Scrapper: MMA Badboy Romance Read online

  “Let’s get right to it. I’m gonna turn the fighters over for questions. Edwards should be here any minute.” He said, casting a glance down at his shiny watch. He was Chad Gibbons, the president of the TFC, and a man who had a lot of influence when it came to matchmaking.

  The journalists went back and forth with the fighters, while I jotted down a quote or two with my recorder rolling. It would be fifteen minutes later when Cage arrived, wearing sunglasses and with forty ounces of beer in hand. There was a quick round of applause, he took his seat, and then the questions continued. Most of them were directed toward Cage specifically, but he gave them nothing.

  “Cage, what do you think about Jet Westerson as an opponent?”

  “Who?” He asked, looking up from his cellphone with a look of confusion. Jet Westerson had fought that night as well, and sat with him in the long row of fighters. Watching Cage text, drink, and hide behind his sunglasses while ignoring an endless bombardment of questions was its own spectacle.

  “You defended your title tonight only a few short months after having won it. Do you plan on taking a little break to enjoy this victory?”

  “Fuck that.” Cage looked at the man over the top of his lenses just long enough to answer him, and then went back to his phone screen. I watched the fill level on his bottle of brew move south until it was no longer there. The other fighters were almost eager to field questions, while it was obvious that Cage was ready to leave.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the year champ?”

  “Don’t call me that. That shits dumb. Honestly, I have to piss like a horse right now, so I’m more concerned with finding a urinal or a tree than making resolutions.” He stood, and turned to the bossman. “Am I good to go?” the room was filled with snickers and laughter. Despite his being a rude and disinterested asshole, people loved him. Gibbons himself seemed taken with his explosive new employee, and excused him from the conference while laughing along with everyone else.

  Before walking out, Cage grabbed his microphone and removed his sunglasses.

  “One more thing. I have a contractual obligation to give one interview annually.” he scanned the crowd, squinting his eyes and looking over the row of media in front of him. His gaze moved from them to the B crowd, the group of journalists who weren't privy to asking questions. My people. I was on the other side of the room, but I felt my heart stop when his eyes found mine. Cage smiled, and time seemed to freeze in the hotel conference room. “You are it.” he said, pointing. I looked around, unsure of what was happening. “Yeah, you. What's your name?” every head in the room turned to me, but I still pointed to my own chest to make sure.

  “Angela Clark.” I spoke up, feigning confidence. It wasn't like the hottest fighter in MMA was asking me for my name or anything. Nature was still calling on Cage, and he left to relieve himself. A security guard came to escort me to Cage's room.

  “Right this way ma am.” He said. I followed along behind, still too stunned to speak. The opportunity of a lifetime had arrived straight out of nowhere, and I had zero time to prepare questions or anything. The elevator ride was silent, with the massive security guard standing in place with his arms folded over his chest, and me frantically scribbling on my pad of paper. Any MMA reporter would have have killed me, and left me in the elevator for the opportunity at an exclusive with Cage Edwards. I penned down questions and tried to organize my thoughts. The elevator door swung open at the top floor, and I followed my escort down the hall.

  “Is this his room?” I asked.

  “Yep.” he slid his card on the door and held it open for me. “Mr. Edwards is waiting. I will escort you back to the lobby once you are finished.”

  Two - Angela

  I stepped inside the hotel room, and the door shut behind me. Penthouse on the top floor, twice the size of my apartment, overlooking the city. The sound of my pulse was in my ears.

  “Hello?” I asked, speaking to no one in particular. Almost eerie silence.

  “In here!” he said. I followed the sound to the bathroom. The door was wide open, and Cage Edwards was standing in front of the mirror shaving, wearing only a towel. “Hey you.” He said, dragging the razor carefully in a line down his cheek.

  “Hi, I’m Angela Clark.” I offered him my hand. He put down the razor, and shifted his eyes to mine. There was still shaving cream on one half of his face.

  “Cage.” he said. When he reached out, his towel crashed to the floor. An on purpose move.

  “Oh.” I looked away quickly, but it was too late. I had already taken in a liberal eyeful of cock.

  “You aren’t afraid of snakes are you?” He asked, his voice as calm as before. He had gone right back to shaving, and left the towel laying on the tile floor.

  “Uh, not really.” I said, before realizing the innuendo.

  “Good. Cause I have to be at an after party in like thirty minutes, so we are gonna have to knock this thing out right now while I shower.” He was still shaving, looking at himself in the mirror. My peripherals were on fire, but I remained professional.

  Don’t look at his cock, don’t look at his bubble butt, don’t look, don’t look. I repeated the mantra in my head, and began to ask questions. A rushed, naked shower interview hadn’t been what I had in mind, but I had to get something out of him. An exclusive with the champ could be great for the site even if it was little more than a short little blurb with a few quotes.

  Cage was obviously not shy, at all. His nudity was dominating my mind but seemed the furthest thing from his. He paid me no attention at all while he adjusted the water temperature and pressure, and then turned to face me.

  “You aren’t one of those girls who doesn’t like guys with big dicks are you?” He asked, straight faced. I tried to think of something funny to say, but countered with silence. “Lighten up, I’m fucking with you.” He flashed his million dollar smile, and then hopped in, leaving the glass shower door open. I smiled too, and let myself relax a little. I would have been put off by his behavior were he anyone else, but something about him made it okay. This was my big opportunity.

  “Where to start? You are the champion of the world and no one knows anything about you, what got you into fighting?” I asked, speaking up to be heard over the sound of the flowing shower.

  “You think maybe that is by design?” He asked. “People not knowing about me. It gives me an edge, that’s why I don’t do interviews. Fuck that.”

  I scribbled down his answer as legibly as possible onto my notepad. My tape recorder was on but I feared the shower noise might drown out the interview.

  “And what got you into fighting?” I asked. He shrugged, and squeezed some hotel shampoo onto his head.

  “I dunno.” He didn’t even think about it. The answer came automatically. I tried to rephrase the question.

  “Why do you fight?”

  “It suits me.”

  The bathroom filled with steam and hid my blushing face. I had to stand at the shower opening as close as I could to hear his answers, and there was no way of avoiding the view.

  “Hey!” He got my attention and leaned forward to tell me something. “If watching is making you feel dirty, you can get in here with me.” He said, and chose that moment to wash his dick. I shook my head, and he stared right back at me grinning, all too pleased with himself.

  “The champ uses a loofah.” I said, taking notice, and pretending to write it down on my pad. My adrenaline was flowing.

  “It’s not a loofah!” He exclaimed, scrutinizing it in his hand. “It’s a...body sponge.”

  “Yeah. A loofah. I think your female fans will really identify with that.” I said, pressing back a little. Cage had a hearty laugh at my teasing.

  “A ballbuster!” He said, looking me up and down. He was turning around every so often, washing himself. His hand moved between his legs, lathering his length in a masturbatory motion that tugged on the strings of my arousal. “You are really hot.” he said, still rubbing up and do
wn.

  “Thanks.” I said, googly eyed but trying to stay composed. My mouth felt dry, empty. I chewed at the tip of my pen.

  “Like watching me play with it?” he asked. I didn’t respond, but made him smile anyway. “So do you actually watch fights? Or are you just the hot face of some half rate MMA site?” He asked, leaning on the frame of the shower and stepping closer. The steam rolled off his naked body, and his eye contact didn’t waiver.

  “I have covered more than 200 events, and I have every single TFC DVD from the last five years.” There was no way I was going to back down. I was short on time and had to get something print worthy out of him, but it wouldn’t be easy. He was more interested in convincing me to get in the shower with him than giving me a decent quote.

  “I’m surprised. Most fight journalists are mom’s house basement dwellers. Then there’s the pretty girls that they hire who don’t know shit about MMA. Another reason I don’t fuck with media.” He said. “So do you have a boyfriend tonight or what?” Again with the pick up lines, a personal pet peeve, and again with the smile, that somehow made me forgive it without thinking.

  “Yep. Tonight only, sorry.” Looking into his eyes was a rush, and the tip of my pen was showing the effect. Our exchange of smiles raised my temperature, and snapped me back to reality. I cleared my throat. “There’s been a lot of talk about you taking on Lex Sanders at 205 pounds, is there any chance of us seeing you move up to light heavyweight for this fight?”

  “Nah. I could take him, but his big ass would be more trouble than he’s worth. If the price is right though, whatever.” At least it was a multiple sentence answer, I would take it.

  “Are you more interested in defending the belt, or taking on big money fights?” I asked, following up on the matter of his jumping weight classes. Cage had competed at light heavyweight a few times before he signed on with the TFC, and there were a lot of potential matchups for him there.

  “Can you hand me that beer?” He asked, pointing to the sink top behind me and ignoring the question. There was an unopened tall boy next to an open one. “Give me the new one.” He said. I handed it over, and he cracked it open in the shower. The mixture of steam, and the aesthetics were making me light headed.

  “What do you say to the detractors who say that you are overhyped, and that your ground game will ultimately be your downfall?” I asked, trying to get a rise out of him. If I could spark an emotional reaction from him, perhaps I could get him to open up and talk a little. It failed miserably, garnering only another hearty round of belly laughter.

  “Fuck that.” It was becoming his trademark, and a clear sign my question had failed to inspire a real answer. “I have a question for you Angela, Have you ever thought about hooking up with a champion athlete?” There was a playful edge to him. It made him terribly hard to interview, or to dislike. I took a page out of his book and ignored the question.

  “Armenin was supposed to be the biggest test of your career, and you passed with flying colors. Was there anything about the fight, or Armenin’s game that surprised you?” I kept the questions firing, remaining steadfast and determined to leave that hotel room with something.

  “Nah. We knew what was gonna happen.” He said. “I’m about to get out of here, let’s wrap this up.” There was still shampoo in his hair, and when he closed his eyes to let the water rinse it out, I allowed myself another quick look for the purpose of research. You should always get to know as much as you can about the people you interview. I asked a couple of more questions, neither of which got him talking. He was more intrigued by his beer.

  The water cutting off told me the end was near.

  “You train out of a lesser known gym with a previously unknown trainer. Tell me about Walker as a coach, and about your training partners.” I said.

  Cage stepped out, grabbing the neatly folded white hotel towel to dry off. He nodded his head with approval, and I pretended not to watch as he wiped the moisture from his skin.

  “I can’t say enough about my dudes. Underrated and under appreciated, for real. Our guys get it done though. We’re changing shit up, mixing in the flashy footwork with precision boxing. Kru Walker is the truth.” It was the most consecutive words that I had ever heard him utter, and without the shower running I knew they had been captured. “I’m not the only dog at our gym either, but we get no fucking favors from the TFC. My boy Brandon Ewing is 10-1, and they haven’t even called him. I don’t know how long you’ve been around this game, but it’s not what people think. Stick it out though, and you’ll see us. We’re doing big things and hard work is going to win out. That’s the best part about me winning this little toy belt. Besides that it’s literally got you standing here trying not to stare at my junk while you give an interview.” he paused, letting it sink in. “Maybe it can get some attention our way, and get better fights for our guys. I don’t want my little brother to have to take short notice pro fights at the wrong weight class like I did.” It was bittersweet to see his cock disappear behind another pair of neon boxer briefs, this one lime green.

  “Brandon Ewing. Didn’t he beat Jefferson Wilcox like last year?” I asked, recognizing the name. Wilcox was probably the second hottest young fighter in MMA, after a breakout year in the TFC. I had been there when Ewing clocked him with an overhand right from hell, and sent him falling like a tree to the mat a year before.

  “Yes! Frankensteined his ass in the second round!” you could see the excitement in his eyes. “I hate that guy. Wish he’d move up from welterweight.” I had him talking, and I tried to be invisible and let him keep rolling.

  “And you said you have a brother who fights? What’s his name?” I asked.

  “Yeah, my little brother Chase. He doesn’t fight yet, trains though.” he tilted back his head and let the beer flow, chugging for a solid ten seconds. “Ahh!” he slammed it down on the counter. “He’s only 17. He’s real slick at jiu jitsu, and has the hands like me. Not as much power though.”

  “Ooh, seventeen. He’s close.” amateur and pro fighters could start competing at eighteen. “He have anything lined up?” I asked, following right along and inquiring about the potential first fight. It felt good knowing my MMA knowledge allowed me to be effective.

  “Coach and me are looking at some fights for him, but I keep turning them down. I don’t know. I don’t really want him to fight if he doesn’t have to, and now that I’m making big money, maybe he won’t have to.”

  “Does he want to?” I asked.

  “Fuck yeah. He’s damn near crazy as I am. He’s gonna scrap.” Cage had no doubts. We were still in the bathroom, with him putting on jeans and combing his hair.

  “What about you? Who do you think you’ll be fighting next? Westerson, Arnold, and Midano are all contenders.”

  “When your job is to butcher sheep, you don’t worry about which one is next. They don’t have names. You kill whatever is in front of you. They’re only sheep.” he winked at himself after combing his hair, and then made finger guns. It was a great quote, perfect for my story. “Well, time to go. A little disappointed we didn’t have hot steamy shower sex honestly, but not bad for my first real interview.”

  “Awh.” I whined, batting my eyelashes. “A few more questions?” he walked right past me and out of the bathroom to grab a white button up.

  “The only thing bigger than my dick is my winning personality. You got to see both.” he opened the door for me. “Maybe later.” he said. The security guard was still standing at the doorway, back turned so I could see his bulging hotdog roll of neck fat.

  “Thanks for your time Cage. Here’s my number, I’d love to follow up if you ever decide to play the media game.” I handed him a scrap of paper with my number on it, I had to at least try. Having Cage Edwards as a contact could be worth a lot in my line of work.

  “Fuck all that interview noise, but I’ll hit you up.” he snatched the paper, and closed the door. That was it, my big chance. I hoped that I could turn what I got
out of him into something worthwhile for fight fans. The big security guard waiting, and escorted me back to the lobby.

  Three - Angela

  The sequence of events left me feeling charged, wide awake, and ready to work. And the type of horny that makes you squirm until you take care of it, or push it out of your mind. The evening hour didn’t prevent me from making myself a pot of coffee in my hotel room, or from firing up my laptop. While the coffee brewed I played over the tape of the interview, and checked the quality. Not bad, I could make out what he was saying if I turned it up.

  Given the circumstances, I was proud of what I managed. The interview was far from orthodox, and as a living and breathing human woman, remaining professional while it took place had been a challenge in itself.

  I could have fucked him. Not that I was the type to throw myself at someone’s status, it wasn’t that. Cage was the sexiest, most lickable piece of well hung man meat that my eyes ever had the pleasure of viewing. The combination of his bad attitude and playful charm made my wanting him a reflex. I had refrained for the reason of being taken seriously, and valuing my career over lust. Still, I pondered where things would have ended up had I stepped under the shower water with him. Instead, I scored a half decent interview when you factor in that it was Cage Edwards, and he spoke in single words as opposed to full sentences.

  That night I had a good feeling, and so I continued to type, and wrote out all of his quotes to see what I had. It was like putting together a puzzle. The demand for any word at all from him was high, so I knew that what little I had could be gold. It was up to me to craft it, to present it in a palatable way. I giggled at the thought of including the bit about him being nude, and mentioning the loofah.

  The hours went by, and slowly the page filled with words. He had an interesting way of speaking, a brutal honesty. The curious thing is that I didn’t get a word out of him by asking questions about Cage, it was when I asked about his team, his coach, and his brother that he opened up. He was loud and bold, but maybe he wasn’t as selfish as so many similar athletes. It was too early to tell, but it was a good sign. Our meeting had ignited a crush, and I hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be a meathead.