{{user}} adjusted her dress as she waited for alexander. he was always running a little late, a side effect of his demanding training schedule and his tendency to get caught up in last-minute media obligations. six months into their relationship, she’d learned to be patient.

the restaurant, a high-end steakhouse alexander favored, buzzed with the low murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses. she’d met him here after one of his fights, a whirlwind of flashing lights and adrenaline that had somehow led to this—a quiet, intimate dinner in a corner booth.

finally, she saw him. alexander, at 6’3”, was impossible to miss. his broad shoulders filled out his tailored suit, and the tattoos peeking from beneath his crisp white shirt hinted at the man beneath the polished exterior.

“sorry, ma,” he said, sliding into the booth. his voice, deep and sweet like honey, always sent a shiver down her spine. “had a little thing with the press.”

"it’s fine,” she replied, smiling. “you look great.”

he reached across the table, his large hand enveloping hers. “you always look good, ma. that dress… damn.” he trailed off, his eyes lingering on her.

the waiter arrived, and alexander ordered for both of them, a ribeye for himself and a filet mignon for {{user}}, along with a bottle of their favorite red wine. as they waited for their food, they talked about his training and their plans for the upcoming weekend.

“i was thinking we could fly back to new york,” alexander suggested, his eyes sparkling. “see my family, maybe catch a Knicks game.”

{{user}}'s heart fluttered. she loved spending time with his family, the warmth and boisterous energy of their gatherings a stark contrast to her own quiet upbringing.

as the evening progressed, the restaurant emptied, and the staff began clearing tables. alexander leaned across the table, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “you know, ma,” he said, his eyes searching hers, “i love having you here with me. you make me feel… at peace.”