“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of describing myself in one word?”
She smacked her teeth, the slightly annoyed smirk she wore enough to let me know I was already getting on her nerves as she snapped, “Hey. I’m the one asking the questions here.”
“There you go being bossy again,” I muttered teasingly before taking another sip of my drink, catching the smile she tried to hide in response as she watched me swallow.
“Just answer the question, please.”
Pursing my lips together, I tried to pick my words carefully since I knew millions of people would be reading each one of them later. And after taking another good sip of my shake, I explained, “Being a champion, being on top, it’s all I’ve ever strived for. It was ingrained in me from day one, got it tatted on me the second I was old enough to consent. It’s who I’ve lived my whole adult life as, and God-willing, the only thing I’ll ever have to experience.”
Even though she was recording, Bella also had a pad she was scribbling little notes on. Little notes that had her bobbing along with what I had said before following up with, “You say you’ve lived your whole adult life as a champion, but you’ve been fighting since you were, what? Twelve-years-old? Has “The Prince” not always been the champion we all know and love today?”
“Oh, so you love me now? You move quick, Bella. No complaints though. Love you too,” I replied with a wink that made her blush and groan with annoyance all at once.
But I knew she meant business when she snapped her eyes up at me to say, “Princeton… don’t play with me.”
I nodded in understanding, grabbing my Tupperware-meal as I finally answered, “Aight so, I took some Ls. Not many, but enough to keep me humble during my Golden Gloves days. Long before I went pro.”
The memories of those days weren’t the fondest, weren’t my favorite to talk about, since any loss I took back then meant a brutal punishment from my father; far more brutal than the shit he put me through on a daily. It honestly seemed like he enjoyed seeing me lose just so he could torture me, though he always claimed it was for my own good, that it would make me better. And while I couldn’t deny that period of my life turning me into my strongest self, I knew it was for all the wrong reasons.
Thankfully Bella changed the subject just when my dark feelings about it all were beginning to surface, nodding towards my container to ask, “What’s that you’re eating?”
“Let’s see,” I said, pulling off the lid and picking around the meal with my fork before listing, “Wheat pasta with tomato sauce, two plain ass chicken breasts sliced, yogurt with honey and granola. And a... cherry-flavored energy gel for dessert.”
While she didn’t exactly seem interested in taste-testing any of what my nutritionist referred to as “fuel” instead of food, it was clear she was at least interested enough in its existence to ask, “Is this a typical meal for you? Or would you consider it, more of a treat?”
“Nah, I prefer to get my treats in a different form,” I answered smoothly, Bella’s eyes shooting up at me once again. But this time, I only shrugged, shoving a bite of food into my mouth as I watched her blush before proceeding to the next question.
“Describe a typical day for you. When you’re not preparing for a big fight.”
Through the last of my chews I listed, “I’m up at 5 A.M. sharp every day. Go for a brisk five mile run, have a light breakfast. Then I get here, to the gym, for some hand and footwork drills. I have a little snack to keep my energy up, get on the bag for punching drills with Tony, have lunch and chat with pretty girls named Bella…”
I could barely get my compliment off before she was jumping in to correct, “That’s not a typical day. Unless you’re always talking to pretty girls named Bella over lunch…”
Shrugging, I told her, “Maybe I do.” Earning myself a smirk as I continued, “But anyway, after that, I’ll do some core and strength training. Then I’ll finish out the day with a burnout session on the bag with my pops before I have dinner and do my recovery treatments. Cold tub, massages, shit like that.”
She nodded along, jotting down a few notes and glancing over them as if she was looking for her next question. “I read that your father was a champion in his own right back in the day. Are you two pretty close?”
“You could say that,” I replied shortly, secretly hoping she wouldn’t press since the relationship between my father and I was much too complicated to explain to anyone.
But of course it wasn’t in Bella’s nature to back down from any opening, her expression softened when she asked, “Is he the one who inspired you to be a boxer?”
Again, I shrugged. “Nah, he really didn’t give me much of a choice. Some may say he was even training me to be a fighter when I was in the womb.”
The words slipped from my lips so easily that I almost forgot all of this was on the record until Bella challenged, “What do you mean?”
“Nothin’. You can cut that part out,” I quickly replied, stuffing my face with more food so I wouldn’t have to say anymore on the topic.
Truth be told, I probably couldn’t say anymore on the topic without opening an investigation on my father. But that didn’t mean Bella was going to let me off easy, pushing out, “O… kay. So tell me more about your childhood then. I imagine it being tough growing up in the shadow of such a prominent figure like “The King”.”
“Being in his shadow was much better than being in his path,” I replied as I took another bite, peeking up to find Bella’s eyes tightened in a way that had me going back over my words.
Shit.
Said too much again.
Instead of letting her probe, I did my best to cover things up when I continued, “His uh… challengers. You know, he was on top of his game for a while. And I’d much rather come up behind him than be on the receiving end of one of his KOs.” I even added a little chuckle in hopes of lightening the mood.
It didn’t work, Bella scooting to the edge of her stool and completely invading my personal space to ask, “Were you... ever on the receiving end of one of his knockouts?”
The question made me tense up for reasons I couldn’t speak. I mean, of course my father had beat my ass before. Left me bruised up, knocked the wind out of me, maybe even dazed me a little.
But a real knockout?
Immediately, I shook my head, unable to meet her eyes when I answered, “N-nah. Never. Not me.”
“Just the challengers?” she asked, her eyebrow piqued as if her journalistic senses were tingling.
Still, I did my best to play it down, offering a short, “Correct.”
I expected that to be enough for her to fall back into her seat. But she remained close as if she was waiting for me to crack, even going as far as asking, “Did you… know any of his challengers personally?”
“Aight Bella, I think that’s enough,” I told her, putting my food to the side now that I had officially lost my appetite thinking about shit I hadn’t revisited since I was a kid; long before I was crowned “The Prince”. And I wasn’t sure I could revisit it without wanting to deliver the same blows to my father that he had delivered to… her, the blows that made her run away from him and abandon me.
“I’m sorry. I was just asking. It’s kinda my thing, but I see I went too far,” Bella said, snapping me from my developing rage as she rubbed a gentle hand against my shoulder.
I wasn’t sure if she felt it, but there was a sedative factor to her touch, instantly calming me enough to reply, “You did.”
Her regret seemed genuine as she continued, “My apologies, Princeton. Seriously. And I promise none of this will be included in the write-up. No one will even hear this recording but me.”
I gave her a short nod of appreciation as she fell back into her seat, releasing a heavy breath before making an attempt at saving the interview. “So… what do you like to do for fun? In the little bit of spare time you have outside of the gym?”
Since she seemed to be back in professional mo
de, I did the same, giving an answer that would probably make my father proud. “If I’m not at the gym training, then I’m at home thinking about training, thinking about my next opponent, thinking about what I need to do to be the best, or getting the rest that I need to execute it all. Being a champion is a full-time job, and if I ever for a second think that it’s not, I can guarantee that’ll be the same time my belt will get snuck from up under me.”
“So you operate out of fear of losing your belt? Losing your champion status?” she asked, a question that was more personal than she realized according to the plain expression on her face as she waited for an answer.
Then again, this could’ve just been journalist Bella in action, meaning I needed to remain as “The Prince” when I answered, “I guess you could say that. And it probably sounds fucked up, but… that’s also why not everyone can be a champion. Not everyone has what it takes to make that kind of sacrifice, to operate out of fear as you called it.”
She nodded with understanding, scribbling on her pad before asking yet another heavy question. “Do you ever worry about having… identity issues? When it’s all said and done? I mean, it sounds like boxing has meant so much to you for so long that if it were to be taken away at any moment, it might… destroy you.”
What was supposed to be a simple interview was feeling more and more like a counseling session, my chest feeling heavy as hell when I pushed out, “Honestly, I’d rather not even think about it.”
“Okay. Well if you weren’t a boxer, what kind of profession do you think you might have?” she asked, the first softball question she had tossed my way even though nothing about talking with Bella felt easy anymore.
I couldn’t be charming with thoughts of my mother on my mind, couldn’t be funny with flashes of my childhood playing in my head, couldn’t flirt knowing a real relationship was never in the cards for me because of the dedication I had to my craft; an undying loyalty to boxing that it probably didn’t deserve considering the mayhem it had caused in my personal life.
So instead of continuing to entertain this exchange, I only shrugged when I answered, “I have no idea.”
“Aww come on, Princeton. Give it a shot,” she insisted, the warm, pleading expression in her eyes enough to at least make me give a little effort. But just because I was giving effort didn’t mean a response would come easy since it wasn’t something I had ever thought about before. And I was just about ready to give up again when Bella said, “You can do it. I believe in you.”
My eyebrow piqued at her words as she nodded enthusiastically like she was cheering me on, a huge smile on her face as if she was really interested in whatever was going to come out of my mouth. And truth be told, I surprised myself when something finally came to mind.
“I mean, I guess I used to like baking with my mom when I was little. Maybe I’d do that,” I said, a smile growing on my lips as one of the few memories I had with my mother rushed to the forefront of my thoughts.
I could still remember the smell of the snickerdoodle cookies she used to sneak into my lunches, could still remember the sweetness of the turtle brownie batter I took pride in mixing and licking. And the bliss of those thoughts was only extended when Bella excitedly asked, “A professional boxer turned baker? Let me know when I can write that story. I make a great taste tester too.”
“I’m sure you do, Bella. I’m sure you do,” I replied, my smile full as I thought about something else I wanted her to taste.
Just as I was getting turned on by the visual of Bella on her knees in front of me, Tony emerged from the offices, giving me a pat on the shoulder as he said, “Aight, Prince. Gotta get back to work before your father comes in here talkin’ shit.”
Instead of agreeing right away, I made Bella a priority, turning towards her to ask, “You got what you need, B?”
She nodded, her voice peppy and pleasant as she answered, “I do, thank you. But do you mind if I… stay and watch for a little while? It’ll help me paint a better picture for the readers.”
I could see that warm, pleading look in her eyes again, and I honestly wasn’t sure I could turn down her cute ass if I wanted to. But since I knew my father wouldn’t be here until later, I figured I didn’t have to, matching her smile to say, “Be my guest.”
-Round Two-
Bella
Watching Princeton train was purely hypnotizing.
Of course I knew it took a lot of hard work to be at the elite level that he was. But actually seeing it from behind the scenes, watching the layer of sweat accumulate before splashing off his skin, observing the way his chest rose and fell in between rounds of exercises, listening to his grunts as he pushed himself with each challenge Tony threw his way...
I was… impressed. And maybe a little turned on.
Okay, I’m definitely turned on.
I mean, if he was this dedicated to his craft with a stamina to match, I could only imagine how that translated to the way he handled business in the bedroom. But since Princeton’s bedroom antics were the last thing that should’ve been on my mind, I remained focused on his training regimen, making sure I took good notes so that I could recreate the aura when I went to write about it later.
My head was down looking at my notepad when I heard someone gruff behind me, “Who the hell are you?”
Naturally, my face scrunched before I peeked behind me to find Sir Kingfield Lattimore himself, a sight that straightened me up instantly. While I was already convinced Princeton inherited most of his good looks from his mother, there was still a presence about “The King” that made your jaw drop out of pure intimidation, especially when in close proximity to him.
Still, I tried to play it off, standing up and extending my hand as I said, “I’m sorry. Bella Stevenson with…”
He didn’t care to know that much, ignoring my hand and cutting me off. “This is private property. So as far as I’m concerned, you’re trespassing, Brianna.”
I couldn’t tell if he was just testing me or if this was really his steez. Either way, my parents had instilled a sense of self-respect early on that had me unafraid to correct him. “It’s Bella. And I was actually invited here. By Princeton.”
It was just my luck that Princeton and Tony were clear on the other side of the gym which meant I was alone in defending my presence. And Sir Kingfield had no problem taking advantage of that fact when he grabbed my purse from the seat and stuffed it against my chest before he growled, “Well you’re being uninvited by me, the owner of this here establishment. Now get your ass on somewhere.”
My heart was beating out of my chest as I watched him stroll towards the office area that Tony had come from earlier, my shoulders jumping when I heard the door slam behind him. But it felt like my feet were cemented to the ground as I tried to process what had just happened. And not only what had happened, but how his attitude was a reflection of the things Princeton had shared about him during our interview.
Since I didn’t want to run the risk of Sir Kingfield coming back to find me still here, I gathered the rest of my belongings and was headed for the door until I heard Princeton call after me. “Yo, Bella. Where you goin’? You got everything?”
For some reason, addressing the run-in with his father felt like too much of a distraction to share in the moment. So I didn’t, nervously peeking towards the office doors as I answered, “Uh… yeah. I think I covered everything. Thanks again for the opportunity.”
“Nah, thank you. Hopefully we can do it again some time,” he offered generously, his smile almost enough to put me at ease.
But my skin prickled with nerves the second I heard the office door rattling behind me, forcing me to rush out, “Yeah, maybe. I’ll see you.”
I could see the confusion on Princeton’s face when I turned to leave, making it to the door just in time to hear Sir Kingfield growl, “What’d I tell you about bringing people in this gym, boy? Now I’m really gonna kick your ass today.”
Just the thought of being responsibl
e for a harder than usual training day made me feel terrible, but I knew it was nothing Princeton couldn’t handle after watching him work for most of the afternoon.
Still, it was on my mind - he was on my mind - the whole drive home, through the half-bottle of wine I consumed once I got there, and especially when I began to playback some of the audio I had recorded during our time together. The combination of his voice, the visuals from the gym, and the wine had me feeling especially lusty as I listened to him flirt his ass off before things got more real than he anticipated according to his change in tone. But even when things got serious, there was a layer of determination that he spoke with, something I couldn’t help but admire as I added to my notes. And by the time I finished listening to it completely, I was beyond interested to learn more about who Princeton was outside of what he had shared with me personally.
So I did what anyone else would do; went digging for his social media pages.
Like most celebrities, he didn’t have a Facebook page that he actually managed himself, so that was only filled with generic promotions. And even his Twitter was bland, not updated since the time he shared the article I wrote which was the only thing outside of fight promotion that he had tweeted about within the last month. But when I made it to his Instagram, it was clear this was his thing, filled with a balance of promotional and personal posts that made him seem human again.
There was a picture of him snuggled up with a dog that looked almost as big as him on what must’ve been an off-day, selfies of him between training sessions with captions all talking about “The Grind”, there were even video clips of him doing rounds on the punching bag, a sight that was just as hypnotizing as watching it in person. But I couldn’t help noticing there were no photos of any women outside of the pictures he shared with large groups of his fans. In fact, it took me a solid sixty-eight weeks of scrolling to find a picture that looked even close to lovey-dovey, and that didn’t last for long since the caption revealed she was only a cousin.
In His Corner Page 3
