“Yes, just me and my ex. We got together just one last time. That’s all of it,” Tuesday concludes.
“But I swear I saw three of them, they were translucent and had wings. I can’t believe I just said that ” Roman says, embarrassed.
Tuesday stands up next to him, “It was only him. Your mind must have played tricks on you. You weren’t yourself; you were drugged.”
Tuesday reaches over and wraps her arms around Roman’s neck, “I am so sorry you had to get mixed up in my mess, Roman.”
Roman reciprocates the hug with some hesitancy at first before he squeezes her tight in his arms.
“What type of drug was it?” Roman speaks in her ear.
“What?” Tuesday responds as she loosens her embrace.
“What type of drug? I have to know if it’ll affect my performance or qualification tests before the championship bout.”
Tuesday backs away a few steps. She hadn’t thought this story all the way through. She had to make up a drug that creates hallucinations but is not harmful to the body. She then recalls one she experimented with while in grad school to cope with her insane schedule.
Tuesday informs Roman,“I believe he said it was Salvia. It’s a herb. The effects aren’t lasting, but they make you believe in things that aren’t there. It sort of creates an alternative universe.”
Roman pulls out his cell phone and Googles “Silva.” reads about it on its wiki page:
Salvia divinorum (also known as Sage of the Diviners, Ska María Pastora, Seer's Sage, and just Salvia) is a psychoactive plant that can induce visions and other hallucinatory experiences.
“What the hell?” Roman says as he reads further and discovers that someone can use a dropper to dispense a few droplets in water. But what Roman is more concerned about is the side effects. He continues reading the wiki page:
- Past memories, such as revisiting places from childhood memory
- Sensations of motion, or being pulled or twisted by forces
- Visions of membranes, films, and various two-dimensional surfaces
- Overlapping realities, such as the perception of being in several locations at once
Roman shoves his phone back in his pocket, “So you allowed me to be drugged, and you didn’t say a goddamn thing? What is wrong with you?”
Tuesday profusely apologizes, “I am so so sorry, Roman. I had no idea he would go that far. I only found out about it after the fact. If I had any idea that he would go that far, I would have said something. Will you forgive me?”
Roman picks up a downed tree limb and smashes it across the trunk of a nearby tree in anger. His face is red, and his fist coiled.
He shouts at Tuesday, What is his name?”
Tuesday can’t tell him for fear he will discover that he died seven months ago.
With intensity in his eyes, Roman strides towards Tuesday and again she backs up. She’s afraid of what he might do and afraid of what might happen to him.
“Roman grabs her by the shoulders and grips her tight, “What is the son of a bitch’s name? That man who drugged me?”
Tuesday remains silent.
“Are you protecting this man? Are you still in love with him?”
Love… that’s the first time that word has ever come out of his mouth. Roman has never said it to anyone, nor used it in a sentence. Women have said it to him and asked him to say it back when he’s fucking them, but he never does.
Tuesday breaks away from his grip, “I do, still, feel something for him, but it is not love. It’s a bit of obligation and pity mixed with lust. I’m sure you can understand where I’m coming from, can’t you?”
Of course, Roman has experienced the same type of insane relationship. He’s had no problem fucking random women purely for lust… and never for love.
Roman finds himself doubting how he has interacted with women. He’s surprised Tuesday admitted satisfying her lustful urges.
But there is something about Tuesday that demands much more than a passing fling. He’s fallen in love with her. He wants to ask her if she feels the same, but he is afraid of the answer.
Tuesday runs back into Roman’s arms. She leans into him as their lips hover close to each other but don’t touch.
They are drawn together by a hint of a promise and a dash of rejection.
Chapter Eighteen
Fans and press pack the sixteen-thousand-seat arena. All want to get a look at the main card lineup between The Pretty and Lucky Lewis.
The pre-fight interview always draws fans and press from around the world. Twenty-foot banners with The Pretty and Lucky Lewis’ faces flank both sides of the dais.
Multiple camera flashes nearly blind the fighters as camera operators jockey for the premium positions.
The Pretty wears a crisp white shirt and tie. He’s clean-shaven with his hands folded in front of him. Al has a seat next to him. He places a hand on his shoulder for encouragement.
Lucky Lewis wears a flashy dark purple suit and dark shades to match his skinny black tie. He has a cocky look on his face. Allistor sits next to him.
A Grey-haired Suit stands at the mike, “Welcome to UFC 202. I would like to thank the fighters, the media, the Athletic Commission, and our partners. This weekend will be one for the ages. With this championship battle already making headlines across the globe, the fight promises to be extraordinary. We have The Pretty vs. Lucky Lewis, fighting for the light-heavyweight title.”
The crowd cheers for both fighters. Roman rises to his feet and waves to the crowd as Lucky Lewis does a fist pump in the air before they both sit back down.
The Grey-haired Suit continues, “Fans will witness either The Pretty take what is rightfully his, or witness Lucky Lewis, the underdog, mastermind the upset of the century.”
Both cheers and jeers, shouts and screams erupt in the auditorium for both fighters. However, the cheers for Roman drown out the jeers for Lucky.
“And don’t forget to attend the UFC Fan Weekend and Expo. I hope everyone has downloaded our app to keep up with our current schedule. Now I’ll take the first question,” the Suit says.
Press members raise their hands, and he picks a Reporter from the crowd.
The Reporter rises, “Mike Dugan, USA Sports. Of course this is not the fight we were geared up for. No one expected Lucky Lewis to get a shot at the championship this early—“
Lucky Lewis leans forward and shouts in his mic while he cuts the Reporter off, “Why the hell not?”
The Reporter, a bit surprised by the outburst, responds, “Well, you barely made weight, your record losses almost equal your wins. Many here think you haven’t earned it.”
There are a spattering claps in the crowd.
Lucky Lewis stands up and kicks his chair away from him as it flies up and crashes into the back wall. The Reporter looks around for Security as he’s scared shitless.
Lucky responds, “Ain’t this America, bitch?”
The Grey-haired Suit pipes in, “Let him finish his question, Lewis. Take your seat.”
Lewis doesn’t break eye contact with the Reporter as someone picks up his chair and puts it back behind him. Lewis unhurriedly sits back down.
The Reporter is a bit frazzled, but he continues, “So how has the main card line-up changed things?” He then takes a seat.
The Suit responds, “Ticket sales have surpassed eight million, and that doesn’t include pay-per-view. Those figures are through the roof. On top of that, sixty-thousand fans are coming to the arena. This fight is as big, if not bigger than what was anticipated.”
The suit points to another Reporter, “John Phillips, Sports Central. Can you explain what exactly happened with The Dragon? There were conflicting reports. Some said he had a broken rib, and others said he didn’t. There was even social media chat that the UFC was going to force him to fight, even with a broken rib, regardless. Can you clarify?”
The Suit clears his throat and takes a sip of water from a bottle, “First off, there wa
s no confusion on our end. But know this, all fighter’s safety and health is our utmost concern. We would never force anyone to fight if it endangered their health. Those rumors are categorically false. Now with that being said, The Dragon went to several doctors. All looked at the x-rays. Two came up with the same conclusion, and one did not. One said he was cleared to fight, and the other two said he was not because his rib and cartilage injuries were too severe. So that is why he is not here today. But we know The Dragon will be watching the main card and rooting for both men.”
Another Reporter stands to address the panel, “Tucker Ellis, Fox Sports. I’d like to address The Pretty. Apparently Lucky Lewis is getting credit and heat from stepping in on short notice. But you also are now faced with a different fighter than what you have trained for. At the last minute, you’re taking on an entirely different stylistic fighter. How will you handle this? What is your new mindset?”
The Pretty scoots close to the microphone and speaks, “My mind is bulletproof. Solid.”
There are cheers from the crowd.
The Pretty continues, “I’m number one. Who gives a shit if number two bows out and number five steps in his place. Number two, three, four, five; makes no difference to me. I’m still number one.”
Lucky grimaces as the crowd erupt in applause and a standing ovation.
Once they settle down, The Pretty continues, “I am happy to be here and happy to give the fans what they want. Make no mistake, I’m the reason there is an eight-million-dollar gate on this fight. They’re coming to see me, not whoever happens to be in the other corner.”
Lucky Lewis wants to stand again, however, Allistor whispers in his ear as he holds him down with a firm hand on his shoulder.
Allistor says, “Remember, it’s all for show. Let him have his moment now because it will be the last one he’ll ever get.”
Lucky Lewis calms down and smirks from the side of his mouth. He does grab the microphone in front of him and cuts Roman off, “This number four will embarrass you in front of your fans. You won’t know what happened when it all goes dark, after the strikes and blitzes from this number four.”
The crowd is on their feet. Some cheer while others boo. They lean in and await The Pretty’s response.
The Pretty continues, “In my opinion, Lucky is a very one-dimensional fighter. He’s a long, south-paw stand-up fighter. That’s it. No wrestling background, no Jujitsu. You take away all his hype, his colorful clothes and he’s left with nothing. I’m going to destroy Lucky Lewis.”
There are more hoots and applause from the crowd.
Chapter Nineteen
Back at the gym, Roman spars with multiple partners and trains with Al and other experts in their fields.
He first starts out with calisthenics, then stretches. He jumps from floor exercises to a punching bag, to Roman Gecko wrestling moves. Once done with that, he climbs into the ring for more boxing strategies, kickboxing training, as well as Jujitsu.
Every day is a ten hour training day. Roman powers through the soreness of ribs and focuses on his techniques. Although he’s a better fighter than Lucky, he never underestimates what can happen in a ring.
Roman has personally witnessed champions get cocky and under-train, only to find themselves flat on their asses in the ring. That’s not going to happen to Roman if he can help it.
Al and the rest of the fighters have left the gym. Roman remains as he goes through drills one last time.
Tuesday adjusts the waistband on her slacks and tucks the tail to her shirt back into her pants. She walks down from her office, being careful not to disturb his training. She sits on the third stair from the bottom and rests her chin on her knuckles until Roman calls it a night.
Roman catches her gaze. He jogs over to her and sits down next to her on the steps.
“You look good. You look ready,” Tuesday assures.
Roman shrugs his shoulders, “I never feel one-hundred percent ready no matter how hard I train, or how many hours.”
“That surprises me,” Tuesday says, “You always seem so confident in the cage. I’ve never seen a look of doubt in your face, ever when training.”
“I never doubt myself in the ring. Once I’m there, it’s all over. I do what I need to do. But before that time, I always wonder if I’ve done enough,” Roman confides.
“You’re doing enough,” Tuesday assures.
She wants to say something more but bites her tongue.
Roman picks up on it, “What do you want to say?”
Tuesday turns to face him, “Have you sized up Lucky? He’s not a clean fighter. He will do whatever it takes to win. You need to watch out for him.”
Roman chuckles, “Of course. He’s all flash. He tries to draw emotions out of his opponents; that’s how he operates. I also know he’s not above illegal tactics. But I can’t worry about that. I’m focused on my game.”
“How do you focus on your game and not get caught up in his antics?” Tuesday asks.
“Simple. I keep my emotions in check no matter what he pulls.”
Tuesday is not surprised by the response and asks a follow-up question, “I’ve noticed that that’s the way you live your life, inside and outside the Octagon. You keep your emotions in check. Have you ever considered letting your guard down, just once, just a little bit?”
Roman wipes his face with a towel, then slings it over his shoulder, “Now why would I do that when so much is at stake?”
“I’m not talking about your fight tomorrow, I’m talking about us,” she spills.
“I didn’t know there was an us,” Roman says so quickly that it catches Tuesday off-guard.
Perhaps everything that she feels, everything that she wants, is all one-sided. Perhaps he’s not the type of man to ever get serious with a woman or trust her completely. Not that she hasn’t given him a reason for pause.
Tuesday rises from the step and turns to walk back upstairs when Roman grabs her forearm and pulls her down onto his lap. She puts one arm around his neck to steady herself.
“You’re a very complicated man,” Tuesday blurts out.
“I don’t believe so. I have basic thoughts and simple goals,” Roman responds, “I live by a simple set of rules.”
“Simple Rules, huh. What are they?” Tuesday asks.
Roman puts his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, “Always do your best, give when you can, and just a little bit more. And always expect the same in return from others.”
“There is nothing in those set of rules about loving yourself, or finding love. Are you against… love?” Tuesday asks, not quite sure if she would hear the response that she longs to hear.
Roman normally has a pat answer to such a question that he would spit out every time someone asked him. The typical response is that he’s in love with winning, with the dance in the ring. Period. But this time he thinks long and hard before responding as he’s in love with this woman. He could see himself with her, with HER.
But he’s let his insecurities block him from getting close to a woman for fear of getting used, or hurt. But maybe it was time to let Tuesday in. Just maybe Tuesday is the one he’s been waiting for his entire life.
Roman takes Tuesday’s leg and pulls it around his back so that she sits facing him with her legs wrapped around his hips.
He removes his gloves and places them next to him. Although he has wiped away his sweat, the scent of him is still strong.
Roman seizes Tuesday’s hips and draws her into his abdomen.
Roman lets down his protective wall and lays it all on the table. He has never admitted what he’s about to say, to anyone, until now. “I’m scared, Tuesday. And I haven’t been scared since I was eleven years old.”
Tuesday places his face in her hands, “What are you afraid of, Roman?”
Roman takes a moment as he’s not used to spilling his guts or sharing feelings. It feels awkward and uncomfortable to him. But perhaps, that’s what real love feels like. He is willi
ng to give this a real shot.
“I’m afraid that as soon as I tell you what you mean to me, that something will come between us, something very powerful. It will be something neither of us can control or shut down, and we’ll be lost to each other. I know this makes no sense,” Roman confides. Roman’s mind races, simply embarrassed to have even said anything.
Still on his lap, Tuesday scoots in closer to Roman and leans her head on his shoulder.
Roman is surprised by this tender moment. He wraps his arms around her waist as his head drops past her shoulder.
The PRETTY (EROM Curvy Romance #1) Page 8