Scrapper: MMA Badboy Romance

by Chloe Ellison

  “How about an interview instead?” I asked.

  “I don’t do interviews. How about we talk?”

  “As long as I can ask questions.” I said. We sat down in front of each other on the mat. Cage handed me his water bottle. We were sweating all over, and the basement was warm anyway.

  “One for one.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I ask one question, you ask one question.”

  “Deal.” I said. “I didn’t think you were capable of asking a girl questions about herself. This should be interesting.”

  “What got you into fighting? Why do you do it?” he asked, ignoring my little dig. His eyes were wide.

  “Uhm, my ex-boyfriend was a fighter.” I said, caught off guard by his question.

  “He got you started?” he asked.

  “No.” I said with a huff. “He beat my ass though. So after I dumped him, I showed up at jiu jitsu. Still had a black eye on my first day of class. Fell in love with it, never looked back.” it was a story I rarely told. At least not that version. My usual lie was to say I trained to know more about the sport that I covered, when it was the opposite. Martial arts had been what lead me to MMA.

  “Right on. I had a feeling it was something, women like you don’t usually end up doing martial arts.”

  “Women like me?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Gorgeous women.”

  “I am not gorgeous Cage, but thank you.” I said. “I asked you that same question once before. You didn’t answer.”

  “My mama. She sent me down the street to the martial arts gym because I kept getting in fights. I walked in, met Walker. That was it for me. It was the first time I really felt like I belonged somewhere.”

  “So you grew up in Bayson?” I asked. It was a rough city, the one where Walker’s gym was located.

  “Born and raised. Lived on Whalen Blvd.” he said. “That’s two questions though.”

  “Oh whatever. This is making up for when you snubbed me at the club.” I said.

  “Snubbed you? You got a huge story out of that. Plus, me and my friends had to have a little fun. Shit happens sometimes.” he shrugged, not exactly showing remorse at his actions, or the consequences.

  “Speaking of that, what’s going on with your charges? What does your lawyer say? Is the Westerson fight still on?” three consecutive questions, I couldn’t help myself. These journalist pants do not come off.

  “My lawyer says a lot of things, but I don’t pay him too much attention. I give him money, and trust him to take care of it.” he was very casual about the whole thing, despite the media and legal shitstorm it had kicked up. “And hell yeah I’m still gonna whoop that little trick.” he said, as if the fight were even in question. “I fuckin’ hate that guy.” Cage was leaning back, legs spread out. He seemed at home on a sweaty wrestling mat. “My turn?” he asked.

  “Shoot.”

  “What’s up with your love life? You dating anyone?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t be here with you if I was.” I said.

  “Right on. Never been married, or any of that shit?”

  “Nope.” I said. His eyes were narrowing in on me, and he kept inching closer. I’m not even sure if he noticed. “What about you? No special ladies in the life of Cage Edwards?”

  “There’s one. She just doesn’t know it yet.” he said, back to work. His smile had an automatic pull on me, made me forget that I didn’t date fighters. Especially ones who had a tendency for letting their anger get the best of them.

  “Awh shucks.” I said, and slapped his thigh. His forward style of heavy pursuit was refreshing, and made me savor the chase.

  “Really though. I train, I’m not what you probably think.”

  “What do I probably think?” I asked, eager to hear my own perception of him from Cage’s point of view.

  “You probably think, I am something like a player.” he said.

  “And?”

  “I am a fighter, I take care of business. Players handle balls.” the frankness of his response made me laugh. “You probably think I fuck lots of girls, and live a crazy lifestyle. I really don’t.” he said.

  “So if you don’t live a crazy lifestyle, full of girls, drugs, and booze. What do you do instead?” I asked, growing more curious and immersed in him.

  “I train five days a week. I teach a couple classes at the gym, I do free seminars on the weekends. And I didn’t say anything about drugs or booze, I indulge in a little of both.”

  “What kind of drugs?” I asked.

  “Ganja. I might ingest a mushroom of the magical variety on occasion. That’s about it.” he said. Hearing it was a relief, I could deal with that.

  “No coke?” I asked, a bit scared of that one in particular.

  “Nah. Fuck that.”

  “Good.” And then I was the doing the vetting. “What kind of free seminars?”

  “Ugh, you know. For the kids. The ones like me.”

  “Awh!” I gushed. “Tell me about it.” I said. All of a sudden, Cage was quiet. Closed off. He shrugged.

  “I don’t announce them. I just call, and then show up at all the gyms around here with a kids’ program.” he was looking down, literally twiddling his thumbs.

  “That’s really cool. I bet the kids like that.” I said. “What did you mean when you said, kids like you?” I asked. Cage gave me a look, and took a deep in breath.

  “Problem children. Ones at risk. Shitty home lives.” he said.

  “What about you and Chase? How was your home life? You said you were close with your mom?” I asked. Questions in threes, the type someone like him can’t shrug off with one or two word answers.

  “We were at risk problem children, with a shitty home life.” he laughed. “Nah, not totally. Typical story though, dad hit mom and ran away before we were born. Mom was superwoman. Died when I was eighteen.” he was no longer himself, at least not the Cage I had been hanging around. His head was hanging low, and he stared at the mat with a far away stare.

  “I’m sorry.” I said. He shrugged again.

  “It’s all good.” he said. “I still miss her though. It’s weird.” he sniffed, and then stood up. “Give me your hand.” I put my hand in his, and let him hoist me up as well. Our three rounds were over, it was time to go.

  “What is this place by the way?” I asked. “I saw that it used to be a church.”

  “This is where Walker’s gym was when I first started training. After I won the title, I saw that the building was for sale and bought it. I’m gonna fix it up, make it into a badass gym, and then surprise coach with it.” he said, and then pulled down his fight shorts in one motion.

  “Cage.” I said, and looked away from his full frontal. He loved forcing his hand, making me look at his dick.

  “What? Did you just get a sudden craving for a banana?” he asked, standing over his jeans and swaying his hips so that it swung freely between his legs.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Cucumber?” he asked. I looked him in the eye, and shook my head.

  “You are such an ass.” I said.

  “Guess that makes you an ass kisser.” he said, pulling up his jeans without underwear. His cock was angled straight up, and the head still stuck out over his waistband after he zipped up. “Big dick problems, am I right?” he asked, assuring I took notice before tucking it away.

  We left the building the same way I came in, and were still the only two cars in the parking lot. The sun had climbed since our arrival, and beat down on the pavement.

  “So what about that interview?” I asked. The sparring was fun, but I still hadn’t received anything resembling an official interview.

  “Go out with me.” he said.

  “No thanks.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t date guys who ask me out by telling me what to do.”

  “Look, I’m not gonna beg you.”

  “You could at least ask.” I said, trying with all of my might to resist. A
date wouldn’t necessarily hurt anything or cross any lines, and wouldn’t bias my story anymore than it already had been. Cage chose that moment to drop down on one knee, and take my hand into his.

  “Angela.” he said, with a whispery touch on his breath. He was a charmer, willing to pull out all the stops. He looked up at me with a softness in his eyes, and I stared back into them. “Will you…”he reached into his wallet, and pulled out his credit card. “Go out with me?”

  “What is that? Some sexist bullshit?” I asked, pulling my hand away.

  “Yeah, that. Or a joke. Depending on how much of a whiny and pessimistic brat you are.” he said. It was like he had compulsive asshole disorder, unable to be decent even when asking me out.

  “Oh. Well in that case, I’ll save you the trouble of going out with me.”

  “You are the one who said you wanted an interview.” he said.

  “I do. And you are asking me out on a date instead!” he was exhausting, and I was starting to screech.

  “What’s the difference? Say yes, and we both get what we want.” he was pushing it, but knew he had the leverage. I was slowly learning the details that I needed for a full story, but I didn’t have enough yet. I needed to ask him more questions, or more accurately, somehow get him to answer them.

  “Fine, but this is a real interview. Tape recorder, everything.” I said.

  “Fine, but it’s a real date. Tight dress, low cut, everything.”

  Nine - Angela

  A date with Cage Edwards, officially. What had I gotten myself into?

  The worst part was that on some level he already had me. I knew that getting involved with him would lead to trouble, but he seemed worth the baggage. Potentially. Rough around the edges would be putting it nicely, but he was also intelligent. And shredded to the bone, and funny, and maybe even sensitive. Besides his constant pick up lines, and the references to the size of his genitalia, I liked him.

  Actions carry weight, they have value. I saw a man who was fiercely dedicated to those around him. Coach Walker, Chase, Ewing. That was his family and he was always around them. I had never laid eyes on Cage at an event without Walker close behind, he even bought a gym for him. Helped out with kids, did free seminars, and was only about half the party animal I suspected initially. Everyone has a story, the reason they are what they are. What I knew of his was tragic, but he had used it to make lemonade. There weren’t many other positive stories that originated in Bayson.

  I witnessed the whole fight scene debacle first hand. It was a disaster, and Cage was way too willing a participant, but I understood his actions. He was a young, headstrong fighter who had been disrespected multiple times. Plus, spit is gross. I may have swung myself. So I couldn't completely fault him, but it was something to keep an eye on.

  I had experience dating a fighter with anger issues, and it was walking on eggshells when it wasn't being punched in the eye. There would be no more of that. The .22 in my purse, and years of martial arts training would make sure of it. My tolerance policy was set at a hard zero.

  The chemistry was undeniable. Exactly what I always wished would happen. A dangerous, successful man with a perfect body had spotted me from across a room, and taken chase. I would be a fool to turn away from my own desires, and if I didn’t see them through I would always what if myself to death. He was an element of danger, and I would approach him with more caution than any typical first date. Still, I had to take the chance. If he was the right guy and I let him walk out of my life, I would forever regret it.

  Cage made my awareness spike, and the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It was high school the last time I remembered getting clammy hands like I did locking eyes with him. I was on instant full alert around him, unable to notice anyone else. There was something about the way he dominated a room without even trying. If Cage was there, everyone knew it and took notice. A true alpha in every way.

  I hadn't been shocked that he flirted, I figured that was his thing. What did throw me off was that he kept pursuing, following up in a way that made his effort genuine. He was vetting me, specifically, and had no problems saying so. Not that I was convinced I was the only one. I didn’t know him that well. He didn’t seem like the type though, and you have to honor your gut feeling about someone, even if you don’t yet trust it. See it through. This life's for living, not guessing.

  His presence shook up my life. Always has been a requirement of mine. If you can’t keep me interested, you can’t keep me. The desire I felt for him made itself known everywhere. My thoughts, my showers, nightly masturbation sessions. My career! Each time I denied it to myself or to him, it grew stronger. He was who I wanted, and of course, the one I probably shouldn’t have.

  I'm not one of those girls who can't take a compliment, or who hates herself anymore than everyone else. On a good day I’m pretty, on a bad one I hide inside so no one sees me, ever. I bust my ass and try hard in life, if it works out then great. If not, how else would I have done it anyway? My own limits are things I always strive to push, but I am also aware of them. Rational, and realistic. This is why Cage had me on edge.

  Make no mistake, I am a catch, but I’m not the big titted, tiny waisted, eye grabber that guys like him go for. I’m just not, and that’s perfectly okay, but it raised my guard. I’m cool with a nice roll in the hay for casual fuck’s sake once in awhile, but I don’t sleep with man whores. Guys like him often are, but I was doing my own vetting and I saw no evidence against him. What made him go for me of all people? There were 20 year old, bombshell celebrities that he could have been “vetting”. As a woman, that aspect made me nervous, and suspicious, because I know how guys can be. How would Cage handle temptation?

  It had been a while since my last date, months actually. At first I didn’t know if I should take him or his offer serious, until he texted.

  Xxx-xxx-xxxx - Wear the skimpiest thing you can squeeze into and still move around in.

  Angela - That might be possible. What are we doing?

  Xxx-xxx-xxxx - No mights, and everything is possible. Do as you are told, and I will pick you up at nine tomorrow. What’s your address?

  Angela - Not telling until you tell me where we are going.

  Xxx-xxx-xxxx - Hint: It’s not dancing.

  Angela: I didn’t ask you to tell me where we aren’t going.

  Xxx-xxx-xxxx - I don’t care what you asked. It’s a fucking surprise. Smile and be ready at nine. What’s your address?

  Angela: Fine, dick. It’s 415 Wicked Way,Unit 4, Stockchester.

  Xxx-xxx-xxx - It is a fine dick, thanks for noticing. See you tomorrow, can’t wait to see what you wear.

  The date served dual roles that I wasn’t prepared to separate until I had my story. One, see what this guy was about and if he was worth seeing. And two, get the story! Always in the background of my mind.

  Ten - Angela

  What to wear when going out with a champion professional athlete? He made it very clear what he expected, something tiny. Situations like this are what the little black dress is made for. Verse one in genesis of the dating handbook.

  I did a little jig within the private confines of my bedroom when I saw how good my favorite one fit. Sticking to my diet for the week had worked wonders.

  There was a lot going on in the prep room for that date. From hair and makeup, to covert operations. I bought a special recorder, extra tiny, and connected it to my phone so that the audio went straight to a file. I put it into a tiny handbag. This way I could relax and enjoy hanging out with him, and still maintain full journalistic integrity via my recording device. I felt like a Bond girl, more so when I covered my lips with a layer of bright red lipstick. My concealed carry normally meant the gun could come along, but never with alcohol. Gotta mind the laws.

  My hair cooperated, and my dress fit like a pair of second skin. All the preparation resulted in one of my better nights. I was feeling very good about myself, and couldn’t stand still while waiting for him to arrive.
I thought about texting, but couldn’t. Had to play it cool. I was part anxious, part nervous.

  It was 9:01 when Cage pulled in, riding a motorcycle.

  “What the fuck?” I peered out the window. It was definitely him. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but there was one on the back. The heavy bike rumbled and growled, announcing his arrival with bass. My apartment stopped shaking when he cut it off. I waited by my door, expecting him to come up. My phone rang instead. “Hello?”

  “I’m out here. Let’s go.” he said.

  “You’re late.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “It’s 9:02.” I said, exaggerating.

  “You’re one of those?” he asked. “A minute quoter.”

  “I’m so not riding that bike. We are taking my Honda.”

  “No.”

  “Try yes. I am wearing a mini dress, and my hair isn’t going in a helmet.” I said.

  “I didn’t say you have to wear the helmet, but we are not driving a piece of shit Honda.”

  “Honda, or I put on sweatpants and a hoodie.”

  “God dammit.”

  I watched him step off of his bike through the window, and grabbed my keys. When I stepped outside, he was walking up the hallway toward my door.

  “Angela. Wow.” he let his jaw drop, and ran his hand over his face and through his hair, shaking his head. “Wow. I’ve uh, spent twenty three years dreaming about the existence of a woman like you.” he smiled.

  “Thanks. We both clean up nice.” I said, taking note. Beneath his black leather riding jacket was a skinny tie, tied loose with a white button up. His face was freshly shaved, and his hair had a purposeful messiness that I planned to run my fingers through at some point that night.

  “Let’s see this thing.” he said. I lead the way, and showed her off proud.

  “Does it run?” he asked. I rolled my eyes, and we climbed into the two door together.

  I didn’t trust him to drive so I did. My rusty red baby had specific needs, and couldn’t be driven by any old body. The engine had a rumble to it. A friend told me there must have been a hole in the muffler, but the truth was someone had tried to steal my catalytic converter and failed, mangling the pipes in the process. The result being that I could be heard coming. Cage started in right away with the jokes.