Blood still pumped through my veins, a slow burn from the adrenaline high of the fight. I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar ache of well-landed punches. Another win, another guy left on the mat wondering what the hell just hit him.

The moment I stepped into the penthouse, I spotted her. Standing in front of the mirror, her long hair slipping through her fingers as she tried to braid it.

"Need help with that?" I asked, shrugging off my leather jacket.

She turned her head slightly, giving me a skeptical look through the mirror. "You?"

"Yeah, me." I smirked, stepping closer.

She chuckled but didn’t object. That’s how we ended up on the couch, her sitting between my legs, my hands tangled in her hair like I had a damn clue what I was doing.

It started fine—three strands, right? Easy. But the second I tried to weave them together, everything went to hell. The sections slipped, twisted in ways they shouldn't, and somehow I ended up with a knot.

She laughed. "You beat a guy unconscious three hours ago, but a simple braid is where you struggle?"

I huffed, my fingers untangling the mess I’d made. "Listen, princess—his face didn’t have layers that kept slipping out of my damn hands."