Dedication

For those who take up space, demanding attention and justice in the face of larger forces trying to make them silent or invisible. Here’s to loving loudly and proudly.

And for Philly. This jawn’s for you.

A Quick Note from Kathryn

ON THE ROPES is a friends-to-lovers romance. It’s flirty, steamy, and extra adorable. However, I did want to mention that this story touches on a few topics that may be sensitive to some readers, including healing from a concussion, racism toward a family member and homophobia/biphobia. It occurs mostly off the page (and is not graphic).

1. Dean

One

Dean

I leaned back against the wall outside my neighborhood bar and called the same damn number for the tenth time this week. I knew the recorded message by heart now: Thank you for calling the City of Philadelphia’s after-hours hotline. Please listen to the following menu of options.

I tipped my head back and hit 5. It was supposed to send me to a cheerful operator who would help with my “property emergency.” All I’d ever gotten was an endless phone tree maze. I scowled, turned my head as the automated music filled my ear.

It was a hot July night in South Philly. People were either drinking beer on their front stoops or drinking beer in the bar behind me. The sound of the baseball game filtered out onto the block.

Thank you for your patience. We are experiencing longer than usual wait times.

I caught the attention of two guys walking across the street, still in their suits from whatever job they had uptown. What they were doing in this neighborhood, I had no fucking clue. Their watches flashed, their suits looked tailored. Even their teeth looked too white. I probed the back right of my jaw where two of my own were missing. A consequence of going nine rounds with Ricky Hernandez when I was nineteen years old.

I pressed the phone hard against my ear as they whispered to each other. Their wariness was obvious, even from here. People gave me a wide berth in this neighborhood. It didn’t matter if I was just on the phone, standing on a street corner.

I was still Dean the Machine even if I was a quitter.

A rough-sounding voice suddenly came through. “Yeah, this is Fred. What’s the emergency with your city property?”

I shifted on my feet, startled someone had finally picked up. “Uh…sorry. I’ve been calling about a vacant lot on my block. The one at Tenth and Emily. City tore down my neighbor’s house a year ago. It’s just been sittin’ there.”

Fred coughed. “Okay. And?”

“And…I want to know what the city plans on doing with it. ’Cause right now everyone on my street has to live with an abandoned lot that’s turning into a neighborhood dump.”