Sofia barks into the Will Call window, “Stop gaping at her or I’ll make you stop!”

Since he’s behind bulletproof glass he does not feel the need to heed her warning.

The guy’s mouth is open and he scratches a pimple on his cheek as he stares at me. So fucking gross. “You’re prettier in person.”

I’m sick of people recognizing me from the news.

Will it ever go away?

Sighing and exasperated I demand, “Are there tickets waiting under my name or not? No, don’t look at my chest. My eyes are up here! The computer is right there. See if we have tickets or my cousin will find a way to break down this glass.”

I throw a look to Sofia whose expression says she just might.

He blinks over to the monitor and mutters, “So pretty when you’re angry.” The printer spits out a couple tickets and he hands them to me through the slot.

Sofia blocks my reach. “Nope.” To the kid she says, “Set them down and back that hand away.”

Disappointed that she’s foiled his chance to cop a feel, even just of my fingers, he does as told. But when she goes to grab them, his fingers fly out and graze hers instead.

She scoops the tickets to her chest. “Sonofabitch!”

With yellow teeth he grins like his year just got made.

I call out to one of the enormous men who are checking bags to make sure audience members don’t bring knives or guns, or grenades, or anything that could be considered a weapon, into the stadium. “Security!” One grunts his way over to us, really gritty type of character. Could be handsome if you like your men scary as hell. “Can you make sure we walk by this guy without him jumping out of his box to grab ours?”

The guy bellows in a voice so low it doesn’t sound real, “Chester! Stay there!” He guides us into the throng of people clamoring to get to the show, and completely forgets to check inside Sofia’s purse. Which is good because she brought her knife. Always carries it, a fact he doesn’t have to know.

“You friends of Vance?” he asks.

Sofia’s charm flashes in her smile as she walks by his side, her body a quarter of his. “Who?”

The bouncer does a double take at her sex appeal and says, “The heavyweight champion.”

“Oh, you mean Tobias,” she smiles.

A rumbling laugh shakes his shoulders. “Vance doesn’t exist to you.”

“That’s right.”

“He only exists for Tobias to kick his ass.”

The bouncer stops walking, parting a sea of people who now have to go around the three of us. He and Sofia are flirting, which blows my mind. “If you’re that big a fan, you need a front row seat.”

I hand her the tickets. She holds them up and fans them in front of her smirk. “Like these?”

He reads the writing and crosses his arms, head nearly hitting the ceiling. “You ready to get some sweat on you?”

Sofia purrs, “You offering?”

His smile changes as he realizes she’s totally and completely serious. “Find me after the fight.”

“You find me,” she laughs, walking away, me at her side. “Duh!”

“I’ll find you!” he shouts after us.

Over the slender strap of her painted-on dress she calls back to him, “Forget it! You had your chance!” We enter the stadium like we’re headed for the cage, like it’s us who everyone is here to see.

She throws me a look. “Can you believe that guy?”

“He’s probably used to women searching for him.”

“He’s never met me then. See that chain fence? Now that is some hot shit right there.”

“I’m getting excited.”

She throws me a knowing look. “I bet you are.”

As we walk, people clear away to their seats, fewer of them around us as we get closer to the front row where our neighbors will be press, guys in suits representing the sponsors, owners, doctors, and anyone as lucky as we turned out to be.

Sofia and I slide into our seats and cross our legs, eyes on two scantily clad, UFC moniker-wearing, heavily made-up women. My cousin and I raise an eyebrow each as one of the girls plumps her breasts up, sliding her hand into her bikini-top in front of everyone. Tons of catcalls explode from the stands.

Sofia chuckles under her breath, “Puh-lease.”

When the announcer begins speaking, the crowd becomes a nuclear reactor of energy. “And now! This is the moment UFC fans around the world have been waiting for!”

Soon I grab Sofia’s hand as Tobias comes into view, his face huge on the screen above the fight cage, hard with intense focus, body glimmering with anticipation’s sweat.

Okay, wow.

At the gym his tank top was indicative of what was beneath, but now that he’s only wearing fight shorts, naked on up, I have lost my ability to breathe.

His upper body strength is awe-inspiring.

Rock after bulging rock of pure muscle.

His shoulders could seat a kid each with room to spare.

The crowd goes nuts as he makes his way in. He glances over to us like he picked these seats himself. But by the glint in his eyes as he and I look at each other, he wasn’t sure we’d come.

There’s no smile, only laser-like intention to win.

Sofia tightens her grip on my clammy fingers as I go tense all over. “You really want this guy, Hann,” she whispers, just figuring it out.

Without moving my lips so he can’t see me answer her I hum, “Uh huh.”

“Oh God,” she whispers. “I hope he gives you what they haven’t.”

Tobias rips his gaze back to the octagonal-shaped cage and walks in. Over the cacophony of cheering the announcer has been listing the judges, the sponsors, facts about the fighters. I heard none of it.

Tobias marched in like a man with vengeance on his mind.

His opponent walks in like he hasn’t a care in the world, smiling the whole time, just as ripped and intimidating.

I hope Tobias punches that grin into bits.

Sofia whispers, “Oh shit. That guy looks fierce, too.”

I can only nod and squeeze her fingers.

This place has been robbed of oxygen ever since Tobias locked eyes with me.

With her eyes on the fighters she starts reciting like a machine, “This is what you can’t do. Butting with the head. Eye gouging. Biting. Groin attacks. Attacking an opponent on or during the break. Putting a finger into any orifice or into any cut or laceration of your opponent. Striking to the spine or the back of the head. Throat strikes of any kind. Kicking the head of a grounded opponent. Stomping a grounded opponent. Kicking to the kidney. Spiking an opponent to the canvas on his head or neck. Using abusive language in the cage.”

I stare at her. “You know a lot about this.”

“I know a lot about fighting. All us Ciphers do.”

“Anything else?”

Her gaze returns to the cage. “No spitting at an opponent or the ref. Oh, and no throwing in the towel.”

I snort at that last one. “What pussy would surrender when it’s called Ultimate Fighting Challenge?”

“Right?” she mutters.

Tobias’s harsh gaze lands on me right before the ref announces the beginning of the fight. He tilts his head down a little to me, acknowledging I came.

I give him a wink.

Probably shouldn’t have distracted him right as the bell went off. He just took a blow to the head for it.