by Aly Martinez
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 clutched 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.
Quarry
I needed space.
Air.
A cartoon-size brick of ice I could use to bash my head with before icing my balls.
My bedroom wasn’t far enough away to escape. I needed a quiet place where she wasn’t writhing on the floor in a tiny pair of shorts so I could convince myself that it was a bad idea to listen to her tell me how much she used to want me—all the while inching closer, hell-bent on showing her how much I currently wanted her.
That was exactly what I’d been doing not thirty seconds earlier.
Yeah. Bad. Fucking. Idea.
It was bad enough that I now knew she liked my ass, but I did not need the visual of her touching herself for the first time with me on her mind too.
God. She was so fucking drunk.
So was I though.
And, right then, Drunk Quarry was about to make decisions Sober Quarry was going to have to answer for. Most of which started with my mouth on her neck and all of which ended with me emptying inside her.
What the fucking fuck is going on?
She used to like me?
Why did the idea of used to hurt so fucking bad?
Oh, right. Because used to wasn’t now.
Something truly odd had happened that night during our conversation. And not just the fact that she had been overtly flirty. While that had been new, it wasn’t what had set me on edge long before her visit to the drunken confessional on the floor.
When Liv had brought up Mia, I’d experienced the stab of grief I’d come to expect from memories of her. However, it hadn’t been anything compared to the searing pain that had come from watching anguish etch across Liv’s face. That had killed. I would have walked through Hell to extinguish that for her. Luckily, it had only taken a joke.
Guilt had engulfed me as I’d come to grasp that reality.
The source of my heartache was no longer Mia.
It was Liv.
Had I been sober, that would have been the moment I went to bed. Maybe get my head straight. Go talk to Till in the morning about what the hell was going on, see if he had any grand advice—which would probably just end with him making fun of me.
I wasn’t sober though, so I’d started flirting with her all over again.
And, now, I was standing in the breezeway, holding my breath, wishing I weren’t such a fucking mental case.
I was sick and tired of feeling like I shouldn’t want her.
There was nothing anyone could say to change my mind. I needed to man the fuck up and talk to her. Ex
plain why I’d been so weird the last few months. Hell, maybe she’d be receptive of my new feelings.
Or, more than likely, she’d be freaked the fuck out.
I wouldn’t lose her though. I was positive of that. Liv wouldn’t let my misguided feelings ruin us.
No. Our demise would ultimately be because I couldn’t let her go.
To me, my feelings weren’t misguided. They weren’t weird. And they definitely weren’t wrong. I wasn’t a fool for wanting her as my own.
I was finally realizing what I should have known fourteen years earlier when I’d first laid eyes on her.
Liv James had never been just my best friend.
No matter what I’d told myself.
With new resolve, I squared my shoulders and headed back to my door. I would listen to any story she wanted to tell me about the past—especially the ones where she’d touched herself with thoughts of me. Because, when things went south—and, in my life, things always went south—those stories would be all I got of Liv.
I had her friendship.
I wanted more.
And, in that moment, I realized I wanted it all.
Pushing the door to our apartment open, I made the decision that I was done waiting to get over my feelings.
I was acting on them.
Right.
Now.
At the sight of Liv passed out on the carpet, I amended my timeline.
Tomorrow. I’d act on my feelings tomorrow.
After scooping her into my arms, I carried her down the hall to her bedroom. She was out of it, but she still curled into me, nuzzling my neck with a moan.
Gently placing her on the bed, I took one last eyeful and then dragged the covers over her. Pressing play on the iPad she kept connected to a set of small speakers, I drove out the silence with her favorite ’80s playlist.
“Quarry?” she called over the intro to Phil Collins’s In the Air Tonight.
“Yeah.”
She stretched before tucking into a ball. “You ’kay?”
“I will be tomorrow. Just get some sleep.” You’ll need it.
“Mmmhmm,” she purred. “Later, Q.”
I chuckled. “Later, Rocky.”
Chapter Fourteen
Quarry
“LIV,” I BREATHED AS HER ass glided against my cock.
With a deep groan, I snaked my hand out to squeeze the delicate curve of her hip—partly to stop her tortuous rhythm, partly to urge her faster.
Rocking, she continued an unapologetic assault.
After teasing my way under her shirt, I kneaded her large breast. When my palm came in contact with her nipple, I switched my focus. Rolling the tight tip between my thumb and forefinger, I increased the pressure as her hips sped in response.
“Fuck,” I cursed, releasing her tit. I glided my hand down her flat stomach and into her panties.
She shifted to her back, her legs falling open in invitation. A growl vibrated in my throat when I reached her slick, wet heat.
One stroke down and I dampened my fingers before sliding back up in search of her clit. Rough circles followed by gentle taps, I worked her until her hips angled up, guiding me toward her opening.
This was where all the dreams had ended. The ones that kept me up night after night yet still managed to send me to bed praying for them to invade my mind. I supposed it was fitting. Some deep-seated but not-so-hidden feelings must have been screwing with my subconscious. Taunting me about having parts of Liv but not being able to have her all. I’d touched her body in my dreams a thousand times, but never once had I been inside her.
Tonight was different though.
With a hiss through gritted teeth, I sank my finger deep into her heat.
The tight sheath of her body was too much, and it drew me awake.
Battling against consciousness, I fought to remain in my dream-world. But it was one opponent I was no match for. My eyes slowly opened.
The strain of my aching cock was nothing new to wake up to.
However, the woman I was knuckle deep inside was something else altogether.
“What the….” I whisper-yelled, yanking my hand away.
Oh, but it got worse.
Taking a quick inventory, I realized that I was in my bed, slightly hungover, and thirsty as hell.
Oh, fuck.
My pulse spiked as I glanced down at the woman at my side.
Pink sleep shorts.
White tank top, lifted, exposing one perfect breast complete with a dark, peaked nipple calling for my tongue to lave over it.
Her head was resting on my outstretched arm, and her chest was evenly rising and falling. Long, brown hair covered her face, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt who it was.
Oh. My. God.
Liv.
She must have crawled into my bed at some point in the night, and my horned-out brain had taken it as an open-for-business sign.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I attempted to slide my arm from under her head, but it only caused her to turn toward me. Her hair fell away, revealing her wireless earbuds secured in place and two peacefully closed eyes. Snuggling in close, she tossed a leg over mine and her hand splayed over my stomach.
Okay. So we were cuddling.
Nothing wrong with that.
Friends could do that.
Maybe it would be nice. I could just go back to sleep and tell her that I’d accidentally-on-purpose felt her up in the morning—after she’d enthusiastically agreed to move our relationship to the next level.
Oh, but it got worse. Again.
I watched in both horror and anticipation as her hand began to inch down my stomach.
My panicked gaze bounced between her closed eyes and her hand making its descent.
No way. This was not happening.
I’d died and gone straight to Hell—where I belonged.
“Jesus fuck!” I yelled when her palm made purchase on my cock.
She suddenly sat up as I shot from the bed.
“It’s okay,” I soothed, recognizing the confused panic on her face.
When she caught sight of the tent in the front of my pants, her eyes flashed wide, and then her mouth started moving, but I didn’t have my hearing aids in.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I told her while grabbing a pillow off the bed to cover my erection.
“What happened?” she signed and spoke.
“Um…well. Hmm, funny story. I woke up and you were there…and well… I guess I’m not used to sleeping with anyone else.” I couldn’t do this. Not right then, with a set of balls so blue that they were registering on the purple scale and a throbbing dick hidden behind a fucking pillow.
I needed a safe subject. As least until I collected my thoughts—or got struck by lightning, putting me out of my misery once and for all.
“What were you doing in my bed? You scared the piss out of me.”
Her face fell as she swallowed hard. “I heard a noise, and then I couldn’t…” She shrugged and shook her head, not wanting to continue.
I immediately hated myself for pinning this on her. She’d been secretly coming to my bed for years. Never once had anything happened. It wasn’t her fault.
“Look, I’m exhausted. Let’s talk in the morning, okay? Sorry I…woke you up like that.” Shit. “Not that it was bad. I just mean…because I jumped out of the bed like that.” Dear God, stop talking! “You know…’cause it scared you.”
“I’m sorry.”
My eyes were drawn down to her nipples showing through the thin cotton of her tank top, reminding me that she wasn’t wearing a bra—and how perfectly her breasts had fit in my palm.
Dropping my head back, I diverted my gaze to the ceiling. “Just. Go,” I snapped.
Strangely, Liv didn’t argue as she darted from my room.
Slinging the pillow onto the bed, I raked a frustrated hand through my hair.
Why? The night before I’d sworn to make a move on her…I’d liter
ally made a move on her.
In my sleep.
While she had been asleep too.
What could have I possibly done in my past life to deserve this shit?
Liv
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” I whispered to myself as I sank down against my door, blocking it on the off chance that Quarry had decided to follow me.
Tears welled in my eyes as his horrified expression flashed behind my lids with every blink. My body shook as if I were still being jostled from his mad dash out of the bed—away from me.
“Oh, God.” Pulling my legs to my chest, I dropped my head against my knees. “What did I do?”
Chapter Fifteen
Liv
“JESUS, WOMAN. WHAT ARE YOU doing here so early?” Till asked, opening his front door with baby Chase on his hip.
Lifting a bag of sausage biscuits and hash browns, I replied, “I have a hangover date with Eliza.”
He pushed the door wide for me to enter. “Ah. Gotcha. I’ll start the coffee. She’s still asleep. You want me to wake her up?”
“Nah, I got it. Just deliver the brew when it’s ready.” I tickled Chase’s stomach before casually heading down the hall to Till and Eliza’s bedroom.
I knocked once before entering.
“I’m up!” Eliza said, dragging herself out of the bed.
Her light-brown hair was in complete disarray, and black eye makeup was streaked down her face. Her dress and her shoes were haphazardly strewn across the room. The small trash can on the floor next to her bed was telling of how she’d ended her evening.
“That good of a night, huh?”
Shaking her fist in the air, she headed toward the bathroom. “I didn’t puke. Victory!”
“Bravo.” I lifted my hand in sign language applause.
“I’m quite proud, actually. It was touch-and-go there for a while.” She smiled weakly. “Go ahead through the window. I’ll meet you in there after I brush the fur coat off my teeth.”
I laughed, following her directions.
Apparently, back in the day, Till had been a smidge obsessed with windows. When he and Eliza had built their house, he’d had a window, instead of a door, installed as the entrance to her private art studio.
The large room was filled with every art supply imaginable. Black-and-white family photos covered the stark, white walls. The furniture consisted of a red overstuffed sofa and a plush futon that was more Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous than broke frat boy. They sat adjacent to each other, facing a large TV mounted on the wall above Eliza’s desk. The guys called the room “Chick Central,” and I can’t say they were wrong. It was where Ash, Eliza, and I always seemed to migrate any time we were together.
