Текст книги "Switch"
Автор книги: Jennifer Ryder
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SOPHIE
Saturday
After a full day of study, I put the books down and flick on the kettle. Once it’s boiled, I fill the noodle cup with water. I could’ve made something with the Italian bread Rocco had left out, and the mushrooms I saw in the fridge. For some reason, I didn’t feel right about cooking something like that without him.
While my dinner brews, I have a quick shower. I put on the daggiest clothes I can find and set myself up in front of the TV.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, ‘De Loser’ flashing on the display.
“Hey,” I say, as a smile stretches over my face.
“Hey,” he grunts. “What you wearin’?” he asks, as if he’s channelling Fabio or something.
“Oh my God, really?”
“Yup. Really.”
“Nothing. I’m buck-naked eating noodles on your couch, if you must know.”
“You wouldn’t be.”
“You’ll never know, because you’re not here.”
Suddenly the call is disconnected. The phone rings again. This time, it’s a face-time call from Rocco.
Cheeky bastard.
I whip off my top, slip my bra straps over my shoulders and tuck them into my armpits. I answer the call, careful to only show him from the cleavage up.
“Ha. You weren’t fuckin’ kidding.” He gasps, and runs his fingers through his hair. I know he’s only been gone a day, but it’s nice to see his face. It does get kind of lonely here on my own, but it gives me prime opportunity to study.
“Nope,” I say, popping the ‘p’.
“You’re gonna get the giant dildo out, too. Aren’t you?”
“I should. I have no one to disturb me.”
“I can face-time you all night if you want me too.”
“Shh. You’re ruining it,” I say, and throw my head against the back of the couch and make a groaning noise, as if I’m pleasuring myself. What I end up doing is turning myself on. I’ll definitely have to use BOB tonight.
“You have no idea how much I wish I was home right now,” Rocco says and clears his throat.
“Stop talking.” Groan. “You’re ruining it.”
“Don’t act like you don’t wanna hear my voice when you get off,” he says.
“What are you wearing?” I ask, ignoring him.
“A very tight pair of boxers. I’m leaving nothing to the imagination.”
“Nice.”
“I’m all cock. A delight, really.”
I explode into laughter. “What are you watching?” I ask, as the noise in the background hums.
“I’m watching Tattoo Nightmares in peace.”
“Good for you.”
“Whatcha doin’ later, Suds?”
“Some more study, and then when I’ve read myself to the point of tears, I’ll go finish myself off.”
A garbled noise filters through the phone.
“You there?” I ask.
“Just visualising.”
“Of course you are,” I scoff. “How’d the boys ride today?”
“Good. I’ve been flat out, but I think we’re all set for a big day tomorrow.”
“Well, sleep tight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, talk to you then.”
“Another day done,” I say, by way of congratulations.
“Yup. Another day down.”
I don’t want to make a big deal of it and tell him I’m proud. He’s handling it well, but he has a long road ahead.
****
ROCCO
After speaking to Suds, I turn up the TV and do a few hundred crunches while I watch some redneck bloke whine about his wife hating on the tattoo of a woman riding a giant cock on his bicep. The biggest problem the wife has is the fact that the woman doesn’t look like her. What the fuck? I’d be more concerned about the giant cock with hairy balls. I know I’ve been out of it for some of my tattoos, but really? A giant cock? He might as well have gotten it tattooed on his forehead. Some people are fucking idiots. Tattoos are art, not dickhead stickers.
I watch the train wreck of idiots late into the night, and exhaust myself with push-ups and crunches. Of course, I can’t sleep until I’ve jerked off.
Visions of Suds naked on the couch have me blowing in record time. Does she even know what she does to me? I don’t think she has any idea … or does she?
When I wake to the sun filtering through the window, I’m pretty fucking pleased with myself.
Another day sober to add to the count.
Nine and counting.
****
Sunday
At the starting line, the pop of exhaust and the rhythmic whir of engines fills the air as a cloud of dust whips over the track.
I give Stone a pep talk, but I don’t even know if he hears me over the constant revving of his bike. Stone’s eyes are fixed dead ahead, his body locked in starting position with his elbows out. His focus is something to be admired. He’s been at the top of his game for years now, and this is why. I have an enormous amount of respect for him.
When I move up to Jones’s position on the line, he’s fidgeting on his bike seat and fussing with his armour.
I wrap my knuckles on the top of his helmet, drawing his attention to me. He’s frowning, and I can tell he’s distracted. It’s probably got something to do with the fact that April just arrived. I’ve never said it to him, but I’ve picked up on the fact that ever since they got engaged he’s been more conservative and less inclined to take risks. I’m all for that, but it doesn’t win races, and it certainly doesn’t win championships.
“What’d I say to you last race?” I bark at him.
He grunts and nods. I’m gonna repeat myself anyway, whether he wants to hear it or not. “It doesn’t matter who’s here or who you’re racing—all you have to focus on is getting from here to the finish line as fast as you can. Be smart. Pick your lines and do this, brother.”
He revs the throttle three times in quick succession, his way of communicating with me before the gate drops.
“Fuckin’ own it,” I say, and slap the back of his armour.
I walk to the side of the track as the steward gives the nod that we’re ready to race.
The field of bikes all rev at full throttle. The gate drops. Smoke and dirt fly in every direction as the riders race like demons towards the first jump. Stone is there first, with Jones a few riders back.
With each lap, Jones is improving. He’s still a few riders from the lead, but he’s putting the pressure on. He’s racing like he always does—smart and calculated.
The next time he passes me, I raise my arm and clench my fist. He knows this is the signal to stop being a pussy. I’ve told him that I’ll get a customised sign with that on it if he continues to play it safe.
“He’s going well,” April says, beside me.
I’m not gonna agree with her when I know he can ride better than this. “Not well enough. Stone’s all over him this round. He’s lucky if he even places today.”
“Come on, Jones,” she yells out, clapping her hands in support. “You can do it, babe.”
Another lap in, and Jones has overtaken two more riders. I can’t help but cheer for him too as they move into the last lap, giving him another clenched fist for good measure.
Stone, Pearson from the KTM team, and Jones find themselves riding tight together, contending for first place.
Two corners before the twirl of the checked flag, the suspense is high. It’s anyone’s race. “Come on, you fucker,” I say under my breath, watching as Jones moves into second place, nudging Stewart with the end of his handlebars as they shoot out of the corner.
“Stone in twenty-four holds the lead. Stewart in number ten is putting the pressure on Jones in number eleven as they take on the whoops side by side,” a male voice rumbles through the speaker in the distance.
Stone rockets out of the final turn and takes the flag. It’s the last corner now and the two riders wrangle for the lead. They ride the corner together. Fuck, this is close! Jones gives his bike a massive hit of throttle too early, colliding with Stewart and flipping himself off the bike and onto his back. Stewart regains control and shoots across the line.
This is the moment when I’m waiting for Jones to bounce back up and scramble with his bike to get it over the line.
There’s no movement. He’s lying like a piece of limp broccoli out there.
Fuck, this doesn’t look good.
The red flag comes out and the riders on the track slow right down.
“Holy fuck. Spencer,” April whimpers. She runs towards his still body on the track seemingly as fast as her legs can carry her. I’m not far behind her. I hope to fuck he’s okay. You land awkwardly in a crash like that and it can ruin your career. Just like my knee injury. I never rode the same after that.
When we get to him, the medics are assessing him, a spinal board by his side. His eyes are open and he’s chuckling. Whilst he looks positive on the outside, some people I know laugh when they’re in pain.
“That’s gonna look sick on the GoPro,” Jones tells April, proud as punch.
“You idiot! What were you trying to prove out there? That you’re invincible? Jesus,” she curses.
“I was trying to win, beautiful,” he says, his tone softer now.
“Ah! I know that, it’s just …”
He halts her speech by pulling her down to him and smashing his lips against hers. They start making out as if there aren’t a hundred eyes on them. It doesn’t take long for a crowd to gather once there’s a bingle.
“You’re so not getting out of this wedding, buddy,” she warns, as the medics shuffle the spinal board beneath him and secure him.
“I don’t fucking want out of it. Don’t say something like that.”
“It kills me when you get hurt,” she says and pouts.
“I’m good.”
She lets out a loud sigh. “You promise?”
“Nope.”
“What about going overseas? Is he going to be okay?” she directs her question to the male and female medic. They continue their assessment of him, ignoring her.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got time to recover before then,” Jones tells her. “The way you look after me, I’ll be brand new in no time.” He waggles his eyebrows, which seems to have a calming effect on her.
“So you’re fine.”
“Fine.”
“Gah! I’ll be back in a minute. I really need to pee.”
“Go, babe. I’m good.”
“Boys and their damn bikes,” she mutters as she waddles off in search of the toilet. The medics continue to check over Jones.
“You okay, mate?” Stone asks Jones, as he takes off his helmet and crouches beside him.
Jones winces as he tries to shuffles onto his side.
“Don’t move yet,” the short-haired female medic says, pressing her hands to his chest so that he lies back against the spinal board.
As he lets out a breath, he squeezes his eyes shut. It looks like he’s in pain to me.
“I won’t lie, Stone. I’m fuckin’ hurtin’. That knocked the wind clean out of me. I might have a fractured rib, but I’m not about to tell April that.”
Stone lets out a deep chuckle. “Yeah, the girls do like to fuss,” he says, with a shake of his head.
“You rode like your arse was on fire,” Jones says to Stone, putting his clenched fist out for a fist bump.
“I’m not here for a haircut,” Stone says, and bumps his knuckles against his.
After a few more checks, the medics clear him, with a bruised rib. Thank Christ it’s nothing major.
“Way to finish your last round before the bucks,” I say as the three of us walk away from the medic tent.
“Hey, I’m still standing. I’m pretty fuckin’ proud of that fact.” Jones grips our closest shoulders in each of his gloved hands, and we slowly walk back to camp.
“Vegas here we come, boys.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ROCCO
Saturday
Two weeks later
I finish off another bottle of water, something I’ve been drinking a lot more of thanks to being twenty-three days sober. I’m still having trouble believing I’ve been strong, but I know that alone I wouldn’t be doing so well.
I toss the empty bottle in the bin as the team from First Class Driving ushers us into a silver van. We start making our way to the Dream Garage, which is out of town. Spirits amongst the boys are high. We’re dying to get in these cars and hold the pedal down flat. Apart from Brett, we have a great group of guys on the trip. Steve and Nathan used to work with Jones at his dad’s firm. For suits who work in finance, they’re actually pretty good blokes. They know how to have a good laugh and aren’t pretentious fucks, which is half what I was expecting. Then we have Stone and Billy.
Mac was tempted to come, but I think his lady friend is taking up all of his free time. Jones was pretty relieved, because really, who wants to be in Vegas with his soon-to-be father-in-law tagging along? At least now, I won’t feel bad about the strippers we’ve organised.
A heat wave washes over us as we get out of the van. We all start cursing and high-fiving each other when we’re presented with a stellar line-up of luxury cars. It gets me hard thinking about these machines.
“You’ve got your choice of the black Lamborghini, the yellow Ferrari, the white Maserati or the red Corvette,” Terri the female ex-race car driver explains, as she walks beside the vehicles lined up against the curb. She’s been a pure professional since we arrived in the office, and I’ve gotta say, it’s a fucking turn-on listening to a woman who knows this much about cars. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing what she could do with one of these babies.
“Pair up. You’ll get the chance to change drivers a few times, as well as swap cars too, so it doesn’t really matter what you start with.”
“I bags the Lamborghini,” Jones barks. She tosses him the keys and Stone moves beside the car with him. The boys laugh and gawk at the car as if they’re seventeen again and going for their first burnout session.
“I’ll be driving the blue muscle car up front and Johnno will be in the Porsche out back.” She motions towards a short guy with brown hair, who’s wearing the same black polo shirt as she is. “We’ll communicate with the two-way radio as we guide you to Lake Mead, which is out east. Keep it on channel two. Once we get out there you might even get the chance to put your foot down.” She winks and hands the next set of keys to Brett.
“I’m not paying all that money to sit on the speed limit, you know,” Brett says, and cackles with Billy.
“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter under my breath. That douche doesn’t know when to shut his fucking mouth.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, freckles,” Terri teases. “That’s one hefty excess if there’s so much as a scratch on any of my cars.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mocks, in the dickiest attempt at an American accent I’ve heard yet. The fucker sounds more like Kermit the Frog.
“Just keep it safe, boys, and follow my lead.”
Steve and Nate jump in the Ferrari behind Jones’s car and Billy and Brett take the Maserati. I get to drive the convertible Corvette on my lonesome, which I couldn’t be happier about.
We move out onto the road in close succession, following Terri. I’m second last in the group. It takes a bit to adjust to driving on the wrong side of the road, but having someone guide you takes that stress away. Being in a machine like this, it takes all of my self-control not to speed off like a maniac. The accelerator is taunting me to push it. It’s such a tease, knowing what power lies beneath the bonnet. The engine’s purring like a kitten now, but give it time and it’ll be roaring like a fucking cheetah.
Within the blink of an eye, we turn off into what looks like a national park. The landscape of the desert is so surreal compared to anything I’ve ever seen. Rich earthy colours, like one big pallet of rust, are splashed across the horizon in large boulders and rock formations. It’s like looking at some kind of masterpiece, and nothing like the Australian landscape that I’ve seen. The sweeping turns curve around the mountains, intensifying the thrill of the ride.
Brett is driving like a lunatic—flat-out fast and then slow. Does he know how fucking annoying he is? I wish to fuck Jones hadn’t invited him, but I guess he couldn’t exactly ask the rest of the team and not him.
“Okay, boys. Follow my lead.” Terri’s voice comes across the two-way, all Smokey and the Bandit. The muscle car roars off into the distance, followed by the other boys in formation.
My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel tight. I shift up a gear, listening to that sweet purr growing louder as the distance increases between me and the car in front. When there’s plenty of space, I slam down my right foot. The roar of the engine sends a shot of adrenaline right through me as I let loose. I breathe in deep as the wind whips through my hair. If only V was sitting in the passenger seat next to me—better yet, the driver’s seat. He’d soon forget all that shit from his past. The De Luca brothers in Vegas would be something to behold. Even without alcohol.
With the top down, the blinding sun and dry heat is so intense that my mobile phone in the centre console starts beeping a warning about being dangerously hot. I slide it under my arse to keep it out of the sun.
I cruise around the next bend and have to slam on the brakes. Smoke curls from the squealing tires. I clench my teeth as I stop within an inch of the Maserati.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I yell out to the dry desert air.
Johnno on the two-way radio directs all cars to stop in the next waiting bay about a mile up the road.
When we pull over to the side of the road, I swear steam is shooting from my ears as I contemplate exactly how I’m gonna make Brett a new hat with his freshly cut scrotum.
“Who the fuck stops on a turn like that in a normal car, let alone a fuckin’ car like that?” I screech as I storm towards Brett. “Are you tapped in the head?”
“Relax, Rocco,” he says, and runs his fingers across the rim of his black baseball cap.
“Relax? Not fuckin’ likely,” I spit at him as I take another step closer. Jones leaps out of nowhere and presses his hand to my chest.
“You ride with me,” Jones says, widening his eyes. He’s not asking; he’s telling.
Terri struts up to Brett and stands toe to toe with him. She is about ready to tear shreds through him by the look of her flushed face and chest, which is labouring to take breath.
“A word?” she says, her jaw tight.
Jones grips my shoulder, turning me towards the Ferrari.
“Your fuckin’ mate,” I grumble as I get into the passenger side of the car.
We both turn and stand in awe as the expletives pour from Terri’s mouth like lava erupting from an angry volcano. Brett cowers like a frightened animal, and then gets into the passenger seat of the rear car with Johnno. Suck shit. Your ride is over.
“My mate, huh?” Jones says, and laughs. His face lights up as he curls his fingers around the steering wheel, stroking it as he would his girlfriend. He turns to face me with a smile that’s trouble. “With any luck we lose him to a transvestite hooker on the strip tonight.”
“Poor hooker.” I chuckle, as we take off into the bowels of the desert again.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SOPHIE
I place two hundred–dollars in purple chips on number thirteen on the roulette table. This is all I’m gambling this weekend. The rest of the planned events I’ve carefully budgeted for. I won’t be drinking a huge amount, not that I care, because I feel like I owe it to Rocco to take it easy, and there’ll be no fine dining. Not that I think that’s the plan, anyway. It’s not that hard to eat cheap here.
“Soph,” April shrieks. “Thirteen!”
“What?”
April points at the wheel, which has the white ball resting on my number.
“Oh my fucking God! I won?”
“Can you refrain from swearing at the table please, ma’am,” the balding croupier says in his very thick American accent, as he runs a hand down the front of his black vest. I’m still getting used to not hearing an Aussie accent come out of people’s mouths.
“Sorry, I’m just … I never win.” I squeal and wrap my arm around April’s shoulders as the croupier places a clear glass object on my chips. He clears the bulk of chips from the rest of the numbered felt, pushing them into a hole on the far side of the wheel.
Carefully, he pushes a small chip stack to a player on the opposite side of the table to me, and then assembles a few tall piles of purple chips, with several black chips sitting on top. My eyes light up as he pushes this goldmine in my direction.
“Sorry. How much is that?”
“Seven thousand neat.”
I clutch at my chest as it hammers faster. I can’t believe I won.
“I never win anything,” I gush.
“Number thirteen. Unlucky for some; tonight it’s come up for you,” April announces, with her arm outstretched and her finger pointed at my chest.
I can’t fucking believe it.
It’s enough to pay back April for accommodation, pay another month’s rent in advance with Rocco, and have some left over. Fuckface has paid a big chunk of the debt, alleviating the pressure. There’s still the risk he won’t pay it all, but for the first time in years I have breathing room. I also need to ask Rocco what he paid so I could keep my car and return that, too.
I’d love to let this money ride, to keep going until I have enough to give a comfortable gap between my debt and me, but it would be foolish to continue. I know better than this. Prince Fuckface and his gambling is what got me into this cluster-fuck of a situation. I’d be stupid to make it any worse for myself. Time to quit while I’m ahead, or rather, not so far behind.
I gather up my chips and pour them into my purse, the soft clanging of them pooling at the bottom music to my ears. April links her arm around my waist.
“Let’s cash my chips, get changed into our hen’s outfits and then go ride a bull to celebrate,” I say, and plant a loud kiss on her cheek.
“A what?” she asks.
“Relax. It’s not a real bull.”
“I’ve run in Pamplona, baby. I got this,” she slurs, and holds a palm towards me, attitude dripping from her.
“Come on, Vicky. We’re cashin’ in,” I call out, getting her attention from where she sits at a neighbouring table. She turns and all but skips over. “And then we’re goin’ for a ride,” I inform her.
“Woo-hoo,” Vicky hollers and skips ahead to the cashier. I can’t help but laugh. She didn’t even care to ask me what we were riding. For all she knows, I could be challenging her to ride one of those young Texan boys who we ran into earlier. They were on a buck’s night, although they were very animated when trying to inform us Aussie girls that it’s called a stag party.
“Babe, after the bull we’re going to Stratosphere Tower to go on the X-Scream rollercoaster.”
“Yay!” April shrieks. I’m quietly shitting myself, but I knew this adrenaline junkie would jump at the chance at riding one of the highest rollercoasters in the world.
I look up to see Vicky a few people ahead of us. “Just don’t tell Vicky yet, because I have a feeling Miss Always Do The Sensible Thing will never forgive me.”
“She’s a bridesmaid. She has to do it. Us sisters are in this together,” April says, with a nod. “Maybe we can trick her into it. We can tell her it’s like a little shuttle thingy that gives you a view of the strip.”
Even though she’s pissed, I think she might have a plan. “I think when we’re dangling headfirst over the edge eight hundred feet above solid ground, she might be onto us.”
April throws back her head and laughs. It melts my heart seeing her so happy and carefree. I hope that for many years to come, she looks back on this trip with fond memories. I know I will.
“That sounds like my kind of ride.”
April tugs Vicky’s hand, bringing her into line with us. When we reach the other side of the casino, I pour my chips on the felt counter at the small window of the cashier. The young dark-haired guy gives me a wink and flashes a dimple, and then slowly gathers the chips in piles and starts gathering notes from a drawer beside him.
“You’re wasting your winks on this one, my friend. She’s all about the boob,” April leans over my shoulder and slurs at him.
“She’s right,” I say to him, and then look to either side of me. “I love boobs. I’m a boob girl. The bigger the better.” Of course my tone is playful. I wink at him and secretly enjoy watching as the colour prickles at his smooth-shaven cheeks.
He clears his throat and then counts the money in front of me. When he gets to seven thousand, he makes a neat pile of notes and then pushes it forward.
“Enjoy your evening,” he says, and then stands and leaves his chair. Eep. Way to make the young guy uncomfortable.
“Why’d you make me be mean to the poor cashier, babe?” I say through a chuckle.
“What? I just didn’t want him to get his hopes up, is all.”
As we walk out into the heat of the night, April steps between Vicky and I and we link arms in some show of solidarity. Us versus Vegas.
“We thought later we might go check out the view of The Strip at night, Vic. Whatdya think?” April asks, directing her gaze straight ahead. I don’t miss the curl to her lips. She looks as if she’s a second away from pissing herself laughing.
“Ooh, I bet it’s so pretty,” Vicky says, and then beams her bright white teeth at us.
I hope she’s smiling like that afterwards, because I’m worried that after what I have planned, she may never speak to us again.
“Let’s go get changed,” I announce, as we make our way to our hotel. “Our night has only just begun.”
