Page 1 of My Italian Roommate

1

MY ITALIAN ROOMMATE

MARIO

“Fucking finally.Grazie, mio amico.”

The key turns in the lock, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, a quiet night’s sleep in a secret location. Between the paparazzi and my crazy female fans, I spend more time watching the crack under the hotel room door than actually sleeping. Which is why I often end up pissed off and exhausted the next morning.

When I told my manager that I never knew Formula One racing was this popular with American women, he said my car wasn’t what these girls wanted to ride on. Of fucking course. He said guys who look like me always attract women and some of them are bound to be wild. Yeah, right. Wild women are not my type. I don’t even know if I have a type. They’re a distraction, and I can’t afford distractions. I just need to rest and sleep. How hard is it to leave me alone for a few hours?

Since my manager was no help, I reached out to my college buddy, Steve, who owns a couple of rentals here. He didn’t have any vacancies, but he did have a tenant who was going to be out of town on vacation this week. Since that tenant was his sister, he didn’t think she’d mind me staying here while she was away.

Once inside, I find the bedroom and toss my duffle bag on the white chair in the corner. The brass lamp on the table beside it is on. Figure she left a few lights on so burglars wouldn’t know the place was empty. Good thinking. I’d probably do the same.

A hot shower is the first thing on my agenda. Spending all day on a dirty track smelling of gasoline and burning rubber makes it impossible to sleep without cleaning up first. I undress and pop in my waterproof earbuds. A little low-fi music helps me relax before bed. Shuts every other noise out.

I find it a bit strange that the bathroom light is on, but maybe she left in a hurry and forgot to turn it off. I shrug it off because I’m way too exhausted to think right now.

When I open the shower curtain, my heart leaps out of my chest and my blood freezes solid. There’s a woman inside.Merda!I’m standing here naked, face to face with a wet, naked woman. A track groupie? How the hell did she find me here? Did she bribe Steve and he gave her a key? No, he wouldn’t do that to me.

Fuck it all to hell.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I grit out as I do my best to cover my junk with my hands.

“What the hell? Who are you?” she screams so loud my earbuds don’t protect me. They did prevent me from hearing the running water, though. Shit.

She throws a towel at my head, but I’m so stricken by seeing her slippery, full breasts that it whizzes right by me and I don’t even flinch. I’m arrested by her sight. She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on, and she’s acting like I’m the one who isn’t supposed to be here. Ah, whatever. As long as I get to continue staring at this beauty.

She reaches for another towel to cover herself but not quickly enough to prevent me from committing every inch of her sweet body to memory. Her ample breasts and full ass are almost more than I can take but the best part has got to be her face. She looks like a little angel with big, blue eyes and pouty pink lips. Her flawless, pale complexion is interrupted only by the rising redness in her cheeks.

Forgetting my nudeness, I move my hands away from my crotch to remove my earbuds. She looks down at my growing erection, eyes widening, and shouts, “Cover yourself, please.”

I won’t be able to hide this thing behind my hands much longer. The more I look, the stiffer I get. Her presence shocks me…down to the marrow of my bones. I should be angry that someone invaded my space, my private time. But…fuck it, I’m not. She can disturb me all she wants.

Something in my core tells me she’s more than just a great body and a perfect face. My brain is probably fried and short-circuiting because I’m assaulted by visions of her body writhing under me, her becoming my wife, her stomach stretched taut with our baby, her beside me…forever.

Jesus Christ. What’s wrong with me? There’s no way I could know something like that, but the more I think about it, the more obsessive the thoughts become. I could pick up the towel she hurled at me but that would mean taking my eyes off her, which isn’t something I’m willing to do.

“My brother told me he wasn’t going to let people stay here anymore,” she grunts as she steps out onto the tile floor.

Her brother? Fuck, she’s Steve’s little sister, the tenant that’s supposed to be out of town. Now that she’s said it, I can see the resemblance. Steve has a real Scandinavian look that made all the girls swoon in college. This girl has the same thing going on but she looks a whole lot younger. I’m betting there’s a solid fifteen-year difference between us. Maybe more.

“Do you speak?” she asks as she moves past me. She’s so close I imagine wrapping my arms around her and pulling her against my swollen cock. My mind races with the endless ways I could take her right here on the slick, cold tile floor.

“Yes, sweetheart.” Sweetheart? Where the hell did that come from? I don’t talk like this. “I’m Mario. Steve and I went to school together. He said I could stay here since you were supposed to be on vacation.”

She stops in her tracks, breathing hard, and turns back to face me. Her wet, blonde hair flips as she does. “You went to school with Steve? Where are you from?”

I guess my accent caught her attention, and she’s finding my back story suspicious, but I still can’t stop myself from tracing the droplets of water that run from her hair and moisten her cleavage with my eyes. “I was born in Italy. I came here for school and to race.”

“Race? What kind of race?” she asks as she pulls clothes from her dresser. It saddens me to think she’ll be dressed soon. This naked version of her will always be my favorite from now on.

“Cars. I race cars. That’s why Steve was letting me stay here. Things got a bit crazy at my hotel, and I was just looking for somewhere quiet to lay my head.”

“Crazy how?” she probes.

“Photographers, fans. You know how it goes,” I reply.

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