Page 7 of My Italian Roommate

Mario returns to the kitchen and holds up his hands, but I notice a muscle tic in his jaw. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. First of all, you’re my friend and I appreciate your help but don’t talk to your sister like she’s nothing. It’s your fault we’re stuck in this situation and you come here accusing her of things like she’s not an adult. Besides, your place is too far from the track for me, Steve. That’s why you offered me this place, to begin with, remember? Calling her a groupie is a low blow. If Mallory is willing to let me stay, I’d like to stay.”

“I’m not comfortable with this at all but she is an adult. I can’t stop either of you from doing what you want. I need to get to work. I’ll talk to you later,” Steve shakes his head and barrels out the door.

After it closes, Mario pins me with a look. “You shouldn’t have come out here. I told him that I only had time for a quick cup of coffee and I was gonna walk him out.”

“I wasn’t thinking, but what difference does it make? I am an adult and I can open my home up to anyone that I want.”

“He’s my friend and you’re his sister. I didn’t want to make any waves just yet.”

“Yet?” His choice of words piques my interest.

“Well, I thought we should figure out where this is going before we start advertising. Now, I really do need to go. My manager is gonna lose his mind if I’m late.”

“Me, too. I have a class.”

He puts his arm around my waist and walks me to my car. I open the door and turn to say goodbye. The words get stuck in my throat as he pushes me against the car and kisses me again. We’re both panting when he finally steps back.

“I’ll see you tonight, right?” he asks me.

“I’ll be here,” I reply.

My mind races as I take the long drive down the freeway. What would have happened if Steve hadn’t knocked on the door? How far would things have gone? He said it himself, he likes to go fast. Did he mean just on the race track or in the bedroom, too? I don’t know where this thing is going, but until I see him again, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else.

5

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE RACE

MARIO

“Where was your head today, Mario?” my manager wipes his hands on a blue rag and then tosses it into the pit.

“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I guess I was off my game. Tomorrow will be better,” I tell him.

“Tomorrow is the race, you fool. You better be back on your game or Dylan McGee will win and you’ll be dead last. No parties or girls tonight. You need to get some rest.”

“You know me better than that.”

“Yeah, you’re a good guy. I don’t know what’s come over you. I thought your friend fixed the sleeping situation for you.”

“He did. I promise. We’re gonna win tomorrow.”

I leave the track and stop off for some takeout on the way back to Mallory’s. Buying her dinner is the least I can do to thank her for not tossing me out in the street. I chuckle as I think, “I hope she likes Italian.”

I arrive at the door and almost put the key in the lock when I think better of it and knock instead. It’s kind of intrusive to just let myself in now that I know the owner is there, right? I wait, but Mallory doesn’t come to the door so I knock again. The lights are on but she still doesn’t come to the door so I change my mind and use the key after all.

“Mallory? Are you here?” I call out but she doesn’t answer so I set the food down in the kitchen and walk to the bedroom.

The bathroom door is open and the shower is running. I sit down on the bed and gaze at the outline of her body through the shower curtain. That’s all it takes for that old familiar twitch in my groin to return. I can’t help but imagine how good it feels to come home to this every day. The water shuts off, and I hop up and rush back to the kitchen. I pause for a few seconds then call out again, “Mallory? Are you home? I knocked but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m here. I just got out of the shower. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I hope you didn’t eat yet. I brought some dinner.”

“That’s great. I’ll be right out.”

I set the take-out trays on the counter and turn my back to get the silverware from the drawer. When I turn back, I see her standing in front of me wearing a crop top and tiny daisy duke shorts. Her wet hair is pulled back in a ponytail, making her look like a bright-eyed teenager. Holy shit, she’s gorgeous.

“You look beautiful,” the words fall from my lips before I can stop them.

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