Going the Distance (No Excuses Book 1)

  Going the Distance

  by

  Mila Rossi

  GOING THE DISTANCE

  Copyright © 2016 Mila Rossi

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover design by Studio Mark5/StudioMark5.com

  This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you to Joan Carney, Melissa at www.scriptionis.com, Angie Luevano, Natasha Parks, Amanda from Beta Reading Bookshelf, Nidhi Upadhyaya, Dawn Altieri, Eva King and Frédérique Hérin for the helpful and constructive feedback. And of course, thanks to Studio Mark5 for cranking out such great cover art.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Thank you for reading!

  Fast Times

  Other Books by Mila Rossi

  Author Links

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Samantha Wellington was being propositioned like a damn hooker. She’d been on the dance floor, having a great time with her friends during their annual girl weekend getaway in Las Vegas, when a couple of giant, security guards walked up to her and told her some hotshot in the private booth wanted to see her.

  “No, thank you,” she shot back annoyed, then turned to her friends, Clare and Danielle, once more and tried to ignore the guys still standing at her back.

  “You don’t seem to understand,” one of the guys said over the loud music. “This is Trent Page we’re talking about.”

  She tried her best to ignore them.

  “Everything okay?” Clare asked, frowning at the men behind Sam.

  Sam simply nodded, not wanting to bother with an explanation over the techno music blasting from the speakers.

  “Do you know who Trent is?” the other guy asked, stepping up to Sam.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and shook her head. “I don’t care who he is, buddy. I’m not interested.” She stepped away and walked further into the crowded dance floor, seeking distance from the giants.

  They seemed to take the hint because they didn’t follow. Relieved, she smiled at Clare and Danielle and resumed her dancing. The buzz she’d been feeling earlier had worn off thanks to the pesky guys, but she was starting to enjoy herself once more.

  Just as the song was coming to an end and another one replaced the frantic beat, Clare nudged Danielle and pointed her chin somewhere behind Sam. She, in turn, swung around to see what they were looking at. Her gaze locked onto a guy standing a mere couple of feet away. A pretty decent looking guy. Her pulse quickened as he approached, looking at her as though she’d done something very, very bad and he was coming to set her straight. She supposed he would intimidate some people, but she only found his brooding, scruffy look attractive. All the more reason for her to be on her toes.

  “Hey,” he said in a commanding voice.

  “Hey,” she mumbled back.

  “Those guys who tried talking to you are with me.”

  She looked past his shoulder to see the giants standing in a dark corner by the private booth.

  “Good for you,” she shot back sarcastically. She didn’t take well to the overbearing type, no matter how hot.

  She was about to turn to her friends once more when he grabbed her wrist and forced her to face him again. Surprised, she stared at him with big eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Just trying to make something clear.”

  He was taller than her, but with her heels on, they were at eye level. His face was inches away from hers, and she took in his steely gaze, his lowered eyebrows, his full lips that did look rather tempting, and the defined jawline, set in determined anger.

  “What’s that?” she asked, feeling both flattered that she’d gotten his attention, yet irritated that he was pestering her when she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to be bothered.

  “That’s my booth back there,” he said, nodding in the direction of the place behind him. “Why don’t you come and keep me company?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No thanks.”

  He didn’t smile back.

  Their gazes held and she was starting to feel awkward, like she was on display.

  “Have you heard of The Punisher?” he asked, taking her off guard.

  “No.”

  He didn’t seem pleased with her answer.

  “Why? Am I supposed to know who that is?”

  His nostrils flared.

  “How about you come to my booth, have a drink and see where it goes?”

  She laughed lightly. “Where do you think it’s going to go?”

  His eyes narrowed and he ran his gaze over her body. “Usually to bed.”

  This made her laugh even more. “Right.”

  He locked eyes with her again. “Are you turning me down?”

  “Yes,” she said seriously. “I have no interest in your bed.”

  He stepped closer, almost touching her body. “I’m not called The Punisher for no reason.”

  “Well, baby, then go find yourself someone else to punish,” she said, staring into his eyes.

  “I can fuck any girl here,” he said, staring at her lips.

  She was taken aback at the crude comment. “Then I suggest you better get to work.”

  “I think your stuck-up pussy is just like the rest of them, wet and ready to get fucked.”

  She pulled back her hand and slapped him. Hard. The tingling in her fingers lasted for what seemed like an eternity.

  “I suggest The Punisher learns some respect,” she said through gritted teeth, ignoring the stares they had attracted.

  His look was thunderous, and out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed his bodyguards approaching.

  She turned and walked away without another word. Clare and Danielle followed her wide-eyed.

  “What the hell just happened?” Danielle asked.

  Sam was too worked up to respond. She headed for the exit, needing to get away from the noise and chaos behind her.

  “Are you alright?” Clare asked behind her.

  “Fine. I just want to leave. Is that okay?”

  “Sure,” the girls said in unison and followed her hasty departure.

  Once they left the club, Sam let out a sigh of relief and shook herself. “What a pig.”

  “What was that about?” Danielle asked.

  “That guy was asking me to sleep with him,” Sam responded. It sounded so harmless coming from her, but it had sounded a lot different coming from his lips.

  “I’m sure he said more than that if you slapped him like he was the devil himself,” Clare said, looking concerned.

  “Let’s just forget it. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

  Clare held up her hands. “No problem.”

  “Come on, wanna get some food?” Danielle asked, leading them toward the hotel lobby.

  Even though Sam wasn’t hungry, food would take her mind off what just happened. “Sure, I’m starved.”

  They found a diner and ordered grilled cheese sandwiches and fries. Clare and Danielle di
d their best to talk about all sorts of things, but all Sam could think about was the infuriating guy with his vulgar tongue. Who the hell did he think he was, talking to her like that? The Punisher. What kind of ridiculous nickname was that? And he’d sent his guys to get her. Not even talk to her, but get her, like she was an object to be picked up off the shelf.

  Ugh. What a jerk.

  He was obviously some celebrity full of himself. He could go screw whomever he wanted as long as he stayed the hell away from her. If she’d see him one more time, she’d likely throw a punch instead of a slap to get through to him.

  “Earth to Sam,” Danielle said, waving her hand before Sam’s eyes.

  Sam focused her vision and smiled. “Hey.”

  “Yeah, hey,” Clare replied. “Still shaken up?”

  “No, I’m fine. Sorry. Just thought that if I run into that guy again, he better run in the opposite direction.”

  “If he approaches you again, he’ll have to deal with us,” Danielle said, shoving fries in her mouth.

  Sam took a bite of her sandwich. “Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure she can do more damage with her knee than both of us combined,” Clare said and slurped her coke.

  “I don’t know about that,” Sam shot back, laughing. The girls knew she’d taken self-defense classes before, which to them meant Sam could kick anyone’s butt. Which, of course, she couldn’t. But she could slap the hell out of people.

  “You gotta show me some moves sometime,” Danielle mumbled with a full mouth.

  “She already showed me some,” Clare responded before Sam could. “I’ll show you when we get back to the room.”

  Sam laughed out loud. “That’s not a good idea. You’re going to break something in the room and they have our credit card on file.”

  “So we’ll wait until we get home.”

  They finished their food and sat back relaxed. Sam checked the time. Three-thirty in the morning. “I think I’m ready to call it a night, girls.”

  “Me too,” Danielle said, rubbing her stomach. “This was just what I needed to soak up the booze.”

  Sam had finished her sandwich, but her buzz had worn off a long time ago, thanks to The Punisher. She shook her head in disbelief and willed her mind to stop replaying the scenario over and over again in her mind.

  “Let’s go,” Clare said, pushing back her chair.

  They grabbed their clutches, and after clearing the table, left to go back to their room. After three days in Vegas, Sam was exhausted and ready to go home. She felt like she could sleep an entire day to make up for the partying they’d done.

  “Thanks for a fun last night,” Danielle said, wrapping her arms around the necks of the others. “Had a blast with you bitches.”

  They laughed as they got into the elevator and Clare pushed the button for their floor. Just as the doors were closing, Sam locked eyes with none other than The Punisher, who walked by. He was even more attractive in the light of the hotel lobby than he’d been at the club, she realized annoyed. Figures.

  His brows came down low as he scowled at her and heat rushed to her face, but thankfully the doors closed and she was spared any more dagger-throwing from his direction.

  ***

  Trent wanted to punch the nearest wall. His opponent Sergei Povetkin’s gut would be better, but apparently Trent couldn’t fight for shit anymore. He was finished. He’d lost one of the biggest fights of his career to the Russian, and let down not only his team and Emmanuel, his mentor, but himself. Each time he stepped foot in the ring, it felt like the highlight of his career, the culmination of his life’s work all leading up to that fighting moment. And tonight, it had all come crashing down. Trent had been bested by Povetkin and suffered a major upset in his career.

  He ran a hand over his face and exhaled slowly. The ache in his muscles and bones was nothing compared to the sickening feeling he had in his stomach. He had to throw up. He should have known that the day would come when even he would fall, but he hadn’t expected it to be now. Tonight. At least he hadn’t been knocked out and they’d gone twelve rounds, after which he’d lost by a split decision.

  Emmanuel had been right. Lately, it seemed like Trent’s head wasn’t screwed on right. All the training he’d been doing was for nothing if his mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t sure of his skills, his thoughts, his goals.

  And then he’d set eyes on that little minx at the club and everything had gone to hell all over again.

  Fuck!

  His night couldn’t have gone worse. He’d been humiliated in the ring by some punk who was younger, lighter and less experienced than him, and then at the club, by a goddamn girl. He’d taken enough punches to feel like shit, but being slapped in the middle of the club by her had been the ultimate blow. He’d fought like shit in the ring and then he couldn’t even pick up a chick at the club. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  Girls didn’t turn him down. Who the hell did she think she was? She’d acted like she had smelled the loss on him, as though it had latched itself onto his back like a dark shadow and wouldn’t let go. She’d sensed the desperation in him and laughed in his face.

  Instead of finding someone else to replace her, he’d decided to go back to his room solo. The last thing he needed was to imagine her face while fucking someone else.

  He ran his hands over his head and cracked his neck. The elevator stopped at the top floor and he got out, followed by his posse. They talked amongst themselves and kept their distance. They knew better than to bother him now.

  Back in the suite, he headed straight for his room and slammed the door behind him. Even though he’d been inspected by the physician after the fight and assured that everything was working as it should, he was bruised and sore. He collapsed exhausted onto the bed and buried his face in the pillows.

  Fragments of the fight popped into his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep them away, but no luck. Povetkin had been all over the place, jumping like a fucking kangaroo in order to dodge Trent’s punches, instead of standing in the middle of the ring and fighting it out. What a pussy. And the lucky punches he’d gotten in, had taken Trent off-guard, scoring big points on Povetkin’s scorecard.

  “Damn it to hell!”

  Trent had rushed out of the ring as soon as the winner was called. He never stuck around for interviews when he won, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around to answer questions about what he thought he’d done wrong during the fight. That was the dumbest thing ever. Who ever heard of the loser wanting to be interviewed?

  What a fucking night. It couldn’t have gone worse.

  The girl’s face popped into his head and he couldn’t shake her no matter how much he tried. She’d looked like any other girl he’d picked up before; skinny, with a nice ass and good tits, long dark hair, hot face. And then she’d opened her mouth and he’d known he made a mistake. She’d slapped him with her words before her hand ever hit his face.

  She’d never heard of him and couldn’t care less who he was. Whatever. But to turn him down? In front of all those people? His hands balled into fists again. To be shot down by her after his loss in the ring….

  He’d expected to at least let out his frustration between her legs, but she’d been too stuck up. He should have figured that she’d play hard to get based on all the other guys she’d turned down at the club. He’d watched her, dancing, laughing, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world, and tempting every guy in the place. He hadn’t expected her to turn him down too. Just what he’d fucking needed to finish the night.

  He growled into the pillow, pulled the covers over his head and shut out the world.

  Chapter 2

  It was a hot, blistering day in Carlsbad, California, and Sam felt her shirt sticking to her while her boss was yelling in her face.

  “I don’t care that you don’t know jack about sports, girlie,” Mr. Alberts said, and resumed his spot behind his desk, “Tony is out an
d we need to get this interview. This is huge news and could put us back in the black again.”

  Sam let out a quiet sigh. Their newspaper was struggling, to say the least, and suddenly they found themselves without a sports writer. That was bad enough, considering they were living in a community full of sports maniacs, but the interview she was supposed to be doing was with none other than Trent Page. The name had sounded familiar at first, but when her boss mentioned The Punisher, she felt as though all blood had drained from her face.

  “Can’t we ask one of the other writers to do it?” she pleaded, knowing that getting an interview from Trent would be impossible.

  Mr. Alberts shook his head, grabbing some papers off his desk. “You’re our best writer, Sam, and we need this interview. We’re barely making ends meet. Getting this article would save us.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Page doesn’t do interviews. Ever. And that was when he was undefeated. Now that he’s suffered his first loss, it would be a miracle to get him to talk. Everyone wants to know what he’s got to say. People will eat his words up. We’d be the most popular paper in Southern California.”

  A heavy feeling settled in the pit of Sam’s stomach, both from the desperate tone in her boss’s voice, as well as from the knowledge that hell would probably freeze over before Trent Page talked to her again.

  “If he’s never talked before, what makes you think he will now?” she asked, trying to think of a way to talk Mr. Alberts out of the idea.

  “He has to! We’re drowning here. We need this interview to get people’s attention again. I don’t care if he wants to talk or not. Make him, Sam! Your job depends on it.”

  Her expression fell at the statement. If she lost her job, she’d be in real trouble. There was no other paper in town she could work for and she wasn’t about to move simply to swap one low-paying job for another one. She supposed she could try to freelance for magazines, but that wasn’t stable and she had rent to pay. She needed a steady income.