by Aly Martinez
I shook my head. “Don’t worry, Liv. Your paycheck is safe.”
The words had barely cleared my mouth when a fucking bee stung me.
I started to swat it away when Liv shrieked, “Shit!” Shaking her hand out, she continued to curse in Spanish as she danced a tight circle around me.
“Did you just punch me?” I questioned in all seriousness.
“I think I broke my hand,” she yelled. “Why were you flexed?”
“Christ, Rocky. I just leveled Davenport. I’m a little amped. Are you okay?” I snagged her hand to inspect it.
“Oh God, is it broken? It really fucking hurts,” she whined, and her face scrunched adorably.
“Maybe you should learn to control your shit. What the hell were you punching me for?”
Taking my time, massaging up and down her forearm, I continued to check her hand. It was fine, but I didn’t release it. I hated that she was in pain, but I loved the way she peered up at me as if I could take it all away.
“Don’t start with me, Quarry. I’m the one who gets to be mad here.”
“Why? Because that prick decided to show up talking shit the day he found out we’d been scheduled for a rematch?”
Her eyes grew wide. “They scheduled a rematch?” she breathed.
I’d spent the night lusting over her as she’d pranced around the ballroom. Thoughts of taking her on every horizontal surface had filled my mind for the majority of the evening. But right then, as she stared up at me with a mixture of surprise and elation, all because I was going to get something I truly wanted in life, a warmth I hadn’t felt in years washed over me.
“No, Rocky. We’re getting a rematch.”
Her eyes flashed between mine as she silently held my gaze. Pride and affirmation filled my chest from her unspoken praise.
God. This woman.
She was so fucking beautiful.
Guiding her injured hand to my chest, I fought the urge to kiss her.
She was close. It wouldn’t have taken much.
I could have gripped her neck and tilted her head back. Leaning down, I could have brushed my lips against hers. She would have gasped, unsure of what to make of it. But, even in her confusion, her nipples would have swelled. Her breathing would have sped in what she would claim was nerves, but we’d both know that it was pure and erotic desire. Her feet would shuffle forward until those round breasts were compressed against my abs. Her hands would immediately snake around my waist for balance just before her eyes fluttered shut in invitation.
I wouldn’t kiss her yet. No. I’d simply watch her face soften and her lips part in anticipation. Sliding my free hand up her side, I’d whisper my breath across her mouth, denying us both the contact we so desperately needed. Goose bumps would pebble her otherwise smooth skin as I made my way up to cup her jaw. Then I’d graze my thumb over her plump bottom lip until her tongue peeked out to dampen it. With a deep breath, I’d fill my lungs with the intoxicating mixture of champagne and Liv James—holding it impossibly long for no other reason than it had once been hers. I’d continue to ghost my lips over hers, torturing us both, until her eyes finally opened, dark with need. She would whisper my name as a question, and then and only then, when I was positive she was drenched, primed, and ablaze, would I crush my mouth over hers for the first time.
Deep.
Languid.
Hard.
Reverent.
Liv.
“Oh my God!” she yelled, snapping me back to reality. Throwing her arms around my neck, she pulled me in for a tight celebratory hug.
Meanwhile, the warmth in my chest disappeared as I mourned the loss of a moment that had never truly been mine to claim.
I had to get over this bullshit with her.
Or…figure out a way to get her on the same page as me.
Both seemed equally as impossible.
But, then again, she had been checking out my ass tonight, so maybe…
God, what am I doing? Am I seriously thinking about seducing my best friend? Then what? We fuck? We date? We go back to being friends? Shit, we get married?
Yes. I was insanely attracted to her, and I cared about her more than I could ever put into words. But what else? What if that was it? What if we had sex and nothing more came of it?
Liv didn’t pour her soul out to me about dudes or anything—it was safer for everyone involved that way. She’d had boyfriends. I’d actually liked a few of them. But I had an inkling that she wasn’t the casual let’s-experiment-naked-and-see-if-we-have-any-feelings-for-each-other kind of girl.
I knew right then that I had to shut that shit down. She deserved someone better than me. If I knew some guy was having these wishy-washy thoughts about her, I would have beaten the absolute fuck out of him before I ever let him come near her.
The only problem was that this was one fight I couldn’t walk away from.
Quarry Page versus Quarry Page.
The man who suddenly and desperately wanted to claim her versus the man who would protect her at all costs—even from myself.
Clearing my throat, I briefly returned her hug then set her away from me. “We need to get some ice on that.” I nodded to her hand.
She ignored me. “So, when’s the fight? How much money are we talking this time?”
I chuckled. “We’ll talk when we get home. I have a copy of my contract in my room.”
“I can’t believe you hid this from me!” She crossed her arms over her chest in what I assumed was supposed to be an attitude, but a wide grin gave her away.
“I just found out this morning. I was gonna tell you tonight,” I replied as our car finally pulled up. I was pushing the door open when she grabbed my arm.
“Wait. What time is it?”
I glanced at my Rolex. “Nine.”
“Come on. Let’s do something fun. I have a new assistant. You have a huge multimillion-dollar fight, which is surely going to net me a raise. Let’s celebrate! What do you say? Chili dogs, cheese fries, a soda big enough to drown us both? Then we’ll chase it with a million beers at the house.”
“Shit.” I curled my lip in disgust. “That sounds like the recipe for puke.”
“So, you’re in?”
My lip curled even higher. “I have the chance of a lifetime…for the third time…to win the boxing heavyweight championship of the world in a few months. Just because Davenport is a viper cunt doesn’t mean he isn’t a beast in the ring. It’s going to be grueling, Liv. You remember how hard I worked out the last two times. Spending entire days in the gym, eating cod six meals a day, chugging protein shakes like they’re an elixir from the gods. Training, conditioning, and a strict diet starts immediately.”
She tipped her head to the side and repeated, “So, you’re in?”
I blew out a hard breath. “Fuck yeah.”
With that, I shoved the door wide and hooked my arm with hers. We laughed as we hurried to the SUV. Cameras flashed around us and people called our names, but as far as I was concerned, the real excitement would happen when we got home.
Alone—together.
“YOU NEED ANOTHER?” QUARRY ASKED as he made his way to the kitchen.
“Mmm.” I hummed around the bottle tipped to my lips. “Yes, please,” I slurred, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
Usually, I wasn’t much of a beer girl, but after the excessive amount of junk food I’d just consumed, there was no way my stomach could handle wine. As my mind buzzed, it became clear the six-pack had more than done its job.
Hot dog wrappers, remnants of broken french fries, and at least a dozen beer bottles littered the coffee table. I’d long since shed my dress and my heels, having opted for a comfortable pair of pink sleep shorts and a white tank top. Quarry had barely even made it in the house before he’d peeled off his shirt in search of his house uniform: a pair of variously colored workout pants—tonight was black with a white stripe down the side—and a T-shirt that on anyone else would have been plain. However,
the way it was forced to stretch around his biceps and his pecs made it anything but.
It was well past midnight, and we were still “celebrating.”
Since it was now a dual celebration, he’d nixed every single one of my movie choices and decided to put on some stand-up comedian neither of us was paying any attention to.
“Has Till texted you back?” I asked when he returned from the kitchen.
“Nah. He’s probably still trying to drag Eliza’s drunk ass home. I’m sure everything’s fine. Flint or Slate would’ve messaged if Davenport was stirring up more shit. I’m just hoping tonight pissed him off enough to get him to actually crawl through those ropes.”
Taking the beer from his hand, I replied, “He’s such an asshole. What happened to champions like Slate and Till? Hell…even ‘The Brick Wall’ Mathews was at least humble.”
“Ha! Yeah, humility is one gene Davenport is missing. He thinks the sun rises and sets in his asshole. If he weren’t such a fucking pussy, it wouldn’t be so bad. He’s a fucking disgrace to the belt.” He reclined in the corner of the sectional.
His legs were propped up on the coffee table, while I was cozied into the bend of the L with mine stretched out on the cushion in front of me. It was the way we always lounged when hanging out at the apartment together. And, considering that that was basically every weekend, we had clearly established our assigned seating.
There was a lull in our conversation, and we both absently turned our attention to the TV. For several minutes, I watched a man parading around a stage and ranting. My drunken mind wouldn’t allow me to focus on what he was saying. Eventually, I zoned out. It wasn’t until I felt the tingling sensation of being watched that I glanced over at Quarry.
Oh, he was watching me, all right. But his eyes were trained on my legs. I assumed he had zoned out too until his eyes very slowly slid up to my breasts and back down again. That realization tingled somewhere else, and I quickly cleared my throat before he was able to notice my nipples, which were inevitably going to turn hard. Those traitors reacted each time he so much as walked through the room. And, since we lived together, I swear it happened so frequently that it was how I burned the majority of my calories.
His eyes jumped to mine, and I arched an incredulous eyebrow.
“Were you just checking me out?”
“W-what?” he stuttered. “No.”
“Bullshit!” I laughed, and then I casually pulled a sip off my beer.
His mouth twitched, suppressing a smile. “Well, I figured it was fair game after I caught you drooling over my ass tonight.”
I choked before I had the chance to swallow. Beer stung my nose as I covered my mouth to keep it from spraying across the room. It was a wasted effort. It still managed to leak out.
He snagged a napkin off the table and threw it in my direction. “Shit, look at you. You’re drooling now just thinking about it.”
I choked again, and he chuffed loudly.
“Stop.” I laughed, cleaning my mouth before wiping beer off the back of my hand.
His smile grew even wider. “I didn’t figure you’d be an ass girl.”
“Are you drunk?” I giggled, not even the slightest bit embarrassed.
“Well, I’m not sober.” He winked. “But let’s get back to you and asses.” He moved his feet to the ground and leaned forward, propping his fist under his chin like the statue of The Thinker—but hotter.
Finally collecting myself, I shot him a grin. “Okay, yes. Let’s get back to that. Asses are totally my thing. It is not my fault that you have a nice one. But what about you?” I lifted my legs in an exaggerated cross, giving it my best Sharon Stone from Basic Instinct. “A leg man? Really? Mia was, like, five feet tall.”
His gaze jumped from my legs. “I’m just a man. Period. You show me nice tits, legs, ass, stomach, face, eyes, whatever… I’ll appreciate it all.” He chugged the rest of his beer.
“Really? You don’t have a type?”
He shrugged. “Not really. I guess I have more of a personality type than I do looks.”
“That’s so funny. I always thought the short, little punk girls like Mia were your thing.”
“Mia was…different. She made me laugh and didn’t let me get away with anything. Even when I dumped my world of shit on her, she never once showed me pity. I didn’t care what she looked like. I just loved her.” His voice was thick with emotion. Standing, he collected a group of the bottles off the table and started to make his escape.
Mia was still a hard topic for us. Not the fun stuff we could tell stories about all night and still fall asleep with a smile on our faces. It was the serious stuff that hurt the most. Those reminders that she wasn’t just gone from our lives, but rather gone from the world, killed. I wasn’t sure I’d ever stop hurting.
“Yeah.” I looked down and started picking at the label on my bottle.
It had been four years and I still missed her. In a lot of ways, Quarry did a better job than I did of not letting her memories bring him down. I, however, was drunk; I’d probably end the night crying. I always did. It was exactly why I didn’t drink to excess very often.
“Flexed or relaxed?” Quarry asked, snapping my attention back to his.
“Huh?”
“My ass. Is it better flexed or relaxed?” He tossed an encouraging smile my way.
“Oh. Um, probably relaxed. Especially when you bend over.”
The beer bottles clanged loudly as they purposely fell from his hands.
“Shit. My bad.” After backing up in front of me, he slowly leaned over after them.
I laughed and whistled as he put on a show of picking them up one by one.
That.
Right there.
Was exactly why I loved Quarry Page.
And it had nothing to do with his ass.
But everything to do with him.
After trashing the empties, he returned with four fresh ones cradled against his chest. Passing me one, he set the extras on the table then sank into his spot on the couch. An unbelievably comfortable silence fell between us. Simply turning our attention to the TV, we drank beers and watched the comedian.
An hour later, when the video finally ended, I was sauced. We’d not only polished off the extra beers Quarry had put on the table, but also two I’d delivered from the fridge on my way back from my five millionth pee break.
“Stop,” I told Quarry without dragging my gaze from the credits.
“Nope,” he slurred, punctuating it with a loud hiccough
I burst into a fit of drunken laughter, rolling off the couch to continue on the floor.
“You’re obstructing my view! No fair.” He gave the table a quick shove to the side so he could see me again. “Better. Now, carry on.” He grinned around the mouth of his beer.
Quarry had been overtly staring at me for the last half hour. He’d informed me that it was payback for the show he’d put on while picking up the bottles. He noted that I hadn’t even tipped him. Since I’d refused to lotion my legs as he’d suggested as payback, he’d announced that an hour of gawking was my punishment. I knew he was screwing around because he’d occasionally use a napkin to wipe imaginary drool away. Had I not been too drunk to care, it would have been ridiculous. However, because I was too drunk to care, it was ridiculous and hilarious.
“If you only knew how many times I’ve ogled you. I’d owe you way more than an hour,” I confessed.
“Oh. Really? I think you should fully inform me of what a little perv you’ve turned into.”
I grabbed one of his shoes off the ground and chucked it at him.
He batted it away as if it were the Home Run Derby.
“Turned into? Ha! I’ve always done it. You’ve just never caught me before.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh, God, yes. I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids. I mean, back then, I wasn’t checking out your ass. But you definitely made my little prepubescent heart flutter.” I clutch
ed my chest and closed my eyes dreamily.
“Seriously?” he repeated a little quieter.
“Uh. Yeah.” I flopped flat on the floor, closing my eyes when the room began to spin.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Well, probably because I was twelve and terrified that you’d reject me.”
“Liv—”
“And there’s also that fact that you locked me in a closet. You weren’t all that attractive after that.”
“Shit. Liv—”
Keeping my eyes closed seemed to keep the french fries I’d eaten earlier from making an encore. However, nothing could stop my drunken mouth from vomiting my secrets.
“I got over that pretty quickly. I just accepted that I can’t trust anyone. After that, it didn’t hurt so bad. That’s when I really started perving on you.” I cackled until my stomach churned. “Ugh! Why did you let me eat that shit?”
“What do you mean that’s when you started perving on me?” he asked from somewhere surprisingly nearby, but I didn’t chance another stomach churn to open my eyes.
Dramatically lifting one finger in the air, I got back on topic. “Oh, right. I used to have this scrapbook of you that I kept hidden under my bed. It’s in my closet now. I’ll have to show it to you. You were one hot fifteen-year old. There was this one picture that seriously did it for me. You were only in a pair of boxing trunks…all muscly and stuff. Shhhhhiiiit.” I hissed at the memory. “That was the first time I ever touched myself—”
The front door creaked open before slamming shut.
I bolted upright, pried my eyes open, and found myself surprisingly alone.
“Quarry?” I called but got no response. Weird. I attempted to go after him, but with my baby giraffe legs in a spinning room, I fell right back onto the floor. “Oh well. He’ll be back.” I sprawled out spread-eagle and got lost in the stupid home screen music of the comedy DVD.
I needed space.
Air.
A cartoon-size brick of ice I could use to bash my head with before icing my balls.
