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“Go in the bathroom. I’ll get rid of him.”

I decide I need to be fortified by wine for this, so I pluck the glass off the coffee table.

“Coming!” Mason calls out.

I go into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, making sure to lock it. With my luck, Jacques would probably decide this is a great time to pee or something.

I lean against the counter and take a big sip of my wine. Damn it. I hate that I have to hide in a bathroom when I could be spending precious time having dinner with Mason.

“Hey, what’s up?” I hear Mason ask.

“Just thought I’d keep you company during dinner,” Jacques says.

What? No! I know they’re close friends, but Jacques needs to go see Milan or something tonight.

“Um … this isn’t a good time,” Mason says.

“Are you cheating? “I smell pasta,” Jacques says. “Specifically, lasagne, not an approved pasta.”

Mason clears his throat. “No, um … I have a woman over.”

Jacques practically barks with laughter. “Whatever. Let me in.”

“Why is that so funny?” Mason asks, and I hear footsteps in the room.

UGH, Mason! Don’t let him in the room! Tactical error!

“You haven’t had any chicks since Bahrain,” Jacques declares.

Oh! Mason was telling me the truth. It’s only been me since Australia. I do a little happy shimmy in the bathroom with my wine.

“Ah-ha! Lasagne!” Jacques says. “And bread! I’m going to have to run your ass at six in the morning so you can make weight!”

“Do you also see the bottle of wine?” Mason points out.

Jacques is silent for a moment.

“Obviously I don’t drink on race weekends,” Mason says matter-of-factly.

“Mate, where is she?”

“She’s in the bathroom. Embarrassed. She knows this is just a hookup.”

“Shh!” Jacques says.

“No, she’s down for the hookup. She’s just shy.”

I roll my eyes.

“Hey, Anabella, can you make a sound for proof of life?” Mason calls out.

I stroll over to the loo and flush it.

“Christ, I’m so sorry,” Jacques says, sounding extremely apologetic. “I’m out. Um … fill me in tomorrow. Um … Anabella? I’m so sorry.”

“Grazie!” I call out. I hope he doesn’t ask or say anything else, because I have a very limited number of Italian words I know.

I decide to wash my hands to deter him from further conversation. I hear their voices, then the door clicks again. As I reach for a hand towel, Mason raps on the door. “The coast is clear,” he says.