“You should at least create a cookbook. That’s an almost zero startup cost. If you can’t get it published, you could make one. Self-publish it. You’ve got such a huge blog following, they’d totally be behind you.”
Somehow, that one hadn’t pinged her radar. “Hmm.” She broke off another piece and ate it thoughtfully. “Maybe. It’s just that teaching and the blog and keeping up with Zach’s schedule really keeps me so busy, it’s hard to justify the additional time. I have to sleep at some point.”
“Sleep is overrated.” Brad walked in, waving to Kara and bending down to press a kiss to the top of Marianne’s head. He made his way to the ice machine, well familiar with the routine by now, tossing his knee brace on the table next to Kara’s.
“So you proved this morning with my wake-up call,” Marianne said, a gleam in her eye.
“Ew. No. Stop.” Kara covered her ears with her wrists—her fingers were too crumby—and hummed. “You two can’t do that crap with an audience. It should be illegal.”
“She’s jealous,” Marianne yelled at Brad, clearly for Kara’s benefit. “She could be getting some but she’s being stubborn about it.”
Kara flipped her off, then hopped down off the table. “I’m setting up early and stretching. In the gym. In private. With no wisecracks from you. Brad,” she added as she grabbed her tote from behind Marianne’s back, “you’ve got your hands full with this one. Good luck.”She grinned as her friend flopped a little with the force.
“I’ll need it,” he agreed as he settled the ice bag over his knee. Marianne growled and stood, probably to punch him in the arm. Kara left before she could get caught in the middle.
*
GRAHAM entered the gym with sweating palms. It was yoga day, which translated in his mind to Kara Day. Capital letters, because it was that important. He scanned quickly for Zach, but reminded himself that wasn’t to be expected. It was enough that she was here.
Reagan clacked in behind him. He knew it was her before he turned around. The heels she wore habitually were unlike any other sound in the sweltering, dark gym. “Good morning, Graham. You’re a bit early.”
“Extra yoga practice.” He flashed her a grin when she smiled. “You’re here early,” he shot back at her.
“Extra . . . never mind.” Her smile turned a bit sly, and he shook his head and walked toward the pile of mats Kara had brought out from the storage room. He grabbed one and found her face down, arms at her side, doing a good imitation of a plank of wood on her own personalized mat.
“Hey.”
Her back moved, a sign of her breathing, but she said nothing. Assuming she was deep in some trance, he left her to it and rolled out his own mat in the front. He normally preferred the back, because the more distance he created from Kara, the easier it was to watch her without her noticing. The easier it was to keep his hands to himself.
But, despite no longer being in charge of a mini platoon of Marines trying out for the team, he knew he should be in front. Yoga wasn’t his thing . . . in fact, he sucked at it. But he still wanted to be a leader to the younger guys. Being one of the oldest meant he assumed the responsibility of being a good example. A task that wasn’t all that difficult, under normal circumstances. He’d lost his wild edge years ago.
That long lost wild edge seemed to flare back to life anytime he caught Kara in a compromising position . . . yoga-related or otherwise. As she breathed deeply enough for him to hear, and rose her torso up from the mat, palms flat, arching her back, he bit back a moan. The position thrust her breasts forward, and the look on her face, eyes closed and serene, was akin to the look of a woman after a good, satisfying lovemaking session.
He’d be fighting a semi for the rest of practice at this rate.
The sigh of relief as she rotated her hips back and sank into Child’s Pose—and wasn’t it a kick he knew what it was called—made him smile. Then she rolled up, graceful as an otter in the water, and gave him a small smile of her own. “Hey. Sorry I didn’t answer you earlier. I wasn’t quite ready to move on yet.”
“No rush.” Except he felt the rush inside him, pushing him to move faster. It was like having a hive of bees rolling inside his skin, pushing every direction, and mostly toward her.
“How are you?” she asked, brushing her hands off and sitting cross-legged to fix her ponytail, which didn’t look like it needed fixing to him.
So they were really going to play the Nothing Happened game. Fine. He could play for now. “Good. Great. Getting ready to morph into another scrimmage match this weekend. What are your plans for the week?”