Jesse lets out a loud laugh, like I just told him the earth is flat and populated by glittery unicorns. He’s on the verge of tears, holding his stomach when he finally says, “Ask Tyler. He’ll tell you all about the fangirls.”
“Tyler?”
“Yeah, that’s Ty’s name. Tyler Wilder.”
Tyler Wilder. Lookie here. Looks like I have a name to Google.
"Before you make any assumptions, I suggest you hit one of our classes and see what the fuss is all about. If you're going to write about it, you need to try it, no?"
I drop my head back and sigh, knowing he's right. I know Dawson wants me to try it out, and a happy Dawson means a happy interviewee.
"Okay," I say, feeling pushed to the corner.
Jesse gets up from his seat and chuckles to himself. "Besides, you kinda look like a tomboy. I think you'll have fun."
When Jesse and I climb down from the bleachers, Ty is waiting for us, leaning against a doorframe, ankles crossed, eyebrows raised and arms folded. He grits his teeth when I pass him, a devilish look in his eyes. I flip him the bird as I stroll over to join Shane, trying to look like I’m bored with his antics.
Jesse nudges Ty's ribs. “What's good, bro?”
Ty is jerking his chin at me when he returns gruffly, “Nothing's good. And there goes the neighborhood.”
Chapter Three
I fill up a bath and wait for Izzy’s scheduled call.
Sliding into the water, I dunk my head, still fuming about Ty Wilder. How dare he bail on the interview I need! And why was he so bitchy after Jesse and I came back?
And did I mention he is not my type? Because he isn’t.
The phone rings.
“Izzy.”
“Babe!” she yells. My arm is already stretched to avoid the unfortunate scenario where her voice will make my head explode.
“Where’s your skinny ass today?” I ask.
“Australia. Sydney is amazing. You should see the harbor. Everything here is so expensive but they have the best burgers and cutest accent. And the men! Blaire, the men are just to die for! This is almost my last stop. Only eight or so more weeks before I’m coming home.”
I’m happy for her. ’Course I am.
I tell her everything about Ty and Shane. Izzy’s take is that Ty likes me and he went all cold on me because he thought Shane was my boyfriend.
“I don’t know much about this world, but I can smell flirting from a mile with earplugs and a trash bag over my head. This Ty guy, he was definitely flirting. Now google his ass before I do. I will steal him. You bet I will, soul sista’.”
I finish my bath in a hurry, make myself a giant cup of coffee and mentally prepare myself for some earnest, unforgiving journalistic investigating. That’s right, I’m googling Tyler Wilder.
The first thing I discover is that Ty has his own Wikipedia page. It doesn’t give much detail about him, but it exists. He also has a Facebook fan page with over two-hundred thousand likes, but doesn’t have a private Facebook page I can connect to.
I map out my plan for research. I’ll start with Ty so I can come up with good questions for when I interview him. Then I’ll move on and see what I can find out about Jesse and Dawson.
I establish some basic info first: Wilder is twenty-six years old. He was born in Martinez and has lived in northern California his whole life. He currently resides in Concord and is an avid Harley-Davidson fan. His favorite color is black (shocking, I know) and his culinary weakness is Mexican food.
There are some crazy hot pictures of him on Google Images, including a few where he’s in a tux at an MMA charity ball two years ago. I also find lots of YouTube videos of him thrashing his opponents to knockouts and submissions. He is the darling of winning by decision too. Ty’s ring nickname is “The Zombie.” It suits him perfectly, with that ugly, snake-skull tattoo. To add a personal touch, he always breezes out of the tunnel and enters the ring to “Zombie” by the Cranberries, an angry grunge tune I overplayed as a teenager.
It sends a chill down my spine every time I watch him walk out of those tunnels in one of the videos, beer dripping on his head as the crowd erupts with screams, people clutching their beer cups, roaring and chanting. His lower face is always covered with the skull bandana, and he’s looking at his opponents like he’s going to butcher them alive. Every time the cage door shuts and I hear the secure click, the audience leaps to its feet in anticipation.
Not everybody is rooting for Ty, but everyone respects him.
He frequently wins by decision, which is prestigious, I guess. His wrestling and Muay Thai background makes him lethal in the cage, and his left hook is the best in the XWL, if the rumors online are true.
One of the commenters in a video where Ty sends a dude straight to the ER with a broken nose and blood streaming from his forehead points out: Man, Wilder is ruthless. He shattered the dude to pieces like taco shells!
Another commenter adds: I love the intensity in his eyes. Truly, the gladiator of our time. He is an animal, and tall for the welterweight division. Most strikers don’t stand a chance getting inside his reach.
I read comment after comment. People praise him, curse him, love him and hate him, fear him and respect him. I seem to share those mixed feelings. He attracts me and repulses me at the same time. Like a car crash. Only I worry I’ll be one of the casualties involved.