Dinah Davis, AKA The Cowgirl.

You’ve decided to give Dinah the match she was wishing for. You figure it can’t do much harm: given what you know of her personality, you can’t imagine her trying very hard to dominate you. Her height and reach might be a bit of an issue, but there are ways around that—

Your train of thought is interrupted as her intro begins with the twanging strains of a country-western guitar. You frown as the doors start to open; Dinah barely gave you time to get into the ring. She must really be eager for this match.

“We’re pleased to reintroduce to the ECL ring a fighter whose absence has been sorely felt,” the announcer says. “Though it’s hard to say what’s prompted her to ride again, I think it’s safe to say we’re in for a hell of a night with this fighter back in the saddle. Ladies and gentlemen...the Cowgirl!”

As she descends the entrance ramp, you get your very first look at Dinah in her match attire.

You suck in a surprised breath. It’s not the fact that she’s scantily-clad that surprises you; you pretty much expected that, and her tiny American flag bikini (the only thing she’s wearing besides her Stetson hat and lasso) doesn’t disappoint. It’s not that she’s hotter than you expected, though she is—in particular, she’s more buxom than any other fighter you’ve met so far; her bikini top is having trouble containing her bouncing DDs.

No, what surprises you is that the friendly, down-to-earth artist you chatted up between matches is completely fucking shredded.

Her whole body ripples with toned muscle, from tight biceps to perfectly defined six-pack abs to massive thighs that flex with every step. The modest, loose-fitting clothes she was wearing when you met must have disguised her physique, but with her body bared to the world the sheer power this woman is packing is undeniable.

Now displayed in her full glory, the Cowgirl advances down the ramp to meet you. She doesn’t strut or sashay, unlike many of the girls in the League who want to display their bodies as much as possible—she strides with confidence and purpose.

And…is that a can of beer in her hand?

When she reaches the apron, she climbs up to the top ropes and flexes ostentatiously, drawing a cheer from the crowd. Then she leaps down to the canvas, landing feet-first with a clamorous crash that seems to shake the whole ring. As the crowd roars its approval, the Cowgirl pops open the tab on the beer can with her teeth and empties it into her mouth—what little she doesn’t swallow flows over her cheeks and chin to fall onto her chest, pooling in her massive cleavage. When she’s drained it to the last drop, she flexes her steely abs and crushes the can flat against them, before tossing it to the side into a mob of adoring fans.

Okay. Maybe this match won’t be as easy as you thought.

“Seems this poor soul thinks he’s ready to take me on,” she drawls, playing up her accent a little. “Y’all ready to see just how wrong he is?”

Another cheer goes up as she walks to the center of the ring to shake your hand. Her grip is just as strong as you’d expect, and you clench your teeth to keep from wincing.

The Cowgirl’s voice softens as she stands close enough to you to whisper, “Thanks a bunch. I really owe you one for setting this up.”

“I might have thought twice about it if I’d seen you like this back then,” you joke.

She shrugs fractionally. “Still. Getting back in the ring means a lot. I’ll find some way to make it up to you. That’s a promise.”

You nod in appreciation as the two of you return to your corners.

“Lllllllet’s get ready to...” the announcer begins, but breaks down in giggles before finishing the old cliché. “Ah, fuck it, I knew I wasn’t gonna get through that one with a straight face. Fight!”

The opening bell rings and you get ready to tussle with the Cowgirl.