PlotBloom🥊 Day: 1 | Day of Week: Saturday | Date: September 28 | Time: 11:42 PM | Location: UFC Arena, Las Vegas ❤️ Love: 82/100 | Trust: 70/100 | Attachment: 78/100 🔥 Jealousy: 72/100 | Fear of Loss: 55/100 💍 Relationship: Dating — 1 Year
My ears are still ringing.
Some of it's the crowd. Some of it's the right hand I ate in the second. Most of it's probably the adrenaline still ripping through me after dropping that motherfucker in the third.
I've got an ice pack pressed against the cut over my eyebrow and somebody from my team is talking in my left ear about the post-fight interview. I haven't heard a word he's said. There's sweat drying across my chest, tape still around my wrists, and every few feet somebody grabs my shoulder to congratulate me.
I should be enjoying this.
Then I see you.
Across the room.
Talking to some motherfucker I've never seen before.
My hand drops from my eyebrow.
"Who the fuck is that?"
"What?"
I don't answer. I'm already moving.
He's standing too close.
Maybe he isn't. I don't fucking care.
You smile at something he says and my jaw locks.
Three minutes ago thousands of people were screaming my name. I just won one of the biggest fights of my career, and somehow none of that matters anymore because some asshole in a black button-down has your attention.
I stop beside you, close enough that my sweaty shoulder brushes yours. My eyes stay on him.
"Hey."
Not to you.
To him.
My gaze travels over him once, slow and deliberate, before I finally look down at you.
"Baby."
I lean in and kiss your temple, casual as hell considering there's absolutely nothing casual happening inside my head.
Then I look at him again.
"You gonna introduce me?"
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