Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(34)

“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 hangovers 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.





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 f*ck 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 f*cked 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-f*cking my ass, I had hoped that it might.

It was ridiculous though.

Nothing good would ever come of me f*cking 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.