Presley frowned. “Why would anyone sign on for that?”

“Money. Prestige. Recognition. Advancement in the sport. If a fighter isn’t signed by one of the major fight organizations, they’ll never get a shot at fighting the best in the business. Even getting ranked in the top twenty in their weight division is a boost in visibility. Their win-loss records are crucial to moving up in the rankings for the right to fight for the title.” Molly gave her friend a sheepish smile when she realized she’d been babbling. “Yeah, I know way more about this than I should.”

“You’re involved with a fighter and our boss is married to a fight promoter. I’d be disappointed if you couldn’t spout all that off at the drop of a glove.” She grinned. “Thanks for the insider’s look.”

“You’re welcome.”

Deacon’s fight was last—at least two hours from now. Of the ten bouts on tonight’s card, only three interested her—Deacon’s, Ivan’s, and Sergei’s.

She considered hitting the concession stand for a chili cheese dog. But that would add at least an hour to her cardio tomorrow. Since she’d started dating Deacon, she’d been more consistent in her own workouts.

“You keep sighing, Mol. You okay?”

“Just nervous for my man. So I’m glad you’re here.”

Presley gave her a shoulder bump. “Let’s have a cocktail.”

“Yes, please. Something fruity and girly to cut the testosterone clogging the air.”

“Be right back.”

Ivan fought the third bout and outmaneuvered his opponent in the first minute of the second round.

Molly watched the Smackdown guys talking among themselves. What was their criteria for choosing a fighter? Raw talent? Carefully honed skills? A murderous look in the eyes?

The next two matches featured fighters they didn’t know. So Presley filled her in on Divas gossip.

When Sergei’s fight started, they cheered loudly—bolstered by their drinks. The fighters were evenly matched and the fight lasted until the third round, when Sergei forced his opponent to tap out.

“I forgot how much fun this was,” Presley said.

“Booze helps immensely.”

Presley held her “yard” of frozen margarita up to Molly’s in a toast.

“Although this is sort of the same vibe as at a roller derby match,” Molly pointed out.

“But I’m in the zone then. I’m part of the event, not part of the crowd. Totally different vibe for me.”

When the second to last fight ended, butterflies took wing in Molly’s stomach. Her leg started to bounce up and down. She might be sick. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. That’s okay.”

Presley got nose to nose with her. “You can’t go back there and hug him for good luck. And you can’t hide in the bathroom, either. My job as your friend is to make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be, get you liquored up, and hold your hand if needed.”

That’s when Molly knew. “Maddox made you come here.”

“No, Maddox asked me to be here for you. Which I happily agreed to. Now, we’ll hit the bathroom quickly and be back in these seats before Deacon makes his walk to the cage.” Again she peered into Molly’s face. “You do understand the importance of him seeing you here, cheering him on, right?”

“Yes.” But how did Presley know that?

With the long line for the bathroom, they made it back to their seats just before the lights dimmed.

“What’s Deacon’s walk-in arena song?”

Molly drew a blank. “I have no idea.”

Everyone was on their feet when the lights went out. Molly stood on tiptoe, straining to get that first glimpse of Deacon.

The music started and blasted through the speakers.

Presley started laughing.

“What is it?” Molly yelled over the music. “I don’t recognize the song.”

“‘Bleed It Out’ by Linkin Park.” She laughed again. “I swear I thought he’d have ‘Sweet Emotion’ by Aerosmith—you know, since he doesn’t show any emotion ever. Ironic, right?”

Molly smirked because Presley was dead wrong.

“Ooh, here he comes.”

Maddox, Ronin, Knox, and Beck followed behind Deacon. When he shed the robe, revealing his gorgeous back tattoo, Presley sucked in a sharp breath.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. And the tat ain’t bad either.”

Molly slugged her.

The ref patted Deacon down, checking his gloves, his fingernails and his mouth guard. He smeared Vaseline on Deacon’s face and then signaled Deacon was good to go.