by Aly Martinez
“I’m serious! I don’t.” She glared.
“See, your problem is you’re pretty and not stupid. You wear tight dresses and those fucking heels, so guys think you won’t notice when they parade you around town all while they count down the minutes until they can get you home to remove the dress…but keep the heels on.” I winked.
Her mouth gaped open in a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
“But what they don’t expect is for you to be smart. Given the fact that your dress and shoes cost a fucking mint, they sure as fuck don’t expect that the fancy car they borrowed from their rich daddy and the expensive meal they feed you will not help get that dress off. Since I know you so well, I’m pretty sure it might get the shoes off.”
Her eyes turned murderous, but I chuckled, shaking my head.
“But only because, when he finally got the balls to make a play, you’d throw them at him. So yeah, Rocky. You have a problem. You keep going for douchebags, they’re gonna keep treating you like douchebags. End the cycle. Stop going for douchebags.” I shrugged.
“Wow. How enlightening from a man who hasn’t been on a real date in over four years. And don’t even say it! Hooking up with a girl after a fight doesn’t count.”
Mid-bite, I swung my gaze to hers. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Unfortunately, I knew exactly what she was talking about. I just didn’t know how she knew what she was talking about.
Did I sometimes pick up a girl after a fight? Yes. Did I ever once let on to anyone that it happened? Fuck no. Not Till. Not Flint. And sure as fuck not Liv. It didn’t happen very often, and the women always knew the score. But fuck…as much as my mind would rather be in the peace and quiet of my own apartment, my body was twenty-four years old. Back when it had started, I’d been struggling, and while I had known that those empty orgasms weren’t helping anything, they definitely hadn’t hurt anything, either. If nothing else, they at least relaxed me so I wasn’t a pent-up, miserable bastard all the time. Well, maybe they just helped with the pent-up part of that equation.
It was either screw girls after fights, jack my dick until it fell off, or find someone I actually wanted to date. And no fucking way were the last two options happening.
So yeah, on occasion, I wrapped my cock in a condom and found a warm body to essentially jerk off inside.
Fuck. I was a douchebag of a completely different variety.
“I have eyes, Quarry. Just because you don’t tell me doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you carting some skank back to your hotel room.”
I huffed, unimpressed. Though, secretly, I was seriously impressed that she’d actually noticed. I’d thought I’d done a damn fine job of keeping that part of my life hidden.
“Your eyes didn’t see shit. All of those kinky books you read are fucking with your head.” I stood, twisting the top on the peanut butter then snapping my fingers for her empty wine glass. “Another?” I didn’t bother waiting for her answer before taking the glass and walking to the kitchen.
“It doesn’t make you a bad person, Quarry,” she called after me.
“Drop it,” I growled.
“You don’t have to hide the fact that you might actually be moving on. Honestly, I’m just hoping one of them figures out how to pack a twenty-pound lunch box and relieves me of my duties. You know I won’t always be here to feed you.”
I should have shut the conversation down right then and there, but for some reason, I snapped back entirely too roughly, “Oh, yeah. You want to be relieved of your duties? Consider it done. But I’m not getting a girlfriend just to cook for me.”
As I rounded the corner carrying her second glass of wine, her soft, brown eyes met mine.
“It’s been four years, Q,” she said. “It’s time to move—”
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Hosting an intervention for my cock? Till and Flint gonna bust up in here any minute with condoms and lube?”
Her eyes turned hard, and her lip curled. “Lube? Ew! I did not need to know that.”
And, just because I felt the need to be a dick and make her just as uncomfortable as I already was, I popped a shoulder in a half shrug and grabbed my dick, giving a firm shake as I said, “This big, Liv, lube becomes a necessity.”
As her eyes grew wide, I realized my attempt at making her uncomfortable had backfired.
Monumentally.
Taking the glass from my hand, she asked, “Noted. Should I start adding lube to your travel bags for the girls after the fights, then?”
It was a snarky comment that proved she wasn’t buying my story, but that wasn’t why my plan went haywire.
No. That question was only the beginning of the biggest mind-fuck I would ever experience.
Her heated gaze dropped to the hand cupping my cock. Then, within seconds, her nipples very noticeably peaked beneath the fabric of her clingy dress.
What. The. Fuck.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
The head of my cock responded by swelling while I drank her in…drinking me in.
“Uh, no,” I mumbled, twisting away before she could spot the bulge growing in my sweats.
Shocked, I stared down at my cock as if it could somehow tell me why it was standing at attention after I’d checked Liv James out. Christ. How hard up did I have to be to sprout wood over my best friend?
Apparently, it was time to find one of those girls I had been lying about. ASAP.
Wait. I wasn’t the only one who’d been turned on by our awkward exchange. How hard up was she?
“When was the last time you got laid?” I blurted, my back still facing her—not wanting to display the flagpole currently tenting my pants.
“A while, but you can’t blame me. Douchebags suck in bed.”
Not this one.
Oh, God!
I jumped in surprise when her arms suddenly folded around my waist from behind.
Goddamn it!
“Don’t be mad,” she whispered into my T-shirt.
My heart raced as her front came flush with my back. Liv hugged me all the time, but never—not once—had I noticed how firm her tits were as they pressed against me. Right then, in the middle of what was clearly some kind of sexual psychotic episode, it was all I could think of. Every breath I took ground her large breasts into me. And, with the rate in which my lungs sped at that realization, it left us only one step away from dry-humping.
Her grip shifted lower as she squeezed me tight.
She was only inches away from my straining erection, and I prayed that she didn’t notice it, all the while hoping that her hand accidentally brushed against it—repeatedly.
With just the thought, my cock twitched.
Fuck.
Prying her hands away, I took a giant step forward in effort to gain some space and, hopefully, sense. “I’m…uh…I’m not feeling good. I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed.”
Long strides carried me toward my room.
What the fucking fuck just happened?
Liv called out behind me, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll stop dating douchebags and you screw whoever you want.”
Well, that would be you right about now.
Son of a bitch.
I need serious mental help.
I waved her apology off. Just before closing my door on the most confusing interaction of my entire life, I replied, “See you in the morning.”
It was a lie.
Five minutes later, I saw her on the backs of my eyelids as I stroked my cock in the shower.
Then I saw her again thirty minutes after that as I tried to flood her out of my mind with Internet porn. I was going to Hell, but the two of us starred in every one of those videos. Hence the reason my night ended with me coming on my stomach before finally falling asleep.
It had been a Friday three months ago when that had happened, and every single day since had been pure and utter hell.
Apparently, I was the only one who ate the fre
aky, ecstasy-laced bananas that night, because while I was pounding my dick like a thirteen-year-old who’d just discovered it any time she so much as walked out of her room in yoga pants, Liv seemed completely unaffected.
Just friends. Same as always.
I couldn’t have her. I knew that much. But that didn’t stop my mind from spinning in that direction every time I laid eyes on her.
And, considering that it was now the night of the On The Ropes Youth Boxing Fundraiser Gala, I knew I was in for an evening of torture.
She’d dress up. Something tight and sexy yet unbelievably classy. She’d put on a pair of heels I’d spend weeks dreaming about fucking her in. She’d have her hair and makeup done sleek, sultry, and agonizing—for me, anyway. The real pain was that, even though she would be on my arm when we walked through the doors, she would be fair game for every single man in the room.
No. Liv James definitely wasn’t mine.
Yet.
“HOW LONG DO I HAVE to wait before I can take the jacket off?” Quarry asked, offering an arm for me as we exited the black SUV and stepped onto the red carpet.
We were at a charity gala to raise money for the On The Ropes youth boxing program. Slate had been funding it on his own for years, and when Till had won the championship and bought half the gym, he’d done the same. It was quickly becoming too expensive for either of them to carry on their own.
The program was specifically geared toward underprivileged kids and keeping them off the streets. Since the Page brothers were the shining example of what the gym could accomplish, On The Ropes had gained a good bit of national attention. With a rising demand to expand into different locations across the country, Erica and Eliza decided to organize a yearly fundraiser to help pay the mounting expenses.
Professional boxers, new and old, graciously donated not only money, but also their time to attend the event. With Slate Andrews, Till Page, Quarry Page, and a slew of other celebrities in attendance, tickets were coveted—and expensive as hell. Wealthy businessmen and rich boxing fans flew from all over the country in order to rub elbows and hopefully sign donations checks. Last year’s gala had raised over three point nine million dollars, which had all been funneled into the newest On The Ropes location in Brooklyn, opening later that year.
Eliza and Erica had done an amazing job putting that night together. Ash and I pitched in a good bit too. It was exhausting work, but the payoff was so huge that none of us could complain. As much as we loved doing it, we all looked forward to the planning being over so we could cut loose and celebrate by eating amazing food and drinking expensive champagne.
With that in mind, I didn’t even have it in me to snap at Quarry for his continuous complaining about the suit.
“I’m going to sew you into that thing permanently if you don’t stop bitching about it.”
Okay, so maybe I did have it in me.
“And rob the world of my body? There would be riots,” he said, looking down at me with a wide smile. Camera flashes sparkled the humor in his beautiful, hazel eyes.
“I’m willing to chance it. Besides, it could be nice not to find you half naked every time I exited my bedroom. I’m not sure what kind of breakup you had with shirts, but you might want to consider a reconciliation before your pants follow suit and I’m forced to move out.”
His smile grew, but something pained passed over his face. I’d seen that look a lot over the last few months, and while I hadn’t been able to figure it out, I knew that it didn’t bode well for the rest of my evening.
“Right,” he said shortly. Dropping my arm, he shoved his hands in his pockets and aimed a smoldering smirk—complete with one mouth-watering dimple—toward the cameras.
“Good lord. If you’re going to pout, just take the jacket off now.” I sighed, wondering if this was how my parents had felt when I’d first started my period. He was so damn moody.
“I’m good,” he replied absently, tipping his chin toward a sexy, blond reporter desperately trying to catch his attention—and, judging by the way she thrust her boobs forward, she wanted more than just an interview. “I’ll be right back.” He sauntered in her direction, but at the last minute, her plastic smile faded when he veered to the clamoring fans holding magazines and other memorabilia out for him to sign.
I swept my eyes down his muscular back to his ass, which was pulling deliciously against the black fabric of his suit pants. I wasn’t blind. It didn’t mean anything though. He was hot. Checking him out was a perk of keeping him as my best friend. I’d recently given up even trying to stop my wandering eyes.
“Liv! Over here!” reporters shouted at me.
I’d also given up explaining to the press that I wasn’t his girlfriend. The public didn’t believe us. We lived together. I was his “date” to every social function he ever attended. I was in the front row at all of his fights. And I was the first one in the ring to hug him when he won.
No one understood us, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to. We got it.
As hard as it was for people to grasp, platonic friendships could work. Given the history Quarry and I had, it was no surprise we had so successfully done it for years. Either you had feelings for someone or you didn’t.
Nothing could change that.
Not even checking out the other person’s ass.
Or at least that’s what I told myself as I tipped my head to admire it from a different angle.
I jumped in surprise when my gaze flashed back up and I found I’d been busted.
His stare was aimed over his shoulder. He was sporting the same sexy smolder that popped that heart-stopping dimple, but his dark, heated gaze was locked on me.
Uhh…what the hell is that look for?
Under his scrutiny, my shoulders instinctively rolled back, doing great things for my boobs and causing his eyes to flicker down to my chest.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled when he twisted my way.
Both hands in his pockets, his jacket pushed back, showing the wide expanse of his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt, his collar open, and the hint of one of his tattoos peeking over the swell of his trap. He was standing at least ten feet away, regarding me with the most beautifully bizarre expression.
Bizarre because it blasted an unexpected chill over my skin. And beautiful because, well, it was Quarry.
He didn’t head in my direction. He just stood there, staring at me, for several beats.
I narrowed my eyes in question, but that only made his smolder morph into an equally confusing—and dazzling—smirk.
“What?” I signed, knowing he couldn’t hear my voice amongst the chaos.
Removing his hands from his pockets, he signed without speaking, You look gorgeous.
Okay, something was definitely going on with him. As my roommate, Quarry had been subjected to countless hours of me trying on clothes before dates or interviews or really any time I’d been able to go shopping. I’d heard him tell me, “You look fine,” or “You look nice,” or “You look good.” Once, on Halloween, after I’d had my makeup professionally done to be a zombie at the community center’s haunted house, he’d even told me, “You look great.”
Never once had I been “gorgeous.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I checked to see if the busty, blond reporter had somehow snuck behind me. When I found nothing more than the On The Ropes logo on the red carpet backdrop, I turned back in his direction to find he was no longer there.
My whole body stiffened as callused fingers brushed the hair off my neck.
“I need a drink.” His voice was gravelly in my ear.
“I feel like you might already be drunk. There’s something wrong with your face,” I replied breathlessly even as I insulted him.
He chuckled. “I tell you you’re gorgeous and you tell me there’s something wrong with my face?”
I craned my head back and peered into his eyes, “Okay, there’s something wrong with your face and your hands. You�
�re creeping me out.”
His expression shifted, and his face was once again painted with something pained.
I smiled warmly, wishing I could figure out what the hell was going on with him. “Talk to me?”
Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I’m tired. That’s all. Let’s get that drink.”
He was lying, but whatever had been bothering him vanished as he tossed me a wicked lopsided grin.
So I let it go.
I could give him that.
For now.
Looping my arm through his, I replied, “I wouldn’t turn down champagne.”
“Did you see Flint in that tux?” Ash asked for the twentieth time that evening. “I mean, I knew he was sexy in a suit, but God! That vest and bow tie are doing dirty things to me.”
I laughed as she continued to ogle her husband from across the room.
“If you want, the boys can spend the night at my house tonight,” Eliza offered before sipping on a glass of champagne.
Ash choked on her drink, and her eyes grew comically wide.
Pounding on Ash’s back, I told Eliza, “I think she’d like that.”
Eliza giggled.
Ash and Flint had two boys, Cole and Chase, whose birthdays weren’t even a full year apart. Cole had been a planned pregnancy not long after Mia had passed away. But, when he was less than two months old, Chase had been created the old-fashioned accidental way. Flint and Ash loved those boys more than anything in the world, but there was no denying that they could use some time away. Ash was frothing at the mouth just standing in the same room as Flint, so they probably needed more like an entire week away. I made a mental note to talk to Quarry about us watching the hellions so they could do just that. Flint was crazy weird about leaving their kids with babysitters, and if it wasn’t for Eliza and Till’s long-time nanny having agreed to keep the boys for the gala, I wasn’t sure Flint would have come at all.
“Are you sure?” Ash asked through a cough.
“Of course! There is no point in you guys picking them up tonight anyway. They’ll already be asleep by the time we get home. But you’re gonna have to tell Flint. I know how he is with those kids.”