed their own uniforms, didn’t they?

“When do we go bowling again?” Charlie asked, reaching down to grab a Transformer toy and pull it up into his lap.

Smoothing the hair from his brow, much like she often did with his father, she said, “Your dad’s beginner’s league is on Tuesday normally, but they’re breaking for spring break. We can go together, just us, the day after tomorrow if you want.”

“No bumpers this time,” he insisted.

“No bumpers,” she promised, inwardly grimacing. But hey, he’d learn.

“Lemonade is served. One with extra ice cubes and two regular.” Killian walked out from the kitchen and set three mugs on the coffee table in front of them. “Charlie, yours is the one with Star Wars.”

“I’m counting the ice cubes,” he announced, and sat up from Aileen’s lap to do so.

“And your drink,” Killian said with a fake British accent.

She took a careful sip. “Not bad.” Kissing him, she tasted the tartness on his lips. “When are you gonna FaceTime with Emma?”

“Waiting for her text. Her reception is spotty, so it’s up to her to find a good spot.” He brushed a finger over the stitching on his pocket. “These aren’t half bad. Think I could get an entire Bobcat bowling team going?”

She laughed and laid her head on his shoulder, watching the beginning credits of a Phineas and Ferb episode start.

“I love you.” He kissed her temple and draped an arm around her. Their backs rested against the couch cushions, their butts were padded by at least three inches of wrapping paper, and the apartment they now shared was a mess. But it was perfect pandemonium.

They watched as Charlie drank his lemonade and gave a running commentary on how illogical Phineas’ plan to build a time machine was. Aileen poked him with a sock-covered foot. “Quiet down in the peanut gallery.”

That sent him off on another spasm of giggles.

“He’s on a sugar high,” Killian muttered. “Emma better text soon, or she’s gonna be FaceTiming with a comatose Charlie.”

“He’ll be fine,” she said. “Kids are allowed to gorge on icing and candy for their birthday.”

“Charlie,” Killian prodded after a moment. “I think we forgot one gift.”

Aileen’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious. Another one?”

Charlie’s grin was devilish as he raced into the master bedroom. She raised a brow at Killian, but he merely sent her an innocent shrug and a wink. His son was back a moment later, walking slowly and holding his hands very steady as he traipsed through the discarded, torn paper. Halting before Aileen, he extended his arms for her to take the gift.

“Mine?” she asked him, and he grinned and nodded with so much enthusiasm, it looked like it hurt his neck. “Sit down and help me.”

Charlie sat, but kept his hands to himself as she tore off the paper. In it, she found a framed photo of the article—okay, more of an opinion piece—she’d written after her interview with Trey and Cassie had hit mainstream media. The video had gone viral in under forty-eight hours, with networks calling to beg her for additional unedited versions or asking her to comment on the situation as she’d seen it. She’d declined, though she offered her services freelance, and was making a decent living shuttling herself to and from Phoenix for interviews with the Suns’ head coach and players. She’d written an opinion piece though, which the New York Times had printed.

She’d cried the morning it ran.

“Oh, it’s beautiful.” The heavy silver frame and thick cream mat surrounding the article made her want to cry all over again. “You guys.” She held out an arm to Charlie, who sat back and shook his head. Stunned, she looked to Killian. “What’s wrong?”

“Not quite done. But why don’t you see how it’ll look next to the photo of your parents?” he prodded gently, pointing to the wall where she’d hung the photo from her old studio apartment. It was then she realized he’d shifted the framed photograph of her parents over a few inches to make room for her newly framed article.

She stood and held up the frame, frowning when it clinked. “Something’s loose, I think.” She rotated the frame and found a ring dangling from a ribbon attached to the back of the photo.

Eyes watering, she turned to Killian, who was down on his knees. He took her free hand.

“I know I love you,” he said, reminding her of their words not so long ago. “I know it’s early, but I know you’re the best woman for me. And I know we’ll be happy together. So, marry me?”

“And me!” Charlie shrieked, bouncing on the couch. “You marry us both!”

Carefully, so she didn’t injure the frame, she placed it on the ground by her feet. Then she leaned forward and kissed his lips softly. “You know I’m going to say yes.”

Keep reading for a sneak peek at BELOW THE BELT, the first book in a new series from Jeanette Murray!

 

First Lieutenant Bradley Costa tossed his pack on the bed and sank to the mattress beside it. Fucking hell, what had he walked himself into?

Best—and most terrifying—opportunity of his life, that’s what. He stood and shook his hands, a habit he’d yet to break, to release the nerves. He couldn’t let it get to him, or else he’d be screwed before he hit the gym the first day of training camp.

A knock at his open door jarred him from his self-induced pity party. He turned and saw a guy holding his own ruck, wearing the similar civilian “uniform” of khakis and a button-down polo shirt he’d worn on his own trip to Camp Lejeune.

“Hey, you Costa?”

“Yeah.” Brad strode over to shake the outstretched hand. “You Higgs?”

“One and the same.” The other man grinned, then squeezed a little in friendly warning before letting go. He was an inch or two shorter than Brad, more wiry built. But there was strength in the grip, and Brad didn’t doubt the man could likely run circles around an opponent. Pushing past Brad, Higgs walked in and observed the tiny room, nodding in acceptance. “Seems we’re lucky roomies while we’re here.”

“Seems like.” Brad watched him warily. “I’ve claimed this one, yours is that way.” What the hell was this guy doing? The small single bedrooms of the BOQ were connected by a tiny sitting room and shared bathroom. Obviously, this was his room.

Making himself at home, Higgs tossed his pack next to Brad’s on the bed and sat in the chair. “I like company.”

Oh good. He got the Chatty Cathy for a roommate. He could wait it out. He went to his own ruck and started unpacking.

“So you think you’ll be here awhile, huh?”

God, he hoped so. He glanced up as he organized the top drawer with his workout gear. “Wouldn’t have made the trip otherwise.”

“I’m not big on packing, myself.” Higgs stretched and laced his fingers over his stomach. “I figure I’ll just leave things the way they are for now. See if I like the set up. If not, easier to ditch and go if my shit isn’t spread out from here to kingdom come.”

Brad snorted. “What, like you’re just going to walk away from this if you don’t like how it’s playing out?”

“Why not? Life’s too short to do shit you don’t like.”

Brad’s hands tightened into fists around the top drawer. He’d tried for years, nearly a decade, to get the chance to come to training camp for the Marine Corps boxing team. Had been working for the goal—even just indirectly—since watching his father compete at age six. For the next twenty-three years, the goal had been at the top of his bucket list. And this moron was willing to just walk away from the opportunity?

Fucker.

And yet, if he did, it was one less fucker Brad had to step over to make it onto the team. He shut the drawer and shrugged. “Probably right.”

Higgs watched him for a minute, then snorted and stood. Most likely disappointed Brad didn’t invite him to stay and paint their toenails and gossip about boys. As Higgs grabbed his bag, he said, “A bunch of the guys who arrived today are heading down to Back Gate.

Back Gate, as anyone knew who had been stationed at Lejeune, was a well-known bar frequented by Marines in their off time. Ironically enough, it was accessed the easiest from the main gate. “Okay then.”

“You coming?”

Training day one started at oh-seven hundred tomorrow morning. And these jokers were heading out to get wasted the night before?

“Oh yeah, I’ll come. I’ll even drive.”

He wouldn’t miss the train wreck for the world.

***

Marianne Cook slid into one of the remaining booths at the Back Gate, and wondered why, God why, had she agreed to meet here for drinks with her mother again?

That’s right, because her mother was boy-crazy. The woman—half her namesake—was nearly sixty, and still got giggly around hot men young enough to be her sons, if she’d had sons. So meeting in a bar where Marines hung out after hours was, quite frankly, Mary Cook’s idea of a perfect night out.

Fortunately, her father was not only aware of Mary’s boy-craziness, but found it amusing. And since her mother would never even consider cheating on her father, Marianne found the entire thing amusing as well.

Until she was an unwilling accomplice.

The server stopped by, a little harried and definitely short on patience, and took Marianne’s simple order of a bottle of light beer and an ice water and left. Knowing her mother, she’d be zooming in about twenty minutes late. The water would make the beer last longer. Only one, since she would be driving home.

A shout, a few jeers and a male insult erupted from the bar area. She glanced over for a moment. Nothing much to see. A group of Marines doing that weird man thing where harassment passes off as bonding time. Add in a few beers and it just cranks the volume up. Nothing she hadn’t seen before. Though she’d missed the sight since she moved down to Wilmington for college, then her first post-grad job.

And, she realized with a smug smile as the server wordlessly delivered her beer and water, nothing she wouldn’t be seeing up close and personal for a few months, at least. She picked up the glass of water when her mother breezed in.

“Sorry, I’m late, I know.” Mary slid in the booth in front of her. Before Marianne could lift the water, her mother snatched it from her hand and took a gulp. “Better.”

“I’m glad,” Marianne said dryly, taking the water from her mother and having a sip for herself. “What held you up this time?”

“Myself, of course. Then I was late leaving, and Western was a parking lot.” Mary patted her hair, a mix of silver and blonde much like Marianne’s just plain blonde. Where her mother kept her hair longer—eschewing tradition of cutting it shorter as she got older—Marianne had chopped hers off to a short bob in college. They shared the same icy blue eyes though. “Had to spruce up a bit, didn’t I?”

“So you could turn all the men’s heads.” Marianne smiled and shook her head while her mother gave her order—a glass of wine—to the server when she buzzed by. “Daddy’s a tolerant man.”

“My favorite kind. As long as I come home to him at the end of the night, he never considered it a big deal to flirt. There’s never harm in flirting with a cute young man.” Mary’s light eyes laughed as she took another sip of water from her daughter’s glass. “I thought I taught you that.”

“Among other things.” Marianne waited for the server to plop her mother’s sub-par wine down and scoot away before saying, “I got all settled into the apartment. Still have a few more boxes to get to, but I should be done with those tonight.”

“I’m so glad you’re back in town.” Her mother took a sip and grimaced. “This is awful.”

“You picked the location,” she reminded her mother, taking a sip of the much safer selection of bottled beer. “And you remember I’m only here for awhile, right? I’m not moving back to Jacksonville permanently.”

“But you’re here for now. And that makes both of us happy.” Mary laid a hand on her daughter’s arm, and Marianne couldn’t help but smile back. She loved her parents, adored them. She knew she was fortunate to have been raised by people who taught her a love of independence tempered by a healthy dose of respect for those who reared you.

“I know. But if this job leads to bigger and better things . . .” She shrugged. No big deal.

Except it was. That was the entire reason she’d left her old job, taken the chance and moved back to Jacksonville. It was the opening to making her dreams come true.

“I think if you—oh!” Mary grabbed for her wine glass as something jarred their table. But her flushed, slightly annoyed look smoothed into sweet cream and dimples when she looked up and found a handsome young Marine standing before their table. And there was no doubt he was a Marine. They were impossible to miss. His dark, almost black hair was in a razor-sharp high and tight, his face baby-smooth, and he was wearing the unofficial off-duty uniform of a clean polo shirt and nice jeans.

“Sorry ladies.” He grinned lopsidedly, dark eyes lighting up, and Marianne instantly knew he was, if not drunk, well on his way to becoming so. “Didn’t mean to bump the table.”

“It’s fine.” Marianne smiled briefly then turned to her mother, who was smiling not-so-briefly.

“Totally understandable. It’s just so crowded in here, isn’t it?” Mary played with the thin gold band necklace she wore every day, her own patented flirtatious gesture. Marianne rolled her eyes into her water glass.

“Maybe it was just the sight of two such beautiful sisters,” the younger man said with a cheeky grin.

Marianne tried not to laugh, she really did. But a snort worked its way up. Seriously. The guy was twelve. Okay fine, twenty-one, max. But boy did he have some good, classic lines. Her mother glared.

“Ignore my sister,” Mary said firmly.

“Oh, please,” Marianne muttered.

“Can I buy you ladies another round to apologize?” He motioned a hand toward the sliver of bench left by Marianne, silently asking if he could also have a seat. She ignored the gesture and looked straight ahead, past her mother’s shoulder.

Seriously. Hot Marines. Been there, done that. Okay, not done that, done that. That sounded wrong. But you couldn’t grow up in Jacksonville and not have had a teenage fantasy or two about the constant influx of good looking, uniform-wearing hotties driving through the front gate every morning. Naturally, if she’d actually dated any of them during her teens, her father would have killed her.

She was older now. More mature. Immune to the hype. Could easily see through that cocky you want me grin the infant wore.

And yet, her mother ate it up with a spoon. “You don’t have to do that.” But she scooted over a few inches.

“I insist. I . . . need to . . .” A hand clamped down on his shoulder. His speech slowed down—way down—and watching the young man’s face change was almost like watching a gear physically click into place when he turned to see who stepped up behind him.

“Ladies.” Another man, only this time, he was a man, stepped up beside the infant lady-killer. “I hope my friend here isn’t bothering you.” He slung an arm around the other Marine’s shoulder in a grip that even Marianne could see was designed to restrain.

“We’re fine,” Marianne said easily. The infant was a little obnoxious, but she didn’t want him in trouble. “Really, no harm done at all.”

“This just makes things perfect, doesn’t it?” Mary said cheerfully, missing the undertones. “A Marine for each of us.”

“Marine? What gave it away?” The taller, older one smiled easily, but his grip never loosened on the young man. Like his younger friend, he wore the same distinctive military markers—medium brown hair in a high and tight, polo tucked into jeans without any designer rips or holes—but it wasn’t so much a definition of who he was, just something he wore comfortably. He was probably in his late twenties, early thirties tops, she’d guess. Not old. But old enough to flip a switch from silly little infant over to Oh boy, that’s good to look at.

And God. Hadn’t she just told herself Marines did nothing for her? Bad, Marianne. Bad.

“The high and tights, of course. And the impressive . . . physiques. Impossible to miss!” Mary ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it behind one ear. “Will you join us?”

“I think we’re quitting for the night. We’ve got an early day tomorrow. Don’t we, Tressler?” He said it so mildly, Marianne wouldn’t have picked up on the not-an-order order if she hadn’t been watching their body language.

A little sullen now, like a child being told playtime is over, Tressler gave them a weak smile. “Thanks for the conversation, ladies. Sorry to interrupt your evening.”

The other one waved and led his now-subdued friend off.

She couldn’t help but watch him as he approached the bar to pass off the man-child to another Marine while he settled his tab. Damn, now that was an ass made for jeans. The dark blue denim stretched comfortably over a butt she could easily guess would be tight enough to bounce a quarter off.

“You’re staring,” her mother murmured.

Marianne snapped her gaze back. “Am not.”

With a small smile, her mother traced the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip. “You know the reason I find it fun to flirt with men? Men I have no intentions of being with, and whom I know have no intentions of being with me? When I’m happily married to your father, and have been for almost thirty years?”

“I’m not sure I want to,” she muttered and killed the bottle with one last gulp.

“It’s because it makes me feel feminine and pretty. A little alive. Your father pays compliments, but it’s nice to be . . . seen, by other people. It’s fun, and harmless. And it makes me happy. What makes you happy?”

“Work.” The answer was easy enough, on the tip of her tongue before she could even think. “I love my job.”

“Of course you do. But I don’t see you looking at athletic tape and Icy Hot the way you just looked at that young man’s ass just now.”

“Things you never want to hear your mother say,” Marianne said to the ceiling.

Her mother raised a light brow. “Am I wrong?”

She was saved from having to answer when the server sat down another light beer and glass of wine. Marianne waved her hand to catch the woman’s attention before she made herself scarce again. “We didn’t order these.”