Page 50 of Married with Mayhem

Monte left the card key on the dresser beside the ice bucket. I grab them both and exit as silently as possible. The hallway is empty and bathed in yellowish light. Faint noises from other guests echo from nearby rooms. A woman’s laughter. The whir of a hairdryer. A blaring television tuned into the latest depressing news.

My Pacman flip flops land softly on the cheap green carpet but I take pains to be extra silent when I pass Monte’s door. Our rooms are at the very end of the long hallway and the ice machine is just ahead, located in an alcove at the midway point between here and the elevator. This will take no time at all.

There’s still no one around as I fill the bucket halfway. The card key to my room stays in my other hand. Or is it the card key to Monte’s room? Suddenly, I’m not sure. There were actually two card keys left on the table. There’s a fifty percent chance I’ll need to return through Monte’s room.

While I’m still considering how I feel about the possibility of walking into Monte’s room and finding him sleeping naked atop the covers (because it’s my fantasy and I’ll picture whatever I like), I step out of the ice machine alcove and receive a dreadful shock.

Monte is leaning against the nearest wall and wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue gym shorts. A gun idly dangles from his right hand. His black hair is adorably messy, he stillhasn’t shaved since we left New York and his eyes rake me over from head to toe.

“What the hell are you doing?” he says in a tone I don’t especially care for.

I hold up the bucket. “I’m stealing the Impala and drag racing through Terra Haute. What does it look like?”

He grunts and surveys the hallway. “I told you to stay in the room.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance Lenny Lombardo and the mafia will find me here.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t talk about that.”

“Mafia!” I call, then yell it louder down the hall. “MAFIA! See? Nothing.”

“You can be such a brat,” he mutters with a shake of his head.

“Occasionally,” I admit with my eyes lingering on his absurdly broad shoulders. He’s still wearing his gold cross and Italian horn. Perhaps he never takes them off, not even in the shower. “Anyway, why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I got up to take a piss. The light in your room was on but there was no answer when I knocked because you decided to go on a field trip.”

“Dramatic much? I’m just getting some ice.”

“I would have gotten you ice.”

“Monte.” I grit my teeth together, irritation now overcoming fascination with his bare chest. “If I want to be treated like an infant then I’ll go back to Sicily. I wanted ice. I got ice. The end.”

His jaw ticks and his eyes flash but then he sighs. “You’re right.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I thought it might be a sugar hallucination. Say it again.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “You’re right, Gamer Girl. You’re allowed to get as much ice as you want.”

“Cool. I win.”

“You win,” he agrees with a hint of a smile.

“Now can you put that thing away?” I ask, gesturing in his general direction.

He takes a pointed look at his crotch. “Not easily. It’s kind of attached.”

“Funny,” I mutter, although now I’m looking at his crotch too. To be fair, I’ve already glanced in that region a couple of times within the last minute.

He plucks the bucket from my hands, dumps his gun on top of the ice and motions for me to start moving. He walks directly behind me, as if he doubts that I can be trusted to return to my room.

“Nice shirt,” he says.

Oops.I forgot I was prancing around in his property. What a desperate look. My cheeks heat up.

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