18. Tomas
18
TOMAS
I like sex as much as the next man. When a woman I’m wildly attracted to invites me to bed, you know what I should say?
Yes.
Instead, I turned her down. What the hell was that about? Two hours later, I’m still cursing myself for that boneheaded move. She was available and willing, and so was I. It was too late to want to keep things professional between us. The moment I entered the ring, I knew it. There was no way to fight Alina and keep the sexual attraction at bay. None at all.
So why the hell did I turn her down?
Because I’m an idiot. That’s why.
But when she said she was going to regret inviting me to her bed in the morning, something inside me had balked. A sour taste filled my mouth when I imagined waking up next to Alina and watching the sleep in her eyes be replaced by awareness and horror.
That’s not what I want. Not at all.
Spend the night? Waking up next to her? What the fuck? Since when do you do those things?
Maybe it’s a good thing that I turned her down and got the hell out of the gym.
Working remotely on Alina’s books is a smart thing.
It would be an even better idea to hire Luigi to fix the books and wash my hands off the gym completely.
But as much as I should make that call, I find that I can’t do it. I don’t want to.
I wasn’t planning on heading to Milan again. But the restlessness is back and stronger than ever. At ten at night on Saturday, I find myself pulling into the same warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
It’s significantly more crowded tonight than it was on Thursday. “What’s going on?” I ask Renzo when I make it inside.
“The women fight tonight,” he replies. “You forgot? Those repeated blows to the head taking its toll?” He grins. “That’ll make the boss happy. He’s still bitter about some investment opportunity you stole from him.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t steal it—del Barba could have invested too. He chose not to.”
Renzo laughs and holds up his hands. “I’m not getting involved in this pissing match.” He gestures to the staircase. “Don’t bother making your way through the crowds—just go on up. The first fight is going to start any minute now.”
I didn’t come here to attend another of Ciro del Barba’s parties. I came for a fight, and it looks like I’m not getting one. And I don’t want to watch the women in the ring. It’ll remind me too much of Alina.
I’m about to turn around and head out when the bell rings. The first two contestants enter the ring to shouts and applause. Zarina Simonini bounds out onto the octagon, as does her opponent.
Alina.
The woman who’s taken up center stage in my fantasies. The woman I’ve been trying to get out of my mind for the last twenty-four hours. No, longer. From the moment I first set eyes on her, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Alina. Her face haunts my dreams, and her touch lingers on my skin like a brand.
She’s cast a spell on me.
I drove three hours to escape her, and here she is. In a country of fifty-eight million people, I’m drawn to Alina like a magnet.
It’s as if fate is willing us together, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Shrugging my shoulders, I head up the stairs to find a vantage point to watch Alina Zuccaro fight.