The Italian

“You know. The fucking look.”

“There are a lot of looks. I need specifics.”

“Like the I think you’re hot kind of look.”

“That’s a given. All guys give that look. They’re horny fucktards.”

I nod. This is true. “I got home early today, and the gate was being fixed, so I walked up the driveway by myself. When I came in, Sergio came out from upstairs.”

“Who?”

“The fucking guy I just told you about,” I whisper.

“He was inside your house?”

“Yes—said he was checking the shutters or some shit.”

“Okay, so?”

I look around guiltily. “I just came into the en-suite bathroom and the lubricant is out on the side, and my dirty panties are in the basket. I didn’t put them there.”

“Get fucked,” she whispers. “You think you interrupted him jerking off to your panties?”

“I… I don’t know,” I stammer. “Maybe?”

She gasps.

“I know,” I whisper.

“Oh, I know this is appalling for you, but that’s so fucking hot. Send him my way, I do love a kinky man.”

“What?” I whisper. “That’s not fucking hot, Natalie, that’s creepy.”

“How do you smell?” she asks. “I hope they smell good. Sniff them and see.”

I burst out laughing. “Will you be serious for one minute, please?” I look around again. “And, of course I smell good… I hope.”

“I’m sure Mr. Ferrara will love the thought of his staff sniffing your vag.”

I put my head into my hands and laugh. This really does sound ridiculous.

“Maybe I got it wrong.” I frown.

“Enrico could have put them there,” she offers as an explanation.

“I guess.”

“It is random.” she adds.

“It is random, isn’t it?”

“Completely.”

I drag my hand down my face. My imagination is running wild. “Okay, I’m going to go work out and do something useful.”

“Wash your undies.”

I laugh. “Yeah, that too. Bye. Call me if you get the job.”