Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(39)

Taking the beer from his hand, I replied, “He’s such an *. 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 *. If he weren’t such a f*cking *, it wouldn’t be so bad. He’s a f*cking 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.