Page 40 of The Fighter

I want… everything.

This feels a lot like the beginning of love.

And it is terrifying.

26

ALINA

Going to a sex club with Tomas is reckless. It’s crazy, impulsive, and insane.

And I’m going to do it anyway.

This isn’t the same situation as Simon, I argue, trying to justify my decision. He’s already told you that he isn’t planning on sticking around. As soon as the gym is satisfactorily profitable, he’s going to sell his share. Would it be the worst idea in the world if I went out with him?

No, my body responds, held in thrall to Tomas. It’s not a bad idea. It’s very, very good. My skin tingles from his nearness, and I feel restless and very, very aware of his every movement. I stare at the screen, trying to form the words needed for this email, but my mind is too clouded by desire to focus.

Tomas drains his coffee. “I should go,” he says abruptly. “I should try to get some sleep.”

“Sleep.” I picture our bodies entwined on a bed, and it nearly takes my breath away. “Yes, that’s a good idea.” With difficulty, I push the lust down. “Are you going to be in tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. “No, Ali,” he says, his voice strained. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m going to work remotely on your books. I’m almost done with the clean-up. Once that’s done, I’ll send you some names for trustworthy bookkeepers.”

“Right.” My heart gives an odd thud at his words. He was all in until I gave him the coffee, and now he can’t wait to get out of here. “That’s a good idea. You probably didn’t intend to sign up as the resident bookkeeper when you bought Simon’s share.” Tomas is sending me a message, loud and clear. Whatever is going on between us is about sex and only sex. He’s not interested in intimacy or anything else.

And neither am I.

I watched six YouTube tutorials about how to make a perfect café bombon. I shouldn’t have done it. It was too personal a gesture. Too intimate.

Message received, Signor Aguilar.

I exhale through the inexplicable stab of disappointment. “Now, get out of here. Text me if you need anything.”

He gives me a searching look, one I return with a cheerful smile. “See you on Friday?” he asks. There’s a trace of hesitation in his voice, one I’m unused to hearing.

“Sure.” I can go to sex clubs and have meaningless sex with my business partner. I’m a fighter; I’ve been one all my life. I know how to protect my heart.

Lidya calls me later that night. “Congratulations,” she says. “There’s twelve hundred euros in my bank account thanks to you, and it’s going to pay for my flight to Addis.”

“Thanks for getting me in.” I’m one hundred and forty thousand euros richer as a result of this fight. I owe Lidya many drinks. “I really appreciate it. You didn’t get in trouble, did you?”

“For what?” she asks with a chuckle. “For betting on you? I thought someone might say something, but then your boyfriend bet ten grand on you, and it totally took the heat off me.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. It’s just casual sex.” That we haven’t even really had yet.

“Really?” she asks skeptically. “That’s not what I hear. Samia said, and I quote, ‘He looked at her as if she was the only woman in the world that mattered.’”

My heart does that odd thud again. If only it were true. But it’s not. We’re going to a sex club on Friday. And while I do want to go to Casanova, let’s be clear; this isn’t exactly romantic, first-date material.

“Samia’s looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses,” I reply. “Trust me, it’s casual. If he was looking at me at all, it’s because I made him a hundred and twenty thousand euros.”

But that’s not true. Tomas bet with the gym’s money, and he deposited the winnings into the gym’s bank account.

Why?

If he thought I’d win—and he certainly seemed pretty confident about it—why did he invest the gym’s money instead of his own? Why did he give me the lion’s share of his winnings?

Is there a message here, and if so, what does it mean?

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