Chapter 12 Jake
JAKE
Dude you pick the funnest dates. Weird but fun.
I rolled my eyes as I read Carson’s message. Funnest isn’t a word.
Is too. Say hi to Camila for me at your weird fun date :D
A smoker might be considered a bit of a weird choice for a date.
Amateur fights were always a little weird, whether they were happening in your local martial arts gym or the bar down the street.
It was the combination of intense machismo—because if you thought there was a lot of chest-pounding in the pro level, you didn’t know how thirsty some of the amateurs could get—and a need not to do anything that would result in the cops being called.
Throwing a smoker in Vegas, of all places, was a ballsy move. Fights here were all tightly regulated by the Nevada Athletic Commission, and if you got caught hosting unregistered matches, the fines would be the least of your problems. So why do it?
The freedom.
For me, there was nothing quite as freeing as the fierce competition of a match with someone just as motivated as I was to win.
I was lucky enough to compete in the highest echelons of my sport; most practitioners couldn’t say the same.
Most of them didn’t even want to get into that level of competition, but few people got into fight sports with the intention of never testing themselves.
Smokers were a chance to test yourself against people outside your immediate circle without paying an arm and a leg to the commission so they could fuck you over on the rules. Or at least, that was how Miguel saw it.
It had been a long time since I’d been to a smoker.
I dressed casually in a pair of black jeans and a TUFFPRO T-shirt that one of my old sponsors had given me, then slicked back my hair.
It made me appear a little older, which I wanted if I was going into someone’s boxing gym.
I wasn’t a boxer, but I could hold my own on my feet, and the last thing I wanted was someone starting shit with me because they thought it would be fun.
Especially since I was going to be with Ethan.
Speaking of… a familiar knock sounded at my door. “C’mon in,” I called as I took a last look at myself, then tucked my phone into my back pocket. Wallet, keys, pocket knife… was I missing anything?
Long, strong arms wrapped around me from the side, and I grinned as I looked at Ethan in the mirror doing his best impersonation of an octopus.
He was in an Aces shirt and cargo shorts, and if I didn’t know he was a professional hockey player, my money would be on skater.
“I was going to be right out,” I told him.
“I got lonely.”
“You were alone for five seconds.”
“That’s too long,” he said, eyeing me up and down. One of his hands kneaded my bicep. “Holy shit, I love this tiny shirt.”
“It’s not tiny.”
“It isn’t,” he agreed, slipping his other hand beneath it. “But it looks tiny on you. Definitely too tight.”
“The fabric is meant to be stretchy,” I defended myself.
“Jake.” Ethan glanced up at me. “Do I look like someone you need to defend your fancy underarmor to? You look… so hot. Like, maybe too hot to actually go out.”
“I already promised Camila we’d be there,” I said.
“Is Camila scary or something?”
I laughed. He wouldn’t get it until he met her.
“Let’s head out.” I slid my hand down to the small of his back as we started for the front door. It wasn’t a sexual touch; or at least, I didn’t mean it to be. But I’d given a lot of thought to what Ethan had said, and as little as I wanted to admit it, he’d made some good points.
We didn’t actually know each other that well yet.
To him, my dive into getting physical with him did probably seem rushed.
He didn’t want to get burned by a guy who he thought might be experimenting, and I respected that.
But anyone who knew me well knew I was the sort of person who made plans on top of plans.
What had happened during my bad match with Carson at Abu Dhabi was a fluke that had thrown most of my other plans off, but those moments were thankfully rare.
When I committed to something, I did it because I didn’t just feel it was right, I knew it was right for me.
In this case, the thing—person—I was committing to was Ethan.
I wanted to see where things went with him, and I had a feeling it was going to be somewhere good.
I just had to be patient and let him set the pace. I could be patient.
“Just so you know,” Ethan warned me as we got into my car, “I don’t know anything about boxing.”
“I don’t know all that much either,” I said. “It’s a highly technical sport, but it’s still fun to watch.”
He grinned. “Brawls are always fun to watch.”
“I doubt we’ll see a brawl tonight.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “It’s two people punching each other for… how long are these fights going?”
“They’re going to be fast—three two-minute rounds, I think.” They had a big roster to get through and it was already almost eight.
“Still, six minutes of punching someone sounds like a brawl.”
“It’s a match,” I said. “And for good boxers, that’s not even enough time to break a sweat. This is being hosted at a Russian-style gym, so expect to see some very technical work.”
Ethan shrugged. “I honestly don’t think I’ll know a technical punch versus a non-technical punch, but it’ll be fun anyway.”
The gym was about twenty minutes away in a little strip mall that also housed a taqueria, a nail salon, and a pawn shop. The taqueria was doing a brisk business, and there was loud synth-pop style music blaring from a couple different speakers.
“I thought they’d want to keep a low profile!” Ethan shouted over the noise as I found a place to park between two tricked-out Camaros a block and a half away.
“The music is a good cover for the yelling,” I shouted back, but I was a little surprised by how big this thing was too. If they weren’t careful, a noise complaint was going to bring this whole thing down.
We headed for the entrance to the gym, right in the middle of the strip and packed with people. I felt a stir of relief when I saw Camila standing there with a drink in one hand, her tuckered-out four-year old on her hip, and a frown on her face.
“Good,” she said as soon as she saw me. “Here, take José.” She unceremoniously handed over her son, who opened his eyes to protest but brightened when he saw me. “They’ve kept us waiting for over an hour to get started. I’m going to go talk to Pete about hurrying this shit up.”
“Mr. Jake!” José started trying to climb me. “Can I sit on your shoulders? I’ll see so far!”
“You might bang your head on the ceiling, kiddo,” I warned him, but I let him up, then turned to look at Ethan, who seemed confused. “He does the kids class at Beth’s gym,” I said.
“Ah.”
I sighed. This wasn’t exactly how I’d foreseen our date going, but all we could do was roll with the punches.
There was no sitting room left, so we found a spot to stand against the back wall where we could see decently, and I bounced José up and down a bit as we waited for the first fight to start.
“It could be a while,” I said. “So if you want to get some food or—”
Just then a man in a T-shirt that matched the gym’s double-glove logo bounded up into the boxing ring in the center like his ass was on fire.
“Let’s get this night started, huh?” he yelled into the mic.
I saw Camila ringside with her arms crossed and figured this was the “Pete” she’d gone to hurry up.
“We’ve got nine fights tonight: seven boxing, two kickboxing.
Let’s start with a ladies’ match, huh? From Casa Alvarez, fighting at one-hundred and two pounds, Mikayla Jones!
” There was a bunch of applause as a young woman who couldn’t be more than five feet tall entered the ring.
She had on red shorts, a sports bra, and dark hair held back in cornrows beneath her headgear.
She grinned and waved at the crowd, but I could tell she was nervous from how she pounded her gloves together in an effort to hide her shaking hands.
“And from The House of Pain, weighing in at one-hundred and five pounds, Valentina Bivola!” This fighter was a good three inches taller, with long blonde hair in a single braid and a stern expression.
There was more applause for her, and then Pete added, “It’s their first smoker, so let’s make sure we lift ‘em up, huh?”
The ref came out and explained the rules, the ladies tapped gloves, and then the bell rang. The fight was on, and damn, was it on.
“Holy shit, they’re fast,” Ethan said, eyes wide as he watched the women circle each other, exchanging jabs and crosses at a quick pace as they probed for weaknesses. He seemed to suddenly remember José. “I mean, holy smokes.”
“You can say shit,” José told him with all the maturity a four-year-old could muster. “Mommy says mierda all the time.”
Time to move this conversation along. “Fights at welterweight and below are some of the most active,” I said. “People like to watch the big guys go at it, but the smaller fighters usually have better stamina.”
I could tell it was on the tip of his tongue to say something like “I’d watch you go at it,” but mindful of our audience, he bit it back.
The bell rang, and the ladies went back to their corners for water and to talk with their coaches. “One-minute break,” I said. “Each round is scored, and then whoever has the most points overall wins the match.”
“Would you ever switch to boxing?” Ethan asked as the ten-second warning sounded.
I laughed. “No way. I’m too old to get really good at this, and I prefer a sport where I can end things without having to deal out a TKO.” Submissions were my happy place, thank you very much.