Page 26 of The Fighter

He steps into the room. Gets naked. All of his glorious muscles come into view, but I don’t have eyes for them. My gaze locks on his cock, and he is huge.

I fantasize about him tying my wrists to the headboard so I can’t move, and I shudder my way to my first orgasm. I picture him fisting his cock, raising one eyebrow, and asking me if I’m sure I can handle his length, and I come a second time.

I imagine him yanking the dildo out of my sopping wet cunt. “You’re going to scream when I fuck you,” he says calmly. “And we can’t have you waking up the entire neighborhood, can we?” Then he pushes the dildo into my mouth and thrusts into me in one hard, brutal stroke.

And I scream and shiver my way into a third orgasm.

But though my cunt is puffy and swollen, and my clit is too sensitive to touch, I don’t feel sated. Tonight, my trusty vibrator cannot give me the release I need. Tonight, only the real thing will do.

It’s not the worst thing in the world if I sleep with him.

Is it?

Enough. I toss the vibrator aside and give myself a stern talking-to. Of course it’s a terrible idea to sleep with Tomas. I want to buy him out, and I’m assuming he wants to get the gym back on its feet as quickly as possible so he can sell his stake to the highest bidder and move on.

He doesn’t care about me; he just doesn’t want me to burn out because if I do, that’ll interfere with his ability to make a profit on his purchase. Bringing me a smoothie maker, getting Marcelo to finish the job, arranging for a cleaning crew in the middle of the night—these are things a partner should do. If I’m impressed, it’s only because Simon set the bar so low.

It’s a good thing Tomas is going to work remotely for a while. Some time away from him is exactly what I need to get my head screwed on straight.

Sergio isn’t the first member to arrive at the gym on Saturday morning; Luke Barnes beats him to it. Luke is Canadian, a big, strong guy in his forties. He’s not chatty and almost never volunteers information about himself. But I like him a lot. There’s something about his presence—he just exudes zen. It’s calming to be around him.

“Good morning, Ali,” he says, holding out a plain unmarked envelope. “Someone left this for you.”

“That sounds very mysterious.”

He laughs. “It’s probably another petition to limit tourists on the island. Hey, can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure.” I set the envelope on the counter and turn to Luke. “What is it?”

“I’d like to work here,” he says. “Are you looking for instructors?”

Tomas pretty much ordered me to bring on a couple of instructors. I want to turn Luke down just to spite my bossy partner, but I need help. Rather desperately. I haven’t taken a vacation in the last two years. I can’t remember when I had two days off in a row.

“Have you ever taught before?”

He has. He lists his qualifications, and they are impressive. When he’s done, I just stare at him, my mouth open. “You’ve been a member of the gym practically since we opened. Why have you never said anything?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t want to work here when Simon was involved,” he says matter-of-factly. “It was all I could do to keep from punching him in the face. But now that he’s gone…” His voice trails off. “I don’t know if you’re looking…?”

“I am. Definitely.” I smile at him, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “Let’s talk salary. Also, how soon can you start?”

The gym is busier than usual, and it isn’t until almost noon that I remember the envelope Luke handed me. I sit down at the front desk with a smoothie and tear it open. If it’s a petition to ban Airbnb rentals, then I’m all for it. The building to the right of me has five apartments in it that are always listed on the platform. It’s also one of the few places that allows pets. Which isn’t bad in itself—I like animals. But pet owners who don’t clean up after their animals are the worst, and all of them seem to rent from Ricardo.

But when I unfold the piece of paper, a photo falls out. I pick it up and freeze. It’s of a young couple, both dressed in ripped jeans and plaid shirts. The man, I don’t recognize.

But the woman?

It’s my mother.

With shaking fingers, I pick up the paper and read the letter.

My dearest Alina,

I’ve started writing this letter a hundred times, but I never know what to say, how to introduce myself, and how to tell you that I’m your father.

My name is Vidone Laurenti. Twenty-eight years ago, I met your mother, Teresa, on the beach in San Vito Lo Capo, and I fell in love.

Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me. We were together for two years, two of the happiest years of my life. But then, one day, she disappeared.

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