Page 13 of My Italian Roommate

* * *

The red carpetleading to the ballroom is lined with the same photographers that have been following us since the circuit began. I wonder if they ever get tired of seeing the same faces everywhere they go. Mallory winces a bit when she sees them. I can see that I have my work cut out for me if I expect her to keep coming out in public with me.

“See, I told you that you’d be the most beautiful girl here,” I tell her. “They can’t keep their eyes off you.”

“It’s you. You’re the celebrity, not me.”

We enter the room and Tony greets us at the door, “Hey, here’s the man of the hour.”

“This party isn’t for me, Tony. It's for the sponsors.”

“You remember that. I don’t need you boozing it up all night. They forget that you boys have to race again tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow afternoon? So soon?” Mallory asks.

“If they wait too long between races, people will lose interest. That’s not good for ticket sales,” Tony tells her.

“I promise we won’t stay long. You know doing these things is part of my contract,” I tell him and begin escorting Mallory toward our table.

I pull out Mallory’s chair but she sighs loudly and turns to face me. I look over her shoulder and see that Dylan McGee is headed our way.

“Sit down, princess. I’ll take care of him,” I tell her.

“You taking care of him is what I’m worried about,” she whispers.

I kiss her forehead, look down at her, and say, “Sit, baby girl. If I wanted to hurt him, you couldn’t stop me by standing between us.”

“You shot out so quick I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you on the track,” Dylan says, holding his hand out to me. I reach out to shake it and he pulls it back. So, this is how he wants to play. Fucking childish.

“What happened out there, Dylan? That was the easiest run I think I’ve ever had. The competition is usually stiffer than this.”

“Sometimes a guy like you gets lucky,” he shrugs.

I want nothing more than to wipe the smirk off his face. Maybe even rearrange it a little bit.

“I don’t believe in luck, Dylan. Maybe you shouldn’t either.”

“I see you brought a guest again. Oh, it’s the same girl. Most of us don’t hang on to a local. We like a little variety.”

“Where’s your date?”

“Why? You want to compare?” he grins in Mallory’s direction.

“There is no comparison. I know you’re jealous. I just thought it would be fun to see just how jealous.”

“True, your girl is a beauty. What is she doing with you?”

“Me? You mean the guy who kicked your ass in the semi-finals? The one that’s gonna leave you in my dust when I win the championship tomorrow? No idea why she’d pick a winner over the guy who keeps coming in second. You know, the first loser?”

“I don’t think pretty girls really care about who wins the races. It’s more about what you have in your wallet and your pants. What’s in yours?”

“Plenty in both, and tomorrow, I’ll be adding the winner’s purse to my wallet.”

Dylan slides a step closer to me so I raise my shoulders and clench my fists. We may be the same height and almost the same build, but he has nothing on me in a fistfight. Boy’s all bark and no bite.

“I think it’s time for you to go back to your table, Dylan,” I tell him.

“But the music is playing and the dance floor is wide open. I thought your girl might want to take a spin across the floor with me.”

---