Page 23 of Mountain Daddy's Girl
“Boone.”
My voice breaks. There are tears in my eyes. I’m crying for this stranger.
“Don’t do that,” he whispers, so close, almost kissing. “I can see the cogs in your head whirring. You think we haven’t earned this? You think, because it was only a couple days, it’s too damn fast? No, Lila. I knew the moment I saw you. I love you.”
“Boone,” I croak.
“I. Love. You.”
The kiss is enough to reshape my world. Our mouths open and our tongues find each other in an orchestrated dance. Hot sizzling tension shimmers around my mouth, flutters up and down my neck, takes hold of my heart in warm fiery hands.
After, he wraps his arm over my shoulder and looks around the room, a soft smile on his lips. “This is amazing,” he murmurs. “All of it. Each photo is just … brilliant, Lila.”
I flush. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. Don’t get shy. I’m glad I made the trip.”
“You’re fighting in a few days … on the opposite coast.”
He grins, his hands never leaving me, one on the small of my back and the other taking my hand. “And you’re coming with me.”
“Wh-what?”
“You heard me,” he snarls, leaning down, lowering his voice to a husky whisper just for me. “I had to focus on training camp, I thought. I had to push you out of my mind. But dammit, being apart from you made me realize something … Ican’tpush you out, Lila. I need you at my side. I need you with me. I need you, full stop. Will you be there for me?”
Behind Boone, Abby watches us with glistening eyes. Is she just happy for me, or is she thinking of her own man from the mountains?
Boone gently brushes hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I know you feel this too, Lila. I know you want it.”
Jump in. Both feet. Don’t look back.
“I’ll come with you, Boone,” I whisper.
“Good girl,” he groans, leaning down for another kiss.
8
BOONE
Ipace up and down the cage, staring past the referee at my opponent, ignoring the screaming crowd and the anger pumping like hot lava through my body.
This is rage like I’ve never felt before a fight. A lit fuse fizzling deep into the unhinged, primal chaos of my body. Every muscle is tight and tense. If I looked to my left—which I don’t—I would see Lila in the crowd, gorgeous in her new red dress, the fabric clinging to her perfect curves.
I would see her hair falling gorgeously to her shoulders and the flush of her cheeks and the support whelming in her eyes.
But I don’t look. I focus on my opponent, a man in his mid-twenties with a hipster mustache who also makes TikToks alongside his fighting career. He’s ended every one of his twenty fights via KO. And he’s only had twenty fights.
As the fight draws nearer, I become more certain. I’m going to seriously hurt this bastard. He made a mistake. A bad one.
The past few days have been heaven, me and Lila spending every second I’m not training together. I hold her in my arms at night, when we’re both sweaty and aching after sex, and we talk about everything. The past, the future, the ease of simply existing together in the present.
My opponent saw a photo some pap had snapped in a restaurant.
He made a comment about Lila.
“If she gets bored of the old man, I’ll give her some young meat.”
The twenty-and-zero undefeated fighter plays with his mustache then flips me the bird, a cocky smirk on his face. The crowd enjoys it. I let them laugh and cheer.
