Full Contact (Worth the Fight #2) - Sidney Halston Page 0,108

from touching him. He hated when people touched his scar. He was now completely annoyed. He dug into his pocket, slapped some money on the bar, and without so much as a single word to the ladies walked out.

The Florida heat immediately wafted over him, but it was something he was used to. He’d been born and raised in Miami. Heat, humidity, and mosquitoes were the norm for him, so the fact that it was even hotter outside than it was in the club was no surprise. His gray button-down shirt stuck to him, and he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows as he walked to his car. His rib cage was starting to ache, but he was still too pumped with energy to bother with it.

Losing the fight had really gotten to him, and Francesca had done nothing to comfort him. In fact, she’d just added salt to the wounds. She was too opinionated. She loved to remind him what a fuck-up he was. And she was always on her high moral horse making sure he wasn’t out having fun. She needed someone to remove that stick up her ass. Maybe if she had a little fun herself, she’d loosen the reins a little.

She never had anything positive to say when it came to him. He was tired of it. She called him out on anything that didn’t work with her master plan to make him a prized fighter, and he was sick of it. He hadn’t allowed his own father to treat him like a workhorse—he would be damned if he’d let her do it. What was her problem?

To add insult to injury, she refused to go out with him.

Thirty minutes later, he was back in Tarpon Springs and parked in front of Francesca’s house. It was time he gave her a piece of his mind. She was the owner of the gym, but she wasn’t his mother. If he wanted to drink, then he would. So long as he trained and won the next fight, who the fuck was she to dictate what he did in his personal life? Especially since she didn’t want anything to do with his personal life.

Tony slammed the door to his car, marched up to her front door, and knocked. Nothing happened, so he knocked again, harder this time. When she didn’t answer, he pulled out his phone and called her. Again, nothing. It was well past midnight; her car was parked in the driveway, and through the window he could see her lights were on.

He should have left.

He should have…but he didn’t.

Instead, he walked around her house to the yard. The longer it took him to find her, the angrier he became. Maybe she was on a date. Maybe there was a man inside the house. He didn’t care either way—he was prepared to go toe to toe with the hellion, and he would definitely give her a piece of his mind.

But then he saw red hair hanging from a lawn chair a few feet from the pool. As he approached her, he discovered an open magazine over her chest and a glass of wine on the small table next to her. She had fallen asleep still wearing her inappropriate work clothes: a form-fitting business suit. Her high heels sat neatly on the floor next to her. He had half expected her to open the door wearing her pajamas, but, of course, God forbid she should ever have a hair out of place. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. He knelt next to her.

“Francesca, wake up.” No response.

“Francesca.” He tapped her on the shoulder and nothing. He couldn’t very well leave her outside.

Slightly annoyed by the situation, he gently scooped her up and stood. He was sure she would wake and kick him in the balls for touching her. For a brief moment he contemplated tossing her in the pool just as payback for being so judgmental and mean after the fight. As if she’d heard his thoughts, she simply nestled closer to him, and any thoughts about retribution quickly subsided. Carefully he opened the sliding door. He walked inside and down a hall to the first room he found.

He laid her gently on the bed, but as soon as her body made contact with the mattress she started and instinctively jumped up off the bed in one quick movement. “What the hell?” Her eyes were wide and she was standing in a way that reminded him