She steps back, surveying her work.
“The point is, Tilly, mountain men are intense. They’re possessive, caveman-brained lunatics. But once a mountain man decides you’re his? Nothing stops them. Not mob bosses, not best friends, not logic.”
His. The word that should send me running. The word that instead makes something deep in my chest ache with longing.
I thought I knew what I wanted. A nice, sensible relationship someday. Something that built slowly, something I could control. But Ben looked at me this morning like the decision was already made. Like he’d chosen me, and now he was just waiting for me to catch up.
I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
But listening to Audrey and Charlotte, watching the softness in their faces when they talk about their men, I’m starting to think that maybe I want to be.
She spins the chair around so I face the full-length mirror.
“So the question isn’t ‘is this moving too fast?’” Charlotte says, resting her chin on my shoulder, her eyes meeting mine in the glass. “The question is: are you ready to be the center of his world?”
I look at myself. The bold red lips. The dress that hugs curves Ben spent all night worshipping. I think about the way he stretched me open, the way he made me scream. The absolute certainty in his eyes.
I’ve spent so long being careful. Being practical. Building my business one careful step at a time while my personal life stayed small and safe and empty. And now there’s this man who wants to give me everything, who’s already decided I’m his. And all I have to do is let him.
“I think,” I say, my voice trembling just a little, “I might be.”
Charlotte smiles at me in the mirror, and across the room, Audrey nods like I’ve passed some kind of test. And even though I barely know these women, even though this whole situation is absurd, I feel a warmth spreading through my chest. Like I’ve been welcomed into something. Like I belong here.
It’s a strange feeling. But a good one.
“Good.” Audrey checks the time on the wall clock. “Now you two need to get moving. Dana is meeting you at the VIP entrance, and if you’re late, she’s going to start sending passive-aggressive texts.”
“Wait, you’re not coming?”
“Me? Goodness, no.” Audrey waves a hand at the pillow fort on the floor. “I’m on auntie duty tonight. Someone has to watch these two munchkins while you guys go watch grown men punch each other.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Reign is working security for the event anyway, so I’d just be sitting alone.” She grins. “I’m going to order pizza, watch bad reality TV, and cuddle the babies. You guys go have fun.”
“We will,” Charlotte promises, scooping up her purse. She links her arm through mine. “Come on, Tilly. Let’s go get your man his belt.”
* * *
The Iron Creek Civic Center is pure chaos.
Even from the back of the black SUV, I can feel the energy vibrating through the floorboards. The parking lot is packed with cars and tailgaters. People stream toward the entrance wearing “Ben Mitchell” t-shirts, carrying homemade signs, buzzing with an electricity that seems to crackle in the air. News vans line the street. Security guards wave traffic through with glowing batons.
We bypass the crushing crowds entirely, slipping through a private entrance guarded by a man with a neck as thick as a tree trunk. He nods at Charlotte, ushering us into a quiet hallway lined with framed photos of boxers.
I expect us to head toward an elevator, but Charlotte grabs my wrist, checking her phone.
“We’ve got ten minutes before he has to head back to the locker room for final wraps,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Come on. Let’s go give him some good luck.”
“Wait, we can go down there?”
“We’re family,” she says, as if that explains everything. “We can go anywhere.”
She drags me through a set of double doors and suddenly, the muffled roar becomes a tangible wall of sound. We’re on the floor level of the arena. It’s dimmer here, the lights focused on the center ring where the undercard fight must have justfinished. People are milling about, finding their seats, buying beer, but the area near the ring is crowded with officials and team members.
And then I see him.
Ben is standing near the corner of the ring, wearing a black track suit that does little to hide the width of his shoulders. He looks massive, imposing, radiating a kind of quiet violence that makes the air around him feel heavier.
