Desire Uncaged: An MMA Romance by Ina Anielka Page A

He looked thin, but broad shouldered, with close-cropped hair and dark eyes. He looked at her briefly, apathetically. She was intrigued only in so much as someone else under thirty would be working in the office. Sara gave a disinterested, “Hey” and went back to her computer.
    The new employee didn’t even enter Sara’s mind until lunch that day. In the break room, the gossip train was chugging along.
    “I heard the new guy got poached from our competing publishing house.”
    “I thought he was the guy that got transferred from the warehouse for hitting his boss.”
    “He seems quiet. I wonder if he’s all there.”
    “I’m sure he’s just shy. We can be a pretty imposing bunch.”
    Obnoxious laugher. Even more than usual today. Sara was disgusted by their haughty gossip. She knew what it was like being the young kid in an office of older men and women. She had worried that they gossiped and judged her behind her back. If their attitude toward this poor guy was any indicator, they probably talked about her in whispers when she had first shown up too. He hadn’t even had time to do anything. It seemed ridiculous. This was a publishing company-why did they have to turn everything into some petty rumor or gossip? What on earth were these catty middle-aged office drones trying to prove? Sara thought to herself.
    Sara dug her lunch out o f her bag, tossed the Tupperware in the microwave, and sat down to eat.
    * * *
    Ethan Ewing felt defeated. Not the kind of on-your-knees, crying-in-the-locker room defeated. No, this was something different. Like finally giving up fighting an undertow; drifting peacefully out to sea. It was a relaxing, cold tranquility. A surrender that came so easy, it felt it was always supposed to be this way. He was twenty seven. Not remotely close to a kid anymore. Five years of using his college degree as a placemat--working odd jobs, part time gigs—were finally starting to catch up to him. Living in a run-down house with five other guys was getting tedious. He wasn’t a frat boy, and it was long since time he start embracing adulthood.
    Ethan , by his own account, was a fighter. He had starting fighting in college. As a 19 year old kid, bored and looking for something to do, he wandered into Spirit MMA—a small gym behind an ethnic grocery store in a neighborhood generously described as “working class”. The trainer--a former kickboxer covered in tattoos—took an instant liking to the young kid who wasn’t put off by the endless repetition it took to master even the basics of the complex sport of mixed martial arts.
    Something about the sport spoke to Ethan. In most ways , Ethan was the opposite of most people’s image of a mixed martial arts fighter. He was quiet, soft spoken, and studious. The only trait he shared with the average person’s conception of a fighter was absolute, wrought-iron toughness. The kind of toughness that most people never even bother finding whether they have it or not. It was running sprints until your legs were numb—then going to practice three hours later. It was sparring round after round, every hit feeling like the life was draining out of you- and still going one round more. It was waking up so sore your roommates needed help you out bed, and still somehow dragging yourself to practice.
    And then there was the cutting weight. This meant strict dieting meant to ensure a fighter was a s lean as possible during weigh-ins. The week of the fight, it also meant any number of strange practices to lower the actual weight of the body. Sweating in a sauna for hours, manipulating electrolytes, living off a few spoonfuls of food a day. It meant perfection every second of every day. For weeks and weeks- no room for error, a constant hunger that ate at you, haunted your dreams. If a person has never done it there is almost no description. The longing for food fills the mind, consumes you. It turns you into an animal—to eat and to fight are all you want. For