13. Alina
13
ALINA
I slam the door shut on Tomas, furious about his ultimatum. Then I turn around and see it.
My vibrator.
Sitting there in all its penis-shaped glory, right on the nightstand, in full view of the front door.
Where Tomas undoubtedly saw it.
Kill me.
Kill me now.
Because I can never look at my annoying, aggravating, irritating-as-all-hell partner’s face again.
In the shower, I plot my next move. The moment I’m dressed, I call my friend Lidya in Milan. “I need to make money, fast,” I tell her. Lidya Kaleb is, like me, a fellow MMA gym owner, but that’s where the similarities end. Lidya has four times as many members as I do, and she owns her business outright. No infuriating partners to deal with. “Give me some ideas.”
“How much money?”
“A million euros.”
“A million euros?” she repeats, her voice rising in disbelief. “Are you in trouble?”
“No, it’s to buy out my partner.”
“Oh, good, you’re finally getting rid of Simon. I almost punched him in the face at the awards dinner. He did not teach you everything you know, my God.”
“It’s not Simon I need to get rid of. He’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“He ran afoul of someone in the mafia, so he upped and left in a hurry. But because this is Simon, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to fuck me over one last time, he sold his share of the gym to some random guy who also works for the mafia.” Also, I masturbated thinking of that random guy, had a sex dream about him, woke up, made myself come again, and then he knocked on the door.
“What? Ali, it’s six in the morning, and I haven’t even had my second cup of coffee. You can’t spring this on me without warning. Go back to the start, slow down, and tell me everything.”
I fill her in as I drink my own coffee, leaving nothing out. Tomas and his lawyer walking into the gym last week, Jon’s opinion of the contract, Marcelo’s sudden willingness to finish the job he’s been neglecting. The two hundred thousand euros in my bank account—money that gives me the freedom to hire instructors and upgrade the facilities. I finish with my inconvenient attraction. “I’m in serious lust,” I admit reluctantly. “I need him out. He has to go.”
“He sounds like a perfect partner,” Lidya points out. “He can deal with the numbers while you focus on teaching. If you have the hots for him, why don’t you just bang it out?”
“No,” I say at once.
“Why not?” my friend demands. “Is he married?”
“No, he’s single.”
“Are you opposed to casual sex?”
I exhale in a long breath. “I’m opposed to sex with a business partner, Lidya. That’s how I got stuck with Simon, remember?” Yes, annoying bossiness and mafia connections aside, Tomas seems perfect. But the moment I start to believe that, everything will go to hell. The only person I can trust is myself. “So, any money-making ideas?”
“Hmm. According to this romance I’m reading, you could auction off your virginity to the highest bidder.”
And people think I go off on conversational tangents. “First, that ship has sailed. Second, what the hell are you reading? Virginity auction, really? The very concept of virginity is a tool of the patriarchy, a way to repress women’s sexual desires.”
“I agree,” Lidya replies. “But that’s not what romance novels are doing. They’re tapping into the underlying fantasy of your first time being amazing. How was yours?”
“Adequate.” I didn’t have an orgasm—I don’t think Dino even knew what a clitoris was, let alone how to locate it. Mostly, I remember wishing he’d hurry up already and finish.
“Mine was… underwhelming. Romance novels offer you a chance to remake that experience into one that’s better. I wrote an entire PhD thesis about it. But back to the point. It’s not anything close to a million euros, but there’s a fight this weekend in Milan.”
“A fight?”
“Underground cage fighting.”
I make a face. “Don’t those pay next to nothing? A guy from my gym in Rome used to do them, and he said the money didn’t even cover the doctor’s bill.”
“Not this one. Ciro Del Barba runs it. According to the rumors, he controls Milan’s underworld. There’ll be illegal gambling, but the fighting itself is legit. Five hundred euros to show, twenty thousand if you win. Four rounds, one right after another, and it’ll be live-streamed.”
“Are you doing it?”
“Not this weekend. I have to go to Addis for my grandmother’s birthday next week, and my mother will lose her mind if I show up at the party with a black eye. But I’ve done it before, and I can get you in.”
“What’s the competition like? Do I have a shot at winning?”
“You better win; I’m planning to place a hundred euro wager on you.”
Five hundred isn’t much. Twenty thousand doesn’t seem like a lot either, not when I’m trying to raise a million euros.
But it’s a start.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”