Going the Distance (No Excuses Book 1)

by Mila Rossi

  “And then?”

  “Then we bring you to your mental peak. I analyze your mental state, check your self-esteem, anxiety levels, attention, imagination, motivation, stress management abilities, and goal setting.”

  Trent’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you fucking serious?” He glared at Ramirez. “My mental state? Like I’m some kind of a nut job?”

  Ramirez held his hands up as if to calm him down. “Just hear the guy out, Trent. He’s here to help and has helped lots of other guys.”

  “So you think I need help now? Like I can’t do this shit on my own?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to step back and see the bigger picture,” Bill said in his cool and collected manner. Trent wanted to punch the calmness out of him.

  “I don’t need a fucking shrink,” he told Ramirez.

  “It’s not like that, Trent. You’re not gonna talk about your fucking feelings on who knows what. He’s here to make sure you can visualize the fight. Get your head back in the ring again.”

  “That’s right,” Bill added. “The first thing I do with the fighters I work with is set goals that can be measured and actually achieved. Then we set time frames so we can check the results. So, for example, if you want to increase your speed, we’ll come up with a plan to achieve that. I’ll work with you on visualizing that goal every day so that your brain gets used to being in that state of mind.”

  “How does this visualizing work?” Trent asked, curious despite still being pissed for even having to talk to this guy.

  “I’ll give you guidelines and tapes to help you with the process. We’ll work on making sure that during the visualizations, you feel the moment with your senses. For example, if you’re thinking about walking into the ring, you should hear the crowd in your head, feel the warmth of the lights, smell the leather of your gloves, and feel your feet hitting the ground with each step.”

  Trent shook his head, not falling for it one bit. “How’s that supposed to make me a better fighter?”

  “If you can control your mind, your body will follow. Whatever you set your mind to do, your body can’t help but do it too. It’s like the soldier following the general.”

  “Just give it a shot,” Ramirez said, nodding to everything Bill was saying. “You got nothing to lose, man. In case you haven’t noticed, your boxing’s all over the place right now. You gotta straighten this shit out.”

  Trent had been thinking the same thing, but he hadn’t gone so far as to consider seeing a shrink. That sounded extreme.

  “Look, you don’t have to make a decision today,” Bill said, taking out a couple of business cards from his folder and handing them to Trent and Ramirez. “Take your time, think it over and let me know how you decide in a few days.”

  Trent looked at the plain white card with Bill’s name and phone number etched in black. No fuss, just the basic info.

  “If it makes a difference, you won’t be lying on my leather couch talking about your childhood,” Bill said, smiling. “I’d come to the gym every day and work with you on perfecting your mind and body in your own environment, where you feel comfortable. My only goal is to get you ready for the next fight.”

  That, at least, sounded promising. Trent still wasn’t about to sign up for therapy sessions or whatever they were supposed to be simply to please Ramirez though.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, starting to turn away.

  “You better think about it real hard,” Ramirez said, getting his attention again. “You had no problem seeing that goddamn reporter who’s showing up day and night. The least you can do is let Bill help you out.”

  Trent fixed him with narrowed eyes. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “Bullshit. She’s got everything to do with this. You can’t see the fucking fight in front of your face anymore, Trent. She’s got you so messed up, the rookies are looking better out there than you.”

  Trent’s hands balled into fists. Bill zipped up his folder.

  “Call me if you wanna talk,” he said, nodding at both of them, then turning to leave.

  “Is your skull so thick that you can’t see when something good comes your way?” Ramirez addressed Trent.

  The funny thing was, Trent had been thinking that something good had come his way, but that something wasn’t named Bill. It also didn’t have a cock, but a sweet-ass pussy that he wanted now more than ever, despite her unannounced visit earlier in the day, which had pissed him off more than he’d let on. That was beside the point now, however, and he had to deal with Ramirez who was getting on his last nerve.

  “That something good is your guy who’s supposed to hold my hand until I get another win?”

  Ramirez snorted disgusted. “Fine, do what the fuck you want, man. I can’t wait to see what you got up your sleeves to turn your training around.” He walked away without another word.

  Trent threw back his head and exhaled loudly. Could this day get any worse?

  Chapter 9

  When Sam still didn’t hear from Trent two days later, she decided to take matters into her own hands and corner him at his home. It was already late in the day, but she hadn’t been able to get off work earlier, so now she was pulling up into his driveway in the dark.

  There weren’t any lights on outside and she couldn’t make out much activity indoors either. Maybe he wasn’t home. She got out of her car and walked to the front door. The sound of the ocean carried to her, and the cool, salty air hit her nostrils. Must be nice to live at the beach.

  She rang the doorbell and waited. The size and look of the house made her suddenly self-conscious and she tugged on her skirt, smoothing out any wrinkles. After a few seconds, she got impatient and rang the bell again.

  “What?” Trent’s voice bellowed at her as he yanked open the door.

  “Hey,” she said, taken aback. He wore a black suit that he’d obviously been in the process of removing since the knot on his tie was loosened and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. She’d thought he was devastating in nothing but his boxing gloves, but seeing him in his rumpled clothes now made her mouth go dry while the rest of her was having a hot flash. She gulped uncomfortably.

  He gave her his own once-over before fixing her with a brooding glare. “What are you doing here?”

  The question sent heat to her cheeks for an entirely different reason. “I’m here for the interview you owe me. Or have you forgotten about that?”

  She could see his jaw clenching.

  “I’m sick and tired of chasing you down,” she said, getting worked up. “Especially after what happened last time, I think you can sit down and answer a couple of questions for me. It’s not that hard.”

  She was met with silence, making her shift from one foot to the other.

  “You want your interview?” he asked, dangerously calm.

  “Yes, I think I deserve it.”

  “Alright.”

  He walked away, but given the open door, she assumed that was an invitation to follow him. As she stepped inside, she realized his home wasn’t at all what she’d expected. This was a tastefully decorated and surprisingly cozy beach house, not a dirty bachelor pad. White, beige, and blue tones complimented the elements outside, and framed photos accented the walls and consoles.

  Tons of pictures, just like at the gym.

  “This way,” he said, leading her to the kitchen.

  She’d finally get the interview she’d so desperately needed and her boss would give her some peace. About time.

  “We can do the interview in the living room,” she said, getting her notepad and pen out of her purse.

  “We’re gonna do it in here,” he said, opening the refrigerator door to take out two bottles of water. After sliding one over to her, he removed the cap of the other bottle and chugged half the contents, then set it down and looked at her.

  At this point, she didn’t care if they were on a freaking rollercoaster doing the interview. All she cared about was putting this behind her.<
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  “So ask,” he said, loosening the knot on his tie even more.

  She set her purse on the counter and got her tape recorder ready. “Where’d you come from?” she asked, watching him pull the tie away.

  “That’s your first question?”

  “Well, no,” she said distracted. He threw the tie on the counter and started removing his coat. “Just wondering why you’re dressed up.”

  “Fundraiser,” he stated and hung the coat on the back of a nearby chair.

  She looked down at her notepad and tried to focus. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. You’ve been boxing since you were a teenager. Why the interest in this particular sport?”

  He got to work on the cufflinks. “Emmanuel was a boxing promoter and got me into fighting.”

  “Did any other sport interest you or have you considered giving anything else a shot?”

  “Why? Because I lost my last fight?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” she said, cringing inside. “Just wondering if you liked other sports as a kid?”

  “I pretty much just stuck with boxing.”

  Her brows furrowed as she crossed off the next question on her list. No team sports.

  When she looked up again, he was unbuttoning his shirt. Her eyes went wide as she realized that he was really starting to undress in front of her. In the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” she blurted out.

  “Getting comfortable.” He tugged on his shirt until it hung loosely open, displaying his pecs and abs.

  She turned off the recorder. “If you need to change, I can wait.”

  “You don’t have to wait for anything. Just ask your questions,” he instructed, kicking off his shoes.

  She forgot all about her questions as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

  “Or is that it?” he asked, stopping in front of her. “Already run out of things you wanna know?”

  She shook her head, staring at his exposed skin beneath his dress shirt. “You’re obviously not able to do the interview like this, so why don’t I just wait in the living room until you’re dressed?”

  He brushed a strand of hair away from her face and grazed her neck with his fingers. “I wanna do this right here, right now.”

  “This isn’t appropriate,” she mumbled, letting her eyes travel from his face to his body, then back again.

  “Since when do I give a shit about what’s appropriate?”

  Good point. The man couldn’t care less about decorum.

  “Well, I’m not able to focus with you standing here looking like this.”

  He gave her a smug smile. “Too bad, babe, cause that’s the only way I’ll talk. My conditions or no interview.”

  She leveled him with an annoyed glare. “Give me a break.”

  He shrugged and looked at the notepad she was holding. “Mighty long list you got there. It’d be a shame for you to walk outta here empty-handed.”

  She cursed under her breath knowing full well that he was right. He was finally agreeing to this so she just had to be more of an adult about it than he was and keep it as professional as possible. One look at his six-pack told her how difficult this task was going to be.

  “Fine,” she snapped, then started the tape recorder again and turned her attention to the list of questions in her hand.

  “What’s more important to you, the money or the glory?”

  “The money’s nice,” he said, walking around her to stand at her back. She tried to turn and face him, but he kept her in place and ran his fingers gently through her hair, sending tingles all the way to her scalp.

  “But money isn’t shit without the glory,” he continued, brushing her hair to one side. “I don’t care about the money.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You got plenty of it.”

  “I’m willing to share,” he mumbled at her back, then nibbled at the nape of her neck. “I’m a generous guy.”

  She exhaled loudly and tried to take a step forward to put distance between them, but he held her in place again.

  “What’s your next question?”

  She looked down at the notepad. “What’s your daily routine like?”

  “I start off the morning with a shower,” he answered, running his tongue against her skin. She felt a delicious shudder go through her and couldn’t help but think of him in the shower.

  “Then I have breakfast, go to the gym, train, have lunch, meet with my manager to discuss progress, train some more, and come home in the evening. I eat dinner and find something to entertain me for the rest of the night.”

  Her imagination painted a picture of what would entertain him. He pressed against her back and started sucking on her throat. She leaned her head back to enjoy the sensation of his mouth on her skin.

  “I can’t do an interview like this,” she mumbled distracted.

  “Either you do your interview my way, or you take your questions and go home,” he said, caressing her ear with his breath.

  Damn him. She raised her notepad to look at the next question. “What kind of workouts do you do?”

  “I like rope jumping, shadow boxing, weight training, the speed and heavy bags, and running on the beach.” He reached around to graze her breasts with his fingertips. “How about you? How do you like to work up a sweat?”

  Her nipples got hard as his fingers toyed with her. “I don’t,” she said, gasping. “I hate going to the gym.”

  “You don’t need the gym to work up a sweat,” he whispered in her ear, then started unbuttoning her blouse.

  She really didn’t want to think of any other ways to work up a sweat. Any thoughts she’d produce right now were dangerous.

  She promptly looked at her notepad. “What do you do better now than in your early career?”

  He was quiet as he reached the third button and she wondered if he was thinking about his answer or having trouble with her blouse.

  “I focus more on my strategy,” he answered after a few moments as the cool air brushed against her chest and stomach, now exposed. She waited for him to elaborate, but instead of providing more information, he simply ran a hand over her midsection.

  “Anything else?” she prompted, closing her eyes at the caress.

  “I eat better and take better care of myself.”

  Thankfully the recorder was getting his answers, because she couldn’t focus to save her life.

  “What else, babe?” he whispered in her ear.

  She raised her notepad and scanned the questions. “What was the toughest fight of your career? Which opponent pushed you the most?”

  He groped her right breast, making her sigh in response.

  “Stevens was a hard-ass and probably the toughest guy to beat,” he said, not sounding at all flustered by what he was doing.

  “Not Povetkin?” she asked surprised, trying to stay on subject.

  “No. Just because he beat me doesn’t mean shit. He won by decision, not by knockout.”

  The tone of Trent’s voice told her that she’d gotten under his skin and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. If he got angry enough, he might stop answering her.

  “What’s next?” he asked gruffly, pulling down her bra to fondle her breasts. His touch wasn’t as gentle this time.

  “What are your plans after boxing?”

  Suddenly he pulled her blouse off her shoulders and hiked her skirt up. “After boxing? I lost one fight, babe, not my career. I’m thinking about my next fight, not what the fuck I’ll be doing once I’m washed up.”

  He bent her over the kitchen counter and pressed up against her. “Why don’t you think about your next question real hard?”

  She flinched as he pulled down her panties and slapped one butt cheek. Stunned, she stared at the notepad on the counter before her, then cringed at the next question in the lineup.

  “What do you do for fun?”

  He laughed, a deep, throaty growl, and ran a hand along her back, giving her
goosebumps. She waited impatiently for his next move, but he kept his distance. The sound of a drawer being opened reached her ears and she turned to watch him take out a condom. Instead of waiting for him to put it on, she took the wrapper out of his hand.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said, looking up at him.

  He narrowed his eyes at her and reached for the condom.

  “Answer my question first,” she said, holding it away from him.

  “I’ll show you what I do for fun,” he replied, grabbing hold of her wrist to snatch the condom from her. Within seconds, he pulled down his pants and briefs, put the condom on, and lifted her onto the counter. The marble felt cool against her butt as he stepped between her legs but stopped short of pushing in.

  “Are we done?” he asked, biting her lip.

  She shook her head, letting him invade her mouth.

  “Then keep going,” he said, pulling away.

  She looked down at the notepad quickly, then locked eyes with him. “How would you describe your love life?”

  “Right now?”

  She nodded.

  “Pretty fucking fantastic,” he said, pushing deep into her with a groan.

  The feeling was at once familiar but new, being in a different position than the last time they’d done this, and she wrapped her legs around him to keep him in place. Just when she thought he’d take on the same frantic pace as before, he surprised her by pulling out slowly and pushing in just as excruciatingly slow. It drove her crazy and she scooted forward for more.

  “What’s your next question, babe?” he asked against her lips.

  She had no freaking idea. The interview was the last thing on her mind.

  “This is your one and only chance to ask,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

  “You can’t be serious,” she got out as he pushed slowly into her.

  “Wanna bet?” He pulled out ever so slowly, then took a step back.

  She grabbed him by the shirt he was still wearing and pulled him to her again. “Fine.” She wrapped her legs around him once more, then took a quick look at the notepad beside her on the counter and raised her gaze to him.