She started to laugh, but I kissed her indecently.
I’d forgotten that the boys were in the room until I heard Quarry groan in disgust. I couldn’t have given two shits who was watching though.
“I love it,” I told her as she pulled away. “I’m giving this to Slate in the morning, and if he doesn’t like it, I’m quitting.”
“Okay, now, let’s not get crazy here,” she replied.
“So, that’s the one?” Flint asked, snatching the paper from my hand.
I stared into Eliza’s dark-blue eyes as I answered, “It is for me.”
Four months later . . .
“QUARRY, GET OUT OF THE car!”
“No.” He pouted.
“You look fine!”
“I look like I pissed myself! There might be chicks in there.”
“No. It looks like I hit the brakes, causing you to spill pop all over your lap. If the chicks ask, just blame it on me. Now, let’s go.”
Flint chuckled beside me.
“See! He’s laughing!” Quarry exclaimed. “I’m not going in like this. Take me back home.”
I sucked in a calming breath, but my nerves were shot. That night, “The Silencer” Till Page was set to make his debut in the professional boxing ring, and I was standing in the parking lot of a small, run-down arena on the outskirts of Chicago, arguing with an eleven-year-old drama king.
“It is a three-hour drive back to our apartment!” I looked over to Flint and threw my hands up in frustration.
He shook his head then dragged his royal-blue hoodie off and tossed it at Quarry with a smirk. “Put that on. It’s big enough to cover your piss panties.”
Quarry fumed as he pulled it on, but he finally got out of the freaking car.
As we entered the venue, it was obvious that the chattering crowd wasn’t there because of Till. Every word I heard spoken was about Slate’s big return to professional boxing. The venue had printed programs, and Slate’s photo was at least three times the size of anyone else’s. Till’s was on the back.
It was packed with standing-room only, and even though it was the middle of fall in Chicago, it might as well have been a broiler room. Quarry was sweating his ass off inside that hoodie, but he refused to take it off.
“Leo!” Flint shouted from our reserved seats in the front row.
“’Sup, man.” He leaned across metal barricade to shake Flint’s hand. “Hey, Eliza.”
“I didn’t know you guys were coming,” I said, returning Leo’s friendly hug.
“Are you kidding? We’ve been waiting a long time for this.” He pointed up to the balcony, where Sarah and Erica were waving enthusiastically.
I tried to cover how touched I was that they were all there to support Till. “Thank you,” I whispered to Leo as I returned their waves with both hands.
His eyes warmed as he watched me fight back tears. I was a mess. Even more than usual. It was such a huge moment for Till. I was entitled to be emotional.
“Did Liv come?” Quarry asked, jumping to his feet.
“Nah. She’s not into the whole boxing thing. Whoa! Q, did you wet your pants?” He started laughing as he looked down at where the hoodie had ridden up.
“No! Eliza made me spill pop. I swear!”
Flint laughed hysterically beside him.
“Right.” Leo winked. “Fight’s about to start. I’m handling Slate’s security tonight, so let me know if you have any problems.”
“Thanks,” I replied.
He glanced back down at Quarry’s pants and chuckled to himself as he walked away.
Just as Leo disappeared around the corner, the arena went crazy. We were all looking around to figure out what we were missing when the crowd started chanting, “Slate.” Even through the chaos, I spotted Till the second they started toward the ring. I wasn’t even sure the fans in attendance even realized he was there at all.
But I did.
Wearing a red robe with the logo I had drawn sewn across the back, I watched “The Silencer” Till Page crawl through the ropes. Staggering pride forced tears to my eyes. Flint must have seen it, because he tossed an arm around my shoulders and pulled me up against his side. However, judging by their faces, both boys were just as overwhelmed by that moment as I was. Their big brother was a professional boxer, and even if it was only that one fight, he’d made it big time in their eyes.
Four rounds later, Till won his very first fight by unanimous decision.
“How much money did you make?” Quarry asked Till when we made it to the dingy locker room after the fight.
“He didn’t make anything,” Slate answered. “But I made six hundred bucks.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“You didn’t make anything?”
“Nope. I don’t get money until I make more than what Slate pays me every month.”
“Well, that blows!” Quarry exclaimed.
Slate began cutting the tape off Till’s hands. “All right, so I talked to a few of the promoters before the fight. I got you set up for three more four-round fights. Once every thirty days. Hundred and fifty bucks per round. You good with that?”