Page 50 of The Fighter

Nope.

The instant I take a step into the bedroom, Tomas opens his eyes. He looks at me steadily for a moment, and then a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. His expression turns positively wicked. “Going somewhere, Ali? You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?”

“I absolutely was.” I take a deep breath to apologize and feel my towel start to come loose. I grab it with a white-knuckled grip. “Can we just pretend last night didn’t happen?”

He chuckles, the sound smooth and rich, like a fine aged whiskey. Which I’m never going to drink because alcohol is never passing through my lips again. “You want me to forget that you told me you want to sexy-wrestle with me?”

“I didn’t say that.” Oh shit, I did. You are a colossal idiot, Ali. More memories return from last night. Tomas holding my hair back while I retched into the toilet. Sitting next to me on the bed and feeding me spoonfuls of hot broth, wrapping his arm around me and holding me tight. “I am never drinking again. Ever. From now on, it’s kale smoothies for me.”

His eyes laugh at me for a moment, and then he props himself up on one elbow, his expression turning serious. “How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly good,” I reply ruefully. “No headache, no hangover. I guess the universe decided that last night was embarrassing enough.” I give him a sheepish smile. “Thank you for taking care of me, and I’m really sorry I threw up on your shoes.”

He waves away my gratitude. “You said you had pizza with a friend. Who?”

“Gemma. She’s a new member.” Actually, now that I think about it, I can’t remember if Gemma filled out the paperwork. I handed her a clipboard, but did we leave for pizza before she completed it? “She lives in Castello.”

“How much wine did you drink?”

“Gemma ordered a carafe of vino sfuso,” I say, frowning as I try to remember the specifics. “It was three-quarters of a liter, I think. She kept refilling my glass before it was empty, but even so, I couldn’t have drunk more than three glasses. It just hit me harder than usual.” I look at his face. “What?”

“When did you start feeling off?”

Is Tomas annoyed he had to take care of me? I don’t blame him. He’s acting a little strange, and I don’t know what’s going through his mind. I wish he’d just tell me.

“When it was time to leave. I stood up, and I was all woozy. Gemma offered to walk me home, but I shooed her off. Then I sat down on a bench…” My voice trails off. Did something else happen? I can’t shake the nagging sensation that I’m forgetting something else. But as much as I try to remember what it was, the fog doesn’t clear. My memory is happy to offer up every mortifying thing I said or did to Tomas, but it’s pretty blank on everything else. “I think I texted you after that. And then I woke up here.” Shit. Judging by the daylight flooding into the room, it’s mid-morning. “The gym,” I blurt out. “I wasn’t there to open.”

“Your priorities might be slightly skewed, dolcezza. Relax, I took care of it. Omar opened the gym this morning. He’ll be there all day. As for your classes, your pretty boy instructor is going to cover them.”

“His name is Luke,” I reply on autopilot. Who’s Omar? Not important now. I swallow and shuffle my feet. “Thank you for taking care of me,” I say awkwardly. “And for putting up with Drunk Ali.” We were supposed to go to Casanova tonight, but I’m guessing Tomas isn’t going to want to. He’s not even looking at me—his attention seems to be fixed on the ceiling. After last night, I’m sure any sexual attraction he was feeling toward me is pretty much dead. “You were very kind. If you could help me find my clothes, I’ll get out of here.”

“What’s the hurry?” He flashes me that smile again, the one that ignites a fire deep in my core. “You made a lot of promises last night, dolcezza. You’re not going to stick around to fulfill them?”

He’s being kind again, pretending he still wants me. But I know better. “Tomas, it’s really nice of you, but you don’t have to do this. You can’t even look at me. I’m going to get dressed and?—”

“I’m trying hard not to look at you,” he interrupts harshly. “Because if I do, Ali, I’m going to want to yank that towel down. I’m going to want to press you against the wall, spread your legs and lick you until you’re begging me to come. If I keep staring at the sight of you, dressed in a towel and nothing else, any bit of self-control I have is going to snap. I’m going to wrestle you to the ground and fuck you hard. That’s why I can’t look at you, dolcezza. Because I want you too damn much.”

The sheet has fallen off his body during this impassioned speech. I stare at the hard bulge of his erection, and my mouth goes dry with need.

I don’t want to wait until tonight.

I can’t wait another moment.

I’m burning up inside.

I’ve been burning up inside from the day Tomas first came to my gym in his bespoke suit and handmade loafers, looking like the walking, talking embodiment of sex.

“Do it,” I whisper, easing my death grip on the towel and letting it fall to the floor. “Fuck me hard.” I take a step closer and tilt my head up. “Please?”

33

TOMAS

She doesn’t remember the men trying to abduct her. I should tell her the truth, and I will. But not now. I’m not proud of myself, but when Ali drops her towel, every good intention of mine goes flying out the window. I’ve fantasized about this moment for a very long time. And now that she’s naked, I’m not strong enough to resist.

She was drugged last night, asshole, my conscience says.

“How are you feeling?” I ask again. “Given what happened last night, it’s probably not the best idea for us to?—”

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