Stepping onto the stage, the crowd boos, and some cheer. I suck in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to release, and stop in my tracks. The stage lights beaming a ray of lava across my face has me instantly sweating.
A guy to my right ushers me to step on the scale, but I can’t move. I’m frozen as I look around the crowd. Watching them rant and rave over me. So many angry faces are yelling at me. Why aren’t I walking? I’m making a fool of myself! Move damn it!
Forcing myself, I step forward.
“The challenger, Tatum Davis!” The intercom announces.
Striding further out, I tug my pants, letting them pool to my feet before taking them off. Quickly I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it off.
Instantly a cold chill races up my spine. I’m in front of not only a crowd of people, but cameras, practically naked. I swallow the insecurities catching in my throat. I can do this. This fight is mine.
Pushing my hair out of the way, I step onto the scale and stare into the distance at nothing in particular.
“One thirty four!” The man announces, and everyone cheers. I step off the scale and make my way to the side of the stage. Wait, do I put my clothes back on? Debs didn’t tell me.
“Now for the opponent, Kiki ‘Queen Koooooooong!’ The speakers pound out a beat, and the crowd literally screams with so much excitement my ears ring. They clearly love her.
I’d like to say I’m not feeling insecure, but I most definitely am.
She steps out onto the stage with ease, as if she’s fucking floating. She’s clearly done this many times.
Her dark hair is pulled up into a cute messy ponytail, and she’s wearing a red hoody, and black shorts. She undresses quickly, not a care in the world that everyone is going to judge her of every curve and muscle. Her boobs that are clearly bigger than mine are pushed tightly from her black sports bra, and her muscular thighs stretch the thin black material that makes up her bikini bottoms.
She steps on the scale, and gives a fisted wave to the crowd.
“One thirty four!” the announcer tells the audience.
She steps off the scale, her eyes narrowing in on me. She looks pissed. Really pissed. My heart beats wildly in my chest, my fists clenching. Do I look away? Look at her? Shit, do I hit her?
If she raises her fist I may hit her on instinct. Will I get in trouble?
She steps right in front of me, her nose almost touching mine. My nostrils flare as I glower at her.
“You don’t belong here bitch!” she sneers, raising her fists. Cameras flash from every direction catching the intense moment.
I grit my teeth, not giving her the satisfaction of getting me riled up in front of everyone.
“Do you hear me?!” she screams in my face, and someone on her team grabs her by the shoulders pulling her back.
“Wow, what a rush! What was going on in your head Kiki?” The announcer tilts the mic toward her, awaiting her response.
She rolls her head on her shoulders, her eyes meeting mine.
“We all know she shouldn’t be here. When I’m done with her, ain’t nobody even going to remember her name.” She points at me, and I swallow the sudden urge to go over there and slam my fist in her face right now.
The announcer steps toward me, mic in hand.
“What do you have to say to that, Tate?”
I smirk, my brow raising. “She might be right. But when you lose on Saturday, nobody is going to let you forget it.” I shrug, and the crowd hollers in my favor. She steps forward like she’s ready to pound me right here. I’m getting under her skin.
I’m ushered off the stage, Kiki right behind me as the announcer reminds the crowd of sponsors and the time of the fight.
“That’s cute, did you recite that in the mirror?” Kiki sneers from behind me once we are out of cameras lenses. My cheeks fume with anger. I want nothing more than to prove to her right here I am more than some girl with a short temper. I mean, I do have a temper, but I also know I can prove I belong here.
“No, I was just telling the truth.” I don’t look back, I don’t stop. I’m afraid if I do, this whole thing will be over before it started.
***
Laying on Camden’s hard chest, I stare out the window.
His fingers lazily graze along my back, and the fingers on my left hand absentmindedly draw circles on his pec, as if I’m drawing a work of art on his silky skin. We didn’t have sex. As soon as we got in the room, we both stripped and climbed under the crisp sheets of the hotel bed and just laid here.
All I wanted was to be next to him. My mind too far gone to even think about sex.
“You did good today,” he whispers, his voice husky from the thick silence.
“I didn’t know what to say or do. I feel… I just want to fight, you know,” I reply, still staring out the window. His chest rises, as an exhale slowly spills from him.