32. Alina
32
ALINA
I wake up in a strange bed, and three things dawn on me.
I’m completely naked.
There’s a man sleeping next to me, wearing a pair of briefs and nothing else.
It feels like something crawled into my mouth and died.
I’m a second away from full-on-panic when I realize that the man in my bed is Tomas. Then, pieces of yesterday evening slowly start coming back. My mouth tastes like some kind of dead animal because I drank too much wine, and then I?—
I threw up on Tomas’s expensive, handmade shoes.
Oh. God. Kill me now.
I bolt out of bed—naked—and rush to the bathroom. I open cabinets until I find a toothbrush still in its packaging. I brush my teeth vigorously and take a shower for good measure, scrubbing imaginary flecks of dried vomit off my hair and body. Ugh. It’s been a long time since I’ve been drunk to the point of throwing up, not since my twenty-first birthday. I only remember drinking two, maybe three glasses of wine last night, and it shouldn’t have hit me that badly, but it clearly did.
Ugh, ugh, ugh.
Did I text Tomas? No, I think I called him. A fragment of memory swims to the forefront. Did I call him hot? I’m pretty sure I did. I also draped my arms around his neck and drunkenly tried to shove my tongue down his throat. Another memory returns. He didn’t want to kiss me, so I took off my clothes to seduce him. And when he started backing away, I burst into tears and demanded he sleep right next to me.
I groan out loud and cover my face with my hands. Running away from Venice has never seemed like a better idea. Or I could stay in the shower forever.
Unfortunately, the hot water starts to run out. I step out of the shower when it turns cold enough to be uncomfortable, dry myself off, and then realize that in my frenzy to cleanse the evidence of last night’s sins off my body, I have no clothes to wear. With a sigh, I wrap my towel around me and tiptoe out of the bathroom. Perhaps if I’m really quiet…
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?”