The program was specifically geared toward underprivileged kids and keeping them off the streets. Since the Page brothers were the shining example of what the gym could accomplish, On The Ropes had gained a good bit of national attention. With a rising demand to expand into different locations across the country, Erica and Eliza decided to organize a yearly fundraiser to help pay the mounting expenses.
Professional boxers, new and old, graciously donated not only money, but also their time to attend the event. With Slate Andrews, Till Page, Quarry Page, and a slew of other celebrities in attendance, tickets were coveted—and expensive as hell. Wealthy businessmen and rich boxing fans flew from all over the country in order to rub elbows and hopefully sign donations checks. Last year’s gala had raised over three point nine million dollars, which had all been funneled into the newest On The Ropes location in Brooklyn, opening later that year.
Eliza and Erica had done an amazing job putting that night together. Ash and I pitched in a good bit too. It was exhausting work, but the payoff was so huge that none of us could complain. As much as we loved doing it, we all looked forward to the planning being over so we could cut loose and celebrate by eating amazing food and drinking expensive champagne.
With that in mind, I didn’t even have it in me to snap at Quarry for his continuous complaining about the suit.
“I’m going to sew you into that thing permanently if you don’t stop bitching about it.”
Okay, so maybe I did have it in me.
“And rob the world of my body? There would be riots,” he said, looking down at me with a wide smile. Camera flashes sparkled the humor in his beautiful, hazel eyes.
“I’m willing to chance it. Besides, it could be nice not to find you half naked every time I exited my bedroom. I’m not sure what kind of breakup you had with shirts, but you might want to consider a reconciliation before your pants follow suit and I’m forced to move out.”
His smile grew, but something pained passed over his face. I’d seen that look a lot over the last few months, and while I hadn’t been able to figure it out, I knew that it didn’t bode well for the rest of my evening.
“Right,” he said shortly. Dropping my arm, he shoved his hands in his pockets and aimed a smoldering smirk—complete with one mouth-watering dimple—toward the cameras.
“Good lord. If you’re going to pout, just take the jacket off now.” I sighed, wondering if this was how my parents had felt when I’d first started my period. He was so damn moody.
“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.