“Getting back to what I was saying, the most significant aspect about this interview is the interviewer,” Rupert interjected.
“What’s so significant about him?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? You need to read more, Macio. Aiden James is one of the top reporters in the business. He gets the stories most of those vultures would sell their souls for. Everyone he’s done an interview with has been at the top of their game, and with the exposure they received from his editorials, it’s boosted them into huge endorsement rackets, even movie and book deals.”
Rupert was seeing nothing but dollar signs right then. More money for me meant more money for him. Being popular meant a loss in privacy… and I valued my fucking privacy.
“Don’t think I want to do any movie or book deals,” I said.
Rupert snorted. “Don’t squash it yet, but keep your options open. First things first, do the interview. I’ll swing by tomorrow around one to do a mock interview with you just to make sure you’re feeling comfortable.”
I chuckled. “More like you want to make sure I don’t get out of line with him.”
Rupert laughed. “Yeah, well, you’re right. This is a step in the right direction.”
I saw the lights of my hotel approaching and I was relieved to soon be free of this conversation. “Sure, Rupert.”
“Don’t worry, we have a little something something for you in your room. Something to take the edge off and celebrate with,” Barry said.
I looked at him and smiled. “Well now, that’s more like it.” I hugged both men as I climbed out of the limo. Of course, the paparazzi were there, mixed in with the other media reporters. Everyone wanted a piece of me and they tossed questions at me like women tossed their panties; and just like how I did with them, I kept walking, ignoring the blitz. I entered my hotel, which blessedly didn’t allow them to follow, and made my way to the elevator.
I had the penthouse suite, twenty-five hundred a night. Pricey as fuck, but worth it for the luxury and the privacy it provided. I slid my key card in the slot, opened the door, and entered. My suite was beautiful, if I may say so. Dining room, living room, two bedrooms, with one being the master. Two baths and a private Jacuzzi on the balcony. There was also a gorgeous pool table, and two fifty-inch screen TVs in both bedrooms and a seventy-five-inch TV in the living room. Perfect size for watching the replay of tonight’s fight.
I tossed my card on the dining room table as I walked towards the master bedroom. I stopped dead in my tracks when I opened the door and laid my eyes on the very naked man lounging on my bed with a bow on his right ass cheek.
“Welcome home, Champ,” he purred with lips I was looking forward to seeing wrapped around my cock.
I smiled and tossed my jacket onto the chair by the window. Barry and Rupert always looked out for me, and I appreciated that. Lord knows, busting a few loads was exactly what I needed after the night I’d had. I pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it without a care, and approached the bed. The guy crawled over to me, rising on his knees as he wrapped his arms around my neck. He was cute; brown hair, gray eyes, and a swimmer’s build, so I knew he worked out. He had a nice-looking ass, too. I couldn’t wait to plow it.
“I saw the fight. You looked so sexy taking down Rocco Sanders. I’ve been so excited for you to get back here so I could suck the cock of the champion,” he said, grinning.
I smirked. “Yeah, I bet. I hope you ate your Wheaties this morning, because I’m about to wear your ass out.”
He looked at my muscular, tattooed chest and his grin grew wider. “I love a man with tats and a nipple piercing.”
I smiled. “You do, eh? Well, why don’t you show me how much you love my tats by licking each one.”
“I’ll do whatever you want, baby. You’ve got me for the next three hours.”
Good, because I was going to need every second. Time to have a little fun.
I woke up in an empty bed, something I was used to. The escort sated my needs and left after four hours. He gave me one hour free because I fucked his brains out like the stallion I was. I rolled over and looked at my alarm clock, only to see I woke up with five minutes to spare before the alarm would go off. Well, I could sit back and claim those pitiful minutes or just get my ass out of bed.
Ahhhh, fuck it. I shut the alarm off and climbed out of the bed, making my way to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I was toweling off and slipping on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. I tied my sneakers up, then headed out the door with my duffle bag. My motorcycle was parked right where I’d left it, but unfortunately, I was greeted by some son of a bitch with a camera.
“Pretty brief interview you gave at the conference, Macio. Care to elaborate on your amazing victory?” he asked.
I ignored him as I tossed my duffle bag over my back and climbed onto my hog, starting the engine. “Go fuck yourself,” I snapped, then took off. It was assholes like him that made me want to keep what little privacy I had. Last thing I needed was some paparazzi bitch snapping pics of me kissing a dude. That kind of shit didn’t go over too well in the testosterone-laden world of professional MMA fighting. It was one of the reasons I steered clear of relationships. I couldn’t afford to be in one, especially not when I was on top of my game like I was now.
I made it to the gym where I’d been training for my fight for the past week and parked my hog. As soon as I entered the damn gym, Barry was on me, telling me to drop and give him twenty.
“Damn, Barry. Don’t I get a warm up?” I asked, setting down my duffle bag.
“This is your warm up. Get those muscles pumping, then we’ll do some stretches. Go on, knock ‘em out,” Barry commanded like a good drill sergeant.
I didn’t bother to argue any longer and just dropped to the floor, knocking out the twenty push-ups. Yeah, this was about to be a very long day.
I was sweating like a pig on a spit by the time Rupert came in to give me some pointers on my upcoming interview with What’s-His-Face. Barry told me to take a break, so I guzzled down what seemed like a gallon of Gatorade.
“You’re late,” I said to Rupert when he took a seat next to mine.
“Yeah, I know… traffic was a bitch. He’ll be here in less than ten minutes, remember to keep your cool.”
“I hope he doesn’t ask me any stupid fucking questions,” I said, taking another sip of my drink.
“Be smart about this, Macio. If you want to become one of the highest paid fighters in not only ETC history, but in MMA history, you’ll need to market yourself. Appeal to the crowds, make yourself a commodity the company will back. The more popular you are, the more money you’ll make and the bigger an asset you’ll become. You’re young, buddy, but you have to start learning how to play your cards right. This is Vegas, baby, and big game players run this shit,” Rupert explained.
As much as I didn’t want my privacy violated, I knew I couldn’t be squared away for life and be a hermit at the same time. He was right. “Yeah, I got you. I’ll play nice.”
He nodded and released a sigh of what I thought was relief. “Good, because that’s him right behind you.”
I turned to see some preppy looking guy in a light blue, button down shirt and tan khakis with brown loafers. He was approaching me with a walk that was full of confidence. I guess if you could wear those shoes, you had to have some balls on you. Still, as far as reporters went, he wasn’t what I was expecting. As a matter of fact, he was kind of hot. He was shorter than I was and had a nice swimmer’s build from what I could tell under his dork clothes. Brown hair, blue eyes that held me in their gaze as he drew closer, and his lips… yeah… I loved his lips. They had a place in this world and would be better suited around my cock. As much as I dreaded interviews, I was starting to look forward to this one.
It was the biggest interview of my career and I was a hot fucking mess. I might’ve looked calm, cool, and collected on the outside, but on the inside, I shook like a Chihuahua. Animacio De Niro was known for hating the me
dia and gave one-on-one interviews to no one; in fact, I believed I was his first. My heartrate accelerated to a ridiculous level at the thought of being his first anything.
The man was sheer perfection in my mind with his tall, muscular body, black-as-night hair, and dark brown eyes. The intimidating scowl that was practically a permanent fixture on his face didn’t take away from his looks; it enhanced them. He reminded me of a gladiator when he took to the ring – ruthless, bloodthirsty, and sexy as fuck. Watching him move around the ring with sweat and blood glistening on his skin was much better than watching gay porn. And that growl… I didn’t know how many times I had heard that growl in my mind while jerking off.
Crushing on straight men wasn’t my thing and I usually made it a rule to not file them away in my spank bank memory because it was pointless. It took me many years to get to the point where I walked tall and proud as a gay man, instead of hiding who I was. I refused to waste time on guys who would never return my feelings. Macio was the one exception to my rule.
The smell of sweat and hot male bodies hit me hard the minute I stepped into the gym. Nirvana. I refused to close my eyes and breathe it in because I wanted to be taken seriously. After my “coming out” article went live the prior month, I anticipated being excluded from a lot of interviews, especially in the testosterone-laden world of MMA fighting. Sure, I had received some rejections to my interview requests, but not as many as I had expected. I almost didn’t send the email to Animacio’s publicist, but I decided no risk meant no reward.
I knew I had been well and truly rewarded when Macio’s dark eyes locked on mine and I realized I would get to spend thirty minutes with his attention focused solely on me. Fuck, he was the sexiest man alive. He was the kind of guy who, with one look, made you want to drop down to your knees and worship his cock. Yeah, I decided not to try that with him unless I wanted to lose all my teeth. I saved that fantasy for later when I was alone. Don’t pop wood in the gym. Don’t pop wood in the gym. They were sage words to live by.
“Ah, Mr. James,” the publicist, Rupert, said. “It’s nice to meet you in person.” The man extended his hand to me and offered a warm smile that didn’t quite mask his nervousness. Why was he nervous? Did he think I’d say or do something to offend Macio or was he concerned that Macio would grunt out his typical one or two word replies? I had plenty of experience working with athletes that I had dubbed the Three R’s – reticent, reluctant, and resentful. I was confident I could get Macio to open up to me.
“It’s good to meet you too, Rupert.” I turned and looked into the darkest brown eyes I’d ever seen. I thought they were beautiful in pictures and on television, but I hadn’t been prepared for their intensity in person. “Thank you for honoring me with this interview, Mr. De Niro.” His response was a slight nod and a grunt.
“We’ll be using Barry’s office for the interview,” Rupert told Macio. The stern look Rupert gave Macio almost made me laugh. It couldn’t be more obvious that Macio was being forced to do the interview, which didn’t bode well for me.
I followed behind the two men, telling myself not to stare at Macio’s tight ass or imagine the way his muscular thighs would feel between mine. I reminded myself I was there to interview the king of the Three R’s. Focus, dumbass, and not on his physical attributes.
“Here we are,” Rupert said. “It’s a little messy, but it will afford us the privacy we need.” A little messy? It looked like a bomb had gone off inside the ten by fifteen room.
“Uh, yeah, this is great.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers and I took what I could get.
Macio took a seat in one of the chairs facing the desk while Rupert stood in the corner. My options were the chair next to Macio or Barry’s chair behind the desk. I chose Barry’s chair out of self-preservation.
I began unpacking my messenger bag and set the contents on top of Barry’s disaster for a desk. It was a good damn thing I wasn’t a germophobe or the interview would’ve been over before it started.
“What’s that?” Macio asked. The deep, gravelly timbre of his voice sent my pulse racing and my dirty mind spinning. Damn, what must his voice sound like when he was aroused? Macio picked up my small recorder from the desk and held it up in his hand. “What are you planning to do with this?”
I didn’t appreciate his confrontational tone of voice or the way he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I record my interviews and play them back when I write my articles. I assure you that it’s a normal practice, Macio.”
“Mr. De Niro,” he corrected. “You haven’t earned the right or respect to use my first name, let alone my nickname.” I saw Rupert rub a hand over his face as he released a frustrated sigh.
Okay, so the interview got off to a horrible start. “My apologies.” I used a contrite tone, one I didn’t feel, to get the interview back on track. “Mr. De Niro, sir.” I ignored the scowl Mr. De Niro sent me and pulled up my phone to look at the questions I had saved in my notes.
“No pictures.”
I looked up from my phone, then turned it around so he could see I was looking at my notes and not getting ready to snap his picture. Damn, but the dude was paranoid. “Rupert has already provided an approved image to use with the article,” I replied patiently. “Are you ready?” I nodded at the recording device in his hand. “You can be in charge of the recorder if it makes you more comfortable. If I ask or say something you don’t like, then you can shut it off and we can discuss it before we turn it back on and resume the interview.”
“Fair enough,” Macio replied reluctantly. He pushed the record button and set it on the desk in front of him.
I planned on starting with easier questions to make him comfortable. “How’d you come by the nickname ‘The Hitman’?”
“They line them up, I take them out,” he said flatly.
I looked at him to see if he was going to expand on his answer and continued when it was obvious he had no intention of doing so. “At what age did you start fighting competitively?”
Macio leaned forward and shut off the recorder. Already? “Why is that relevant? All that matters is that I’m the best fighter in the world. That’s all people need to know.”
“Macio, we talked about this.” Rupert’s tone of voice sounded fatherly and affectionate. “Aiden isn’t your enemy. He voluntarily submitted his list of interview questions to me so that we’d know he wasn’t looking to do some sleazy exposé on you. If he asks a single question that wasn’t on the list, then I’ll shut this interview down myself.”
“You did that?” he asked me. “Why?”
“I’ve interviewed many high-profile athletes since joining Ringside Magazine. Many of them were extremely private individuals and were reluctant to sit down with me. Submitting the questions beforehand made them feel more comfortable.” I was surprised to learn that Rupert hadn’t shared the list with Macio prior to the interview. My warm, friendly smile was met with skepticism. “Look, the world would like to know more about you, but that doesn’t mean you need to slit your wrists and bleed for them. Just give them a brief glimpse into your life; a glimpse that you control. That’s the opportunity I’m giving you.”
“They’ll just want to know more,” Macio countered.
“If you’re lucky,” Rupert said from the corner. “Can you just give the guy a chance, kid?”
Macio’s answer was to push play on my recorder. “I started fighting on the MMA circuit when I turned eighteen.”
“But you were fighting prior to that?” I asked.
“I started fighting when I was a skinny elementary school kid who was tired of getting picked on. An older boy in my neighborhood taught me a few moves so I could defend myself. I got really good at fighting and I liked the way I felt when I won. I wouldn’t say that I started trouble just to get into a fight, but I never backed away from it. Coach witnessed one of my fights and saw the potential in me. He gave me a business card and told me to stop by his gym to see him.” Macio shrugged. “I guess you could sa
y the rest is history.”
I felt a sudden burst of adrenaline rushing through my system and mentally punched a fist into the air. It was a huge fucking deal that he told me something he’d never told another reporter. I decided to reward him with an easy question. “What would Animacio De Niro eat on a diet cheat day, if he could have one?” I detected a slight titling at the corner of his mouth and vowed to see a full-fledged smile by the end of the interview.
“Depends on my mood,” he replied. “Today, it would be a medium-rare steak, king crab legs with tons of melted butter, baked potato with butter and sour cream, an endless supply of good bread, and cheesecake for dessert.”
“Damn, that sounds good,” I heard myself say. I wasn’t talking about food; I was imagining melted butter running down Macio’s hand and him licking it clean. Macio cleared his throat and I snapped out of my daydream. I jerked my eyes up to meet his and wondered about the change I saw in his gaze. The intensity was still there, but something else was present that I couldn’t quite name.
“Next question,” Macio said, getting back to business. “I have hours of training left today.”
“How long do you train each day?” I asked.
“Until I’m finished,” was his surly reply. Rupert let out a deep sigh from the corner and the stubborn fighter turned to face him. It appeared that the two men carried on a silent conversation between them in a matter of seconds. Macio turned back to face me and said, “On non-fight weeks, I can train up to six hours a day. I mix it up between cardio, weights, and sparring. During fight weeks, I focus on technique so I can save my legs for the ring.”
I jotted down a few things in my notebook and felt his penetrating stare on me the whole time. I expected him to snatch it out of my hands to see what was written, but he didn’t. “What kind of music does ‘The Hitman’ listen to prior to a fight or while training to get him pumped up?”
Undisputed Page 2