by Aly Martinez
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.”
“Oh, I can handle Flint. Don’t you worry about that.” She pushed to her feet and smoothed her long, strawberry-blond hair down. Leaning into my face, she pointed under her eyes. “Makeup?”
“Perfect. You want some gloss?”
She smiled so wide that I thought her face might split. “Nah. It’s too hard to clean it off his zipper. There’s a strong possibility I may need to do some convincing. A little preview in the bathroom should do the job.” She exaggerated a wink.
I groaned, not needing that mental picture.
Eliza pelted her with a balled-up napkin. “Gross!”
Ash crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t even pretend like we don’t know why you came strutting out of the limo all disheveled tonight.”
Eliza slapped a hand over her mouth, and her cheeks turned bright red. “Oh, God. Was it that obvious?”
Ash high-fived me as we both burst into laughter.
“Not at all. I actually just took a guess. He sprang for the limo. I figured he wanted a little more than just the extra leg room.” She winked again then took off on her task to “convince” Flint to leave the kids with their aunt and uncle for the evening.
“Ten bucks she goes for the wallet first,” I bet Eliza, sliding down to fill Ash’s vacant seat.
“No. You watch. She’ll bat her eyelashes, kiss him, and then slide a hand down the back of his pants. Then!” She lifted a single finger in the air. “After he at least agrees to meet her in the bathroom, she’ll swipe his wallet. Only it won’t be in his back pocket. Flint replaced it with the key to the hotel room he booked for them tonight.”
“Seriously?!” I squealed, glancing back at Ash as she prowled away.
Eliza nodded, equally as excited.
“Oh my God! She’s going to flip. We should say a prayer for the poor souls who get the room next to them tonight.” I nabbed two more champagne flutes from a waiter’s tray.
We watched as Ash made her move.
Eliza was right. She went for the wallet last.
I was right too though. She. Flipped.
“Ew. Ew. Ew,” we said in unison as Ash practically mounted Flint.
“I should probably rescue my husband.” She pointed to Till, who was one blink away from dozing off in mid-conversation with a group of gray-haired men.
“You do that and I’m going to find Q. Want to meet at the back bar for a drink in ten minutes? Shots?” I waggled my eyebrows.
Eliza wasn’t much of a drinker, but after almost a year of hard work, she always made an exception at the gala.
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll make Till get up with the kids in the morning.” She laughed. “Want to come over and nurse our ha
ngovers together?”
“You supply the coffee and Netflix. I’ll bring the greasy fast food.”
“Deal.”
We split in different directions.
I made my way to the back of the room where I’d last seen Q at least an hour earlier when he’d been cornered by a group of guests.
When I didn’t see him there, I headed toward the exit, thinking he might have snuck into the alley for a breather—a.k.a. hiding so he didn’t have to be social. However, as I rounded the corner, I froze when I saw none other than “Golden” Garrett Davenport strutting past the security guard at the back door.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Chapter Twelve
Quarry
SHOOT ME.
No, seriously.
Shoot me.
I was in a suit.
Chatting with old men who wanted to tell me all about their glory days in junior league boxing. They were dropping names like I should know who the fuck amateur “Tornado” Timmy Turner was four decades before I was born.
Plus, I was stuck chugging nasty-ass champagne off the waiters’ trays. Ducking to the bar for a beer would have taken valuable time away from the riveting stories of the youth in the Dark Ages.
And the cherry on top of this shit-sundae was that I hadn’t seen Liv in ten hours. Okay, maybe it was only, like, one hour. But she was wearing that little black dress that left virtually nothing to the imagination, so even ten hours felt like an understatement.
She looked every bit as sexy as I had feared.
Her long, sculpted legs taunted me with every step. Urging me to drop to my knees and bury my face between them.
Those tall, black heels whispered promises to score my back with every click.
That silky, brown hair begged to be wrapped around my fist as I fucked her from behind.
Her bold, red lipstick pleaded to stain the root of my cock.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This is Liv! What the hell is wrong with me?
Never going to happen, buddy.
However, for a brief minute on the red carpet as I caught her eye-fucking my ass, I had hoped that it might.
It was ridiculous though.
Nothing good would ever come of me fucking Liv James.
She was my best friend. Slipping my dick into her was not an option. My fingers though…
Shit!
I loved her—like family. Unfortunately, my body had gotten a few wires crossed and now thought I should love her in that hey-let-me-make-you-come-until-you-forget-the-English-language kind of way.
I desperately needed to find a way to unscramble those thoughts so I could get over this bullshit and get back to where we should be.
Just friends.
Best friends.
Maybe friends who get off together?
Damn it!
With that, I decided it was time to throw etiquette out the window and make my escape.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to check on my date.”
Then check myself into a sexual rehabilitation facility.
Several handshakes later, I was free. While scanning the large ballroom for Liv, I caught sight of Eliza dragging Till out of another circle of loaded fogies.
No sign of Liv.
A sudden pain in my ear made me wince. God, I wanted to go home. My new hearing aids had been calibrated for the noisy environment of the fundraiser, but they were uncomfortable as fuck. I headed to the bathroom to check them out or, hell, maybe save myself from being caught in another Circle of Bengay and take them off altogether.
Ignoring a different group of guests trying to catch my attention, I hurried toward the bathroom.
All thoughts of my discomfort disappeared when I heard the sharp cry of Liv’s voice. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but only the tone of her voice soured my gut. I sprinted in her direction, not slowing until her long, brown hair came into view.
Then my vision turned red as it zeroed in on a man holding her around the waist as she kicked and screamed in his arms.
“Get him out of here!” Liv shouted. “You don’t get to do this! Not again!”
A small crowd blocked my view of who she was screaming at. Liv was definitely spunky—and slightly crazy. But she wasn’t hot-tempered. If she was mad about something, chances were I was going to be livid.
“Hey!” I shouted, jogging over to the man restraining her. “Get your fucking hands off her.” I possessively claimed her from his arms and then breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed the Guardian Protection Agency pin on his lapel.
That’s when the proverbial record stopped.
Liv froze.
Dozens of eyes swung my way.
The crowd parted.
And Garrett fucking Davenport stepped in my direction.
Son.
Of.
A.
Motherfucking.
Whore.
“Quarry ‘The Stone Fist’ Page, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced with a slow clap that grated down my spine.
As much as my fist ached to greet his face, I didn’t respond. Not this time.
“Can someone go get Till? Or Slate? Or Flint? Or hell…anyone else? Please,” Liv begged as she stepped in front of me. “Walk away, Q. He’s only here to get a rise and you know it. Do not give that to him. Lock it down.”
I gritted my teeth but remained silent—my eyes trained on the coward in the fitted, black tux looking every bit as pompous and arrogant as I knew him to be.
“I heard there was a fundraiser going on to benefit youth boxing.” Davenport puffed his chest and then grinned. “Coincidence. I have funds and love boxing. What are the odds?” He laughed.
“We don’t want your fucking money,” Liv spat without ever turning to face him. “Walk away, Q.”
My jaw clenched as my hands flexed opened and closed at my sides. His appearance had absolutely nothing to do with the fundraiser and everything to do with the fact that the boxing commissioner had emailed over the contracts on his next title fight. I hadn’t shared with Liv yet, but I’d found out that morning that my name was finally back on the bottom line. His reign in the ring had been over the minute those contracts had landed on his agent’s desk. I knew it. And it gave me great pleasure that he knew it too. This whole confrontation was nothing more than attempt to get in my head. Little did he know that my head had been fucked years earlier. He was only adding fuel to my fire.
That title belonged to me.
I wouldn’t let him take this opportunity from me. Not again.
“Are you here to beg me to take it easy on you?” I asked stoically.
He barked a humorless laugh.
Liv squeezed my bicep. “Let’s go home.”
I ignored her and continued talking to Davenport. “No? Then what? You need my belt size? Routing number for my bank account?”
He took a threatening step forward, but I held my ground.
Liv blew out a loud breath of relief when Slate’s meaty paw landed on my shoulder.
“That’s enough,” Slate said. “Not here, Garrett. This is neither the time nor the place for you to stir up something. You want to make a donation? Mail it to the gym. The kids would be appreciative of your generosity. Besides that, you have no business here.”
Fucking Slate. All PC and shit.
“With all due respect, Slate.” He paused and smiled condescendingly. “Fuck. You.”
“You’re not really my type, son,” Slate replied with a chuckle, but his hand clenched painfully tight on my shoulder—his fist no doubt aching as well.
Flint’s voice came from somewhere behind me. “Get Leo’s ass over here. This is over, Garrett. Either you leave now or security will be escorting you out.”
Till stepped to my side. Bumping his shoulder with mine, he gritted out, “Do not react. Hold on to this moment for when you have him in the ring. You have your shot. Do not blow it by giving in to this prick.”
Shit, he was right.
“What’s wrong, Page? Nothing to say?” Davenport goaded. “You just gonna stand there and let your washed-up trainer and has-been brother take care of your shit?”
I sucked in a deep breath.
Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe.
Adrenaline surged in my veins, but it found no way out as I forced it down.
Liv wasn’t as successful.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she erupted.
I hooked a fast arm around her waist and yanked her back to my chest. She continued hurling insults.
Davenport laughed loudly. With an evil smirk, he lifted his eyes to mine.
Three words.
Three fucking words secured his fate.
I’d already wanted his belt.
But, with three fucking works, I wanted his blood.
“Control your bitch.”
The room exploded. Slate, Till, and even Flint jumped to restrain me.
I didn’t move.
Liv was a button of mine he’d never pushed before. It was the only one left that could send me nuclear. Clearly, everyone around us knew that, but I wouldn’t give him that knowledge.
That was mine. The last thing I needed was him launching a full-out attack on her just to set me off-kilter.
Every muscle in my body strained, but I didn’t budge.
Not forward to kill him.
And definitely not backward in retreat.
I was rooted in place.
Eyes locked.
Plotting his murder.
Electricity charged the air.
I. Did. Not. Move.
I refused to give him what he’d so cowardly come for.
My breath escaped on a loud roar of laughter that stunned everyone, including the senior citizens club that had congregated around us.
Davenport’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but my laughter only grew louder.
I repeated his words, shaking my head in humor. “Control your bitch.”
“Uhh…” Liv said as I finally dragged my eyes away from Davenport.
Smiling, I said, “He’s right, you know.”