Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(30)

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 *s?”

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 f*cking 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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 f*cking mint, they sure as f*ck 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.