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It was true that his opponent was a frightening man, hopped up on testosterone and radiating aggression through every pore.
But t here was no question that Red was the one in control here. Calm, cool, collected. His humility and poise, his concentration and stoicism madehimthe real threat here. While Devil Face wore his feelings openly on his sleeve and ran his mouth with abandon, Red was unreadable. Impossible to predict, like a bomb waiting for its timer to run out.
Thatmade him dangerous.
I couldn’t look away. No wonder so many people liked watching UFC. Every second was a heart- pumping, breath- stopping moment. And I was lucky enough to have a front row view , literally teetering on the edge of my seat.
When Devil Face finally exhausted himself, he sat down next to his coach at the conference table. Red and Dylan, both looking totally unfazed by the unnecessary ordeal, sat together on the other end.
The moderator smiled at the crowd, speaking clearly into the center podium’s microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first UFC Debut pre-fight conference of the season. We’re all very much looking forward to a thrilling match tonight. I personally want to wish our fighters the best of luck—”
“Ain’t gonna fuckin’ need it!” Devil Face hooted into his mic. He earned himself a wild cheer from a few of his adoring fans in the audience.
The moderator continued. “I’m going to open this up to questions from the floor.”
My hand shot up as fast as lightning. “This is a question for Mr. Smithson,” I said clearly. “I have no doubt you’ve been keeping tabs on your opponent in preparation for this fight. What would you say are some of the biggest holes in his game?”
Dylan smirked. We may or may not have worked together this morning on coming up with easy-to-hit home run questions to ease Red into the conference.
Red nodded. “I’d say the biggest hole in his game is his temperament. It’s true that Jones is strong and unpredictable, but he’s not consistent. He’ll wear himself out before I have to lift a finger.”
Devil Face jumped out of his chair. “Fuck you, man! I’m gonna knock you out in the first fucking round!”
“What do you have to say in response, Mr. Smithson?” I asked.
Red snorted. “It’s very difficult to take someone seriously when their face looks like a page out of a child’s coloring book.”
The audience exploded into a fit of laughter and applause. While Red’s expression was flat, I could tell how pleased he was by the slight glint in his eyes. Unfortunately, his well-crafted zinger only set Devil Face off again. There followed another three minutes full of swearing, shouting threats, and lunging towards Red in an attempt to get a reaction out of the bigger man. I rolled my eyes. Devil Face was the epitome of childishness.
I leaned over to whisper to Cash. “Doesn’t this guy ever get tired of being angry?”
He chuckled. “It’s all he has going for him. Half the battle is getting into your opponent’s head, but I don’t think it’s working.”
Someone else rose from their seat to ask a question. “The news has been making the rounds, but I wanted to ask you about your last-minute coach switch up. Has this been disruptive at all to your training, Red?”
“Not at all,” he answered firmly.
“But as someone who has no experience in the octagon himself, doesn’t that worry you? Devil Face has been working with a massive team of experts. What makes you so sure you’ll come out on top?”
Dylan leaned forward and mumbled into his microphone. “Talk is cheap,” he said. “Let him throw hands and find out.”
I didn’t bother biting back my shit-eating grin. “I kind of love Grumpy Coach Callaghan.”
Cash laughed. “Is that what we’re going to call him from now on? I hope it sticks.”
I raised my hand again. “I have one more question for you, Mr. Smithson.”
“What is it, honey?”
My cheeks filled with heat, a shiver racing down my spine. To everyone else, it was a casual address. A little cheeky, a little charming.
“What motivates you?” I asked. “When you woke up this morning, what was the first thought that got you out of bed?”
“There are two important people out there who I want to impress. The main one being my father. He’s been sick for a while, but I hope he’ll be well enough to see me win tonight.”
A sympathetic murmur sounded from the crowd. He was winning them over, gathering up fans left, right, and center. There was no doubt in my mind that, on the off chance he did lose, at least Red was setting himself up for a bigger following.
“Who’s the other person?” asked a different member of the sports press.
“Is it a woman?” someone in the crowd hooted.
Red smirked, his charming and rare smile captured on a dozen different cameras. “She knows who she is.”
I nibbled on my bottom lip.
Oh yes, I do.
