Page 74 of Made for Mayhem

“Have you ever taken a reformer Pilates class before?” Emmy asked, and I shook my head.

“Me neither,” Stevie said, her hand in front of her mouth. She sat on another reformer across from mine, legs crossed with a bag of potato chips between them.

My brow furrowed, and Tate must have sensed my confusion from where she lay on her back on the machine next to me. “She comes every Tuesday and has never so much as laid down on the shuttle.”

“Well,” Shannon said from the back of the room where she sat inside a little playpen full of toys, Harper in her lap. “One time she did.”

Stevie launched a chip in her direction, then looked back at me with an exaggerated sigh. “I fell asleep once and they never let me forget it.”

“It was your first time here,” Emmy said, barely containing her laugh. “I’ve never seen someone doze off so fast.”

“Puckin’ exhausted isn’t just some cute little pun I made up,” Stevie shot back. “It’s a way of life.”

Tate just shook her head, then put her feet on the bar and pushed away in a smooth movement. “Workout, or don’t, Daisy. Your call. It’s just me, sometimes Emmy. Never Shannon or Stevie.”

At the mention of their names, the two polar-opposite women each held up a hand and air high-fived from where they sat.

Emmy grinned, then came to stand in front of me. “Do you want to try it? No pressure.”

I looked around the room, unsure what I’d gotten myself into, then lay back on the padded reformer, mirroring Tate’s pose. Emmy helped me get into position, and I followed her instructions through a series of stretches that felt more than a little weird.

“Okay.” Stevie wiped her hands on a wet wipe, then put the bag of chips on the floor next to her. “Let’s talk about the rink now. What’s the plan, Tate?”

I stood with one foot on the reformer, one on the floor in a lunge deeper than I’d ever attempted before. Sweat beaded between my boobs, but I did my best to listen to the women and not tip over.

Emmy laid a hand on my back, then nudged my foot on the ground a half-inch to the right, and suddenly the stretch felt glorious.

“I signed the papers to bring Beckett, Mason, and Ty on as investors in the rink a few weeks ago,” Tate said, and I looked up at the mention of Ty. “I’m the majority stakeholder, but those three goons are pushy as hell.”

The women hummed in agreement, and I chuckled at their take. Ty hadn’t been pushy with me, but he was protective. Of course, he was saving the rink too.

“I don’t know how Mason made it happen and I’m beyond asking questions of his methods”—Tate let out a laugh that sounded somewhere between frustrated and amused—“but blueprints for an expansion project arrived at the rink the next morning. A second rink, a roof that’s angled and won’t collapse under the weight of another Colorado winter, a huge commercial kitchen upstairs where the observation deck is for both rinks. He thought of everything, except for the fact I’m not taking millions of dollars from them when I don’t have funds to contribute too.”

“What if we all contribute?” Stevie asked. “How much is it going to cost?”

“Do you have $20 million lying around that I’m unaware of?”

Shannon let out a long whistle. “I’m out.”

“Yeah, I don’t have that,” Stevie said. “Holy shit.”

Tate let out a long sigh, then Emmy guided us both to sit on our reformers. I gave up trying to mirror Tate’s movements, turning to sit criss-cross on the reformer like Stevie instead, invested in this conversation.

“What about a fundraiser?” I asked, thinking of the many community events I’d organized in Chicago. “You need the down payment for the construction loan, right? And the rink’s a big deal in town.”

“Yeah,” Emmy said, hands on her hips as she stared at me. “What are you thinking?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. The town I grew up in had a huge street carnival every year to raise money. That would probably work great here.”

Tate sat upright, staring at Emmy and having some sort of silent conversation. Stevie’s knees bounced where she sat with her hands in front of her mouth, as if she could barely contain her excitement.

“Would Beckett go for it?” Tate asked, her brow creased.

“Are you kidding?” Emmy waved her off. “He’s ready to sink his retirement account into getting the Mayhem back on top. Yes, I promise he’ll do it, and if not, I’ll just bribe him with favors of the sexual variety.”

Shannon made a retching sound. “Let’s not go back to discussing your sex life. You’re engaged and in love, we get it.”

Stevie squealed, practically exploding off the reformer she’d never once used, then ran to the front desk to grab a pad of paper and a pen. “I love this idea. What are we thinking? I bet I can get Luke to round up some of the local builders to sponsor it. And if we advertise in the ski towns, the summer tourists will come in droves.”