Go to the pull-up bar.

Heading around the corner to the weights section, you immediately come face-to-face, or rather face-to-ass, with a petite blonde currently pulling herself up on a horizontal bar next to a kettlebell shelf.

Straining slightly as she lifts her body towards the bar, her back faces you and more importantly your wandering eye.

Dressed in a purple sports bra that bares her toned midriff along with a pair of yoga pants that accentuates the round shape of her pert ass, the fighter continues her set of chin ups while remaining oblivious to your presence.

Normally, you would’ve excused yourself and continued on your way but you notice that her cellphone is on the floor, probably falling from her pocket during a past rep.

Seeing that she was oblivious to it, you decide to speak up. “Hey, uh, you dropped your phone.”

Perking up at your voice, she slowly lowers herself back down as you picked it up.

Holding it out as her trainers hit the floor, she snatches a towel draped across a nearby bench before twirling around to greet you.

Standing at around five feet, she is nearly a head shorter than you but her built yet still buxom frame more than makes up for it.

There definitely is a natural, almost innocent beauty to the blonde as she smiles at you, dabbing at her sweaty forehead with the towel.

“Almost too innocent to be in the League,” you think to yourself, before handing her the phone.

“Thanks!” she says cheerfully, unlocking her phone’s lock screen and checking her notifications. “I was just about done anyways, so you can use the bar now if you want to check it out.”

“Oh no, I'm already checking out- I mean, meeting all of my colleagues around here,” you stammer with a slight blush, quickly correcting yourself mid-sentence.

Looking up from her phone, she teases you with a sly smirk. “Good catch. So, you a new fighter?”

“I am,” you smile proudly, extending your hand. “I’m John, by the way. I guess that's my stage name too.”

Tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, she shakes your hand with her sparkling blue eyes fully visible. “Tiffany. My friends call me Tiff, though.”

Finding a familiarity in those eyes, it suddenly hits you. “Wait, aren’t you-?”

“The Schoolgirl!” she beams happily, almost exploding into a fit of girlish delirium as you recognize her.

Her bubbly, happy-go-lucky demeanor is definitely a pleasant departure from the usual level of seriousness and intensity permeating from the other ECL fighters.

Clapping excitedly, she then sizes you up in an overly cutesy manner. “If you’re such a Schoolgirl fan, then what’s your favorite match of mine? In five seconds or less?”

You only take two seconds to think of one. “You and Dan Danger, just last month. You had him wrapped up like a pretzel the whole time.”

Tiffany almost swoons dreamily as she recalls that particular in-ring encounter. “That boy ate me out like a steak dinner.”

Before she could fully savor the more intimate details of that encounter, she suddenly asks you, “So like, what’s your gimmick?”

“It’s a work in progress,” you admit truthfully.

“Long as you can connect with the folks out there, everything else is just sprinkles on top,” she shrugs, before pocketing her cellphone.

A mischievous grin then crosses her petite features as she leans against the kettlebell shelf.

“So did you like it?”

“Like what?” you smile sheepishly, playing dumb.

“My ass, silly,” Tiffany giggles almost like a teenager, playfully flaunting her ass behind her. “I’ve got like a sixth sense, so I can always tell when a guy is checking out the merchandise.”

“Well, I mean it’s nice but I didn’t, you know, mean to stare,” you quickly apologize but she’s quick to laugh it off.

“Nah, you’re good, dude. Most guys stare down this fine piece all day without even saying anything to me. At least you have the decency to stare _and _talk to me,” she assures you sweetly.

You let out a sigh of relief as she ties up her flowing blonde hair in a ponytail.

“But I am curious though. On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate my ass?” she smirks at you coyly, catching you off-guard just when you thought you were in the clear.

Scratching your head sheepishly, you think very carefully about your next words. “From 1 to 10, I’d give you a 9.”

“A 9?” she almost laughs, scoffing bemusedly at your chivalry.

“8.5?” you offer again.

“You’re sweet John,” she tells you genuinely, before grabbing her gym duffel bag. “I appreciate the compliment and all, but here’s a word of advice: don’t kiss up to your opponents before you fight them.”

Circling around the nearby weights, she continues with her duffel bag now slung over her shoulder. “People around here respect you more if you can hold your own in the ring _before _trying to get in their pants, not vice versa.”

“Noted.”

Pausing right before entering the nearby hallway, she leers back at you with her lips curled into a sultry grin. “If you _really _want to kiss my ass though, you should find me in the ring sometime. Any guy I face ends up doing that anyways.”

“Not me,” you scoff confidently.

“I guess we’ll find out,” she smiles at you with a wink, before disappearing around the corner.