Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(33)

“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.

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.