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The preliminary fights are getting underway and as the fighters enter the octagon, I take a drink of my beer and glance around the living room. It looks like everyone has been here for a while as the coffee table is full of snacks, including Luca’s baking he did the other night. I huff out a small breath of amusement, as I think once more about the reason for this baking.
“Cinnamon roll?” Luca’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I look up at him and he is eyeing me, almost hopefully.
“Uh, no.” I shake my head and take another drink of my beer.
“Hm,” he hums, nodding his head as he leans back in his chair. “Maybe later.” He then winks at me.
Fucking weirdo.
“Oh, I love this guy,” Adão says as he pops a chip into his mouth and gestures towards the TV.
A fighter from Brazil, who is a fucking beast from what I’ve seen of him, is entering the cage. I watch as the first fight of the night begins, and try to tune everyone out as they continue chatting and laughing about some inside joke they all have about the same kind of fight shorts one of the fighters is wearing. They’re just normal fight shorts… I don’t get what’s so funny about it.
Everyone laughs as Elijah says, “But do they have a zipper?” and now I’m even more confused. And a jolt of something like annoyance, or possibly… jealousy… hits me.
Fuck, maybe the crowded bar would have been better.
When the fight ends in submission, my eyes slide to Luca. He’s smiling and joking, and looks genuinely happy. Like this is exactly what he’s supposed to be doing. Hosting friends at his house and being the outgoing social butterfly he obviously is. But, seeing it in real time brings a different feeling. I only know him from the gym or from fights over the years, and this whole situation is completely foreign to me.
Even seeing him in jeans rather than sweats or shorts brings on a curious feeling, and I find myself scanning his living room looking for more clues about who he is outside of MMA. I see a PlayStation with sports games lined up beside it, various books on a shelf beside the TV and a framed picture on the wall of the St. Louis Arena.
“Oh!” Seb yells from beside Noah on the couch and I snap to it, bringing my attention back to the TV just in time to see the end of an epic takedown.
I shift my weight in my seat and scold myself. I’m here to watch the fights, and instead I’m watching Luca fucking Mitchell and eyeing his belongings. What the fuck.
I keep my eyes on the TV for the remainder of the preliminary fights, studying their techniques and mistakes, and living each moment with each fighter. Every now and then my attention is pulled as someone directs a comment my way about how Lozano has a similar fight style to me, or when Seb gets me another beer, but overall, I stay focused on the reason I’m here. And when we get to the main card fights, I’m leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, just like everyone else.
The first fight is Yanna Trujillo and Amelia Hendrix, and as they come onto the screen, Rosa rubs her hands together and smiles around at all of us.
“These ladies are about to show you boys just how this is done. Pay attention.”
I can’t help the small chuckle that comes out of me. Because I fully agree. I’ve seen both of these women fight a few times before, and they are fucking amazing. Trujillo has one of the best single leg takedowns I’ve ever seen, and Hendrix is so strong on defense it’s almost like she plays it just to prolong the fight and have some fun.
And from what I’ve seen from Rosa, she’s soon going to be rising the ranks to dominate these women. During a light spar the other day, I almost had to ask for a fucking break to catch my breath.
“Oh my god,” Luca mutters as the fight begins, and it’s immediately tense.
Trujillo takes Hendrix down in the first thirty seconds, but Hendrix manages to lay a deadly punch and buys herself a moment to get into position for an attempted triangle choke. They’re quick, and the room is completely silent as we watch.
Eventually Hendrix gets Trujillo into an armbar, resulting in a tap.
“Yes!” Rosa shoots to her feet and raises her arms in the air. “Fuck, yes!”
I hide my smile as I take a drink of my beer.
“Damn,” Noah says softly and smiles up at Rosa. “Wait til you get there.”
“Damn right,” Rosa says, beaming as she takes her seat again.
Luca gets up to head into the kitchen, and I let my eyes follow him. He loads his arms up with beers from the fridge, and as he turns back to the living room, I quickly return my attention to the TV.
“Alright, here we go,” Elijah scoots to the edge of his chair, as Tomas Blaese enters the octagon.
My heart thumps faster as he touches hands with his opponent. And as the fight begins, I’m consumed by it. Blaese moves with speed and accuracy, yet completely dominates his opponent by keeping him on his defense. He is the one controlling this fight, and each of his moves are calculated and precise.
Every time I see him fight, I’m reminded of every reason why I want this. Why I need this. I need to fight at this level, and be challenged by other elite fighters, so I can prove myself and my worth in the world of MMA. And that I deserve to be there because I’ve done the work. To prove this to everyone, and myself. Fighting in that octagon is the only thing that matters to me. I need to get there.
