On The Ropes Series Box Set

by Aly Martinez

  Liv wouldn’t let go though. She fought for me even when I desperately wanted to throw in the towel.

  We were friends—best friends. But that wasn’t where our relationship ended.

  She was the little sister I never had but would’ve killed to protect. No matter the price.

  She was the roommate who threatened to move out on a daily basis because I left my shoes all over the place. Half the time, I did it on purpose because I loved watching her rant in Spanish as she furiously swirled around the room, picking them up, only seconds before throwing them at me. Plus, she was fair to a fault. Despite the fact that I made more in a single fight than she would in ten years, she still insisted on paying half the bills and alternating the utilities each month.

  Liv was also my chef, not because I’d asked her to be, but rather because she knew I needed a healthy diet despite being worthless in the kitchen. I was a professional heavyweight boxer; my metabolism was insane. I consumed thousands of calories when I was training up for a fight. Every morning, I’d wake up with a tote bag full of food to take to the gym with me. Good food. Healthy food. Shit no one but professional athletes would ever want to eat. And she made it for me.

  Most recently, she had become my assistant. She knew me so well that it was as if she could read my mind. Liv could predict what I needed without my ever asking. And then she made sure I had it. I wasn’t exactly easy to deal with—I knew that much. But Liv was tough and didn’t pull any punches when I got out of line. Not even when I needed her to. I’d never in a million years be able to replace her.

  Liv James was absolutely everything to me.

  Well, almost.

  She wasn’t mine.

  Yet.

  See, when a man is in love with a woman, he doesn’t allow himself to see the perfections in anyone else. I had been so blinded by my devotion to Mia that, while I’d seen Liv daily, I hadn’t truly recognized the insanely sexy and desirable woman she was. That is, until one night, when the scars covering my heart were finally able to close the gaping wound Mia March had left behind.

  It was a Friday when it happened.

  A Friday when everything I’d missed over the years came slamming into my head at a million miles an hour, rocking me back and forcing me to take notice.

  A Friday I’d never forget no matter how desperately I tried to block it from my memory.

  A Friday when I realized I was probably going to lose my best friend.

  A Friday when I knew I was in for the biggest fight of my life to keep her.

  It was a Friday when the picture of my life finally came into focus and I saw Liv James for what felt like the very first time.

  “Oh my gah!” she shouted as she slammed the door and dropped her purse on the floor.

  “That good, huh?” I asked, sprawled out on the chocolate-brown leather sectional Liv had picked out.

  Fisting her hands on her hips, she tilted her head. “Can you please tell me what is wrong with your generation of men?”

  My eyebrows popped in humor. “My generation of men?”

  “Yes! Why are you all assholes?”

  Sitting up, I replied, “Present company excluded?”

  After pulling her heels off, she carried them to her room, calling over her shoulder, “I’m not sure. The jury is still out on that.”

  “Hey!” I started to follow her when she returned to continue her rant.

  After making a brief stop at the fridge to pour a glass of wine, she cozied into her spot in the bend of the couch. “So, get this… He took me to The Roads for dinner.”

  Snagging two bananas and a jar of peanut butter, I headed to the couch to join her. “What’s wrong with The Roads? Their steaks are fucking insane and definitely not cheap.”

  She curled her legs underneath her. “Nothing’s wrong with it…unless your ex-girlfriend is a waitress there and you specifically ask to be seated in her section…while on a date…with someone else.” She curled her lip.

  “No shit?”

  “No. Shit,” she confirmed.

  “What’d you do?”

  She scoffed. “What I did was order a hundred-dollar bottle of wine I barely got to touch because he kept trying to hold my hand over the table, and then I ordered another hundred dollars in food, which I scarfed down in record time. Because, well…you aren’t wrong about those steaks, but he was a self-absorbed snob who made me wish his steak had bones just so he could choke on one. But then! I told him to go fuck himself and caught a cab home. I seriously don’t understand what’s wrong with men.”

  Swallowing another bite of banana, I propped my feet on the ottoman and reclined into the couch. “It’s not them. There’s something wrong with you.”

  “Excuse me?” she said just seconds before her fist landed hard on my thigh.

  “Ow. Shit. Stop punching me. I didn’t get to finish.”

  “Then by all means continue, oh wise one.” Rolling her eyes, she tipped the wine to her lips.

  “You have shit taste in guys. I can’t believe you even went out with him after he showed to pick you up wearing boat shoes.”

  “Hey! I like boat shoes.”

  Coating the tip of my banana with peanut butter, I replied, “No. You like douchebags.” Holding her eyes, I dared her to challenge me as I took a bite.

  She didn’t hesitate. “I do not!”

  Since I was chewing, my only response was to quirk my eyebrow in a silent Really?

  “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 hot
el 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 freaky, 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.

  Chapter Eleven

  Liv

  “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 do
ing 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.