Текст книги "Switch"
Автор книги: Jennifer Ryder
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
CHAPTER NINE
SOPHIE
After a hell of a night shift, I finally get home. I step into the bath, pull the plastic curtain across and indulge in a long shower. I’m grateful that Rocco isn’t home and that I can use every last drop of hot water without him pounding the door down.
I rinse out my delicates and hang them gently on the rail and around the edge of the bath. They should be dry by morning.
When I get out of the shower, I scan the room for a towel. Motherfucker. My shit-for-brains flatmate obviously helped himself to my towel this morning. I creep into the hallway, careful with my wet feet on the slippery floor. The jangle of keys in the front door lock has me bolting towards my room.
Slam! My arse slaps against the hardwood floor, thanks to the rogue drops of water that have brought me unstuck.
Cursing myself, and in serious pain, I flounder around. I manage to get halfway into my room before the door swings wide open, biting into the gyprock wall. Thank fuck my bare arse is out of sight.
“Who’s that?” a squeaky female voice enquires, her words accompanied by the clicking of her heels.
“Who?” Rocco slurs.
“The legs,” the girl says, as I drag my shins free of the doorway.
“None of your business,” he growls.
There’s no time to chuck on a bra, so I simply throw on a white single top and the cheeky pink Victoria’s Secret boxers I got for my last birthday. I walk out to the kitchen, head held high, in some kind of attempt to fool Rocco and his friend into thinking it’s impossible I was naked just a moment before. I fill a glass with cold water from the fridge.
The tall, dark-haired girl narrows her eyes at me as she steps farther into the apartment. She’s wearing a tank top, which is more like a second skin. Is she having trouble breathing? Her boobs are pushed up to her neck. She looks uncomfortable.
She smooths her hands down her sides, drawing my eyes to her black and white checked long nails.
Looks like Rocco dragged home a MX groupie.
Rocco pulls out a chair and literally falls into it.
“Another big night, huh?” I direct at him. He runs his hand back through his hair. It takes a good few seconds before his eyes focus on my face.
“Why the fuck not?” he says and throws his arms up, before they flop back down on the dining table.
I pick up my glass of water and take a step closer, wary that the groupie is watching me ever so closely, arms folded across her chest.
Rocco focuses on the glass and begins to chuckle. “I’m still fuckin’ pissed about your form this morning,” he mutters.
“Well you should answer your bloody phone.”
“If you’re not careful, I’m gonna sneak into your room one morning and make you wet.” Playfulness flitters in his eyes, and he reaches between his legs and palms his crutch.
Does he even remember that he brought someone home to fuck? “I highly doubt that.”
“Why?”
Let’s see if I can have a little fun here. I lean in close. “Because dick doesn’t get me wet.”
He stands and chuckles low in his throat. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but ends up staring at my tits. For longer than he should.
“No bra?” He gasps.
“What’s going on here?” the groupie whines.
I clear my throat and take a step back. “I’m off to bed to spend time with my vibrator.”
Both of their mouths drop open.
“Yeah, well good luck with that,” Rocco says and sways as he steps towards his room, palming his way along the wall. He’s blind as a bat. Groupie glares at me and then struts after Rocco, her stripper heels echoing in the hallway.
“I hope he can keep it up for you, love,” I call out. His bedroom door slams shut. I hear a squeal a second later, followed by a series of high-pitched dumb-arse giggles.
I wasn’t lying about the vibrator.
I have a date with BOB. After the day I’ve had, he’d better perform, too.
****
ROCCO
My dick is red raw, and my balls? Jesus Christ. It’s by far the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had.
What the fuck was wrong with me last night? Why the fuck couldn’t I blow? It wasn’t that Jacinta didn’t try; she sucked until she could suck no more. I’d then pounded the ever-loving shit out of her, but still no fucking result.
Fucking Suds. No bra, short shorts, and informing me that she was off to use her vibrator. I was completely unravelled. When I’d taken the girl back to my room, it was all I could think about. After catching a glimpse of her pussy yesterday morning, it was just fuel to my imagination.
I had a right mind to storm into her room and tell her off. Why did she have to say it? Why couldn’t she just stay in her room?
I push up onto my elbows, and my head screams. The shooting pain behind my eyes temporarily blinds me, and the acid whirls around in my stomach. I really did a number on myself last night. I should’ve eaten something when Jones did, but I had more important things to focus on.
I palm my dick gently. This shit isn’t funny. I’m hard as stone; I need to piss. It’s gonna take days to recover from this, and all I wanna do is grab my dick and blow.
Rubbing my eyes, I get up and stuff my woody into some boxers and wander to the bathroom, banging the door closed behind me.
“Fuck,” I complain, as I lift the toilet lid and seat up. I don’t have time for this shit.
As my piss streams into the bowl, that’s when I see them. Everywhere. Hanging from the shower rail. Looped over the side of the bath.
It’s like a fucking sexy rainbow landed in here, in the form of underwear. Lace. Bras, and dainty little G-strings.
Aside from my own mother, I have never lived with a woman. Not even Trinity. That wasn’t exactly a living together arrangement, more like fucking, but we were long-term. Needless to say, seeing this shit in my bathroom is not fucking on. Especially when I’m not boning or touching the pussy that wears this stuff.
I shake the snake and stuff him back in my boxers. With a white-knuckled grip on the handle, I yank open the door. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Suds!” I call out into the hallway, my voice echoing my anger.
“What?” she calls out just as loud, from the kitchen.
“What the fuck is this shit?”
Even with her out of sight, I hear the loud huff that leaves her mouth. Her bare feet pound the timber floorboards as she approaches. She’s wearing this tiny black satin robe, and I can’t imagine she’s got anything on underneath because it’s all on proudly on display in my bathroom.
I grab her hand, pull her into the bathroom, and point at the offending rows of lingerie.
“This!”
“It’s called underwear, De Loser.”
What the fuck? De Loser?
“It’s De Luca,” I seethe, my voice slow and deep.
“Yeah, I know,” she drawls and raises an eyebrow.
Women.
“Why are they hanging on display like that?”
“I can’t put them in your dryer because they’ll disintegrate.”
Well, that wouldn’t be hard. There’s nothing to them.
They would barely cover her pussy. Fuck. Just a little tug of fabric to the side, and it’d be welcome to pussytown.
My dick hardens, and I wince with pain. What a fuckin’ tease. I need to find some chick to bury myself into. Or one with a willing mouth.
“Just get rid of them,” I bark out and storm from the room.
“Just chill. They’ll be dry in no time, and then I’ll remove them.”
Did she just fuckin’ roll her eyes at me? For fuck’s sake. “Well they’d better, otherwise I’ll be jerking off all over them.” There. Take that.
“Well that’s just charming.”
“Not what I’d call it, but hey, whatever floats your boat.”
****
SOPHIE
“Can you clear table ten please, Sophie? I’ve just gotta take these coffees out before they get cold,” Tarsh says, as she adds some teaspoons to the saucers.
She’s giving me orders now? I should’ve been out of here twenty minutes ago. I’m late for dinner at April’s place as it is, but I couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. Tony is totally fucking up the staffing right now. He should know we’re always busier on public service pay week.
“Sure, but then I have to go.”
“Thanks, Soph. I really appreciate the help.”
I give her a weak smile back. I don’t mind this girl. At least she’s grateful for the assistance.
I finish clearing a couple more tables, say goodbye to Tarsh, and head into the staff room. When I grab my bag, I can’t help but take another look at the roster. I don’t know what Tony’s playing at with the shifts, but he needs more staff on.
Scaling across next week on the spreadsheet, I realise that he’s changed my shifts from what was up here the other day. Four days a week now and no weekend shifts? Fuck this shit. Tony and I are having words.
I storm into the back office, where I know Tony is sipping espresso and fucking about on his laptop. Of course, I’m right.
“What’s with the roster, Tony?” I blurt out, as I strut towards his timber desk. I’m not pussy footing around with this. I need the money.
“G’day to you too, Sophie,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
I curl my hands around my hips, and grip a hold of them as I’d like to grab his fat neck. “You cut my Saturday shift, and now I’m only on four days next week?”
“Sasha is helping me out with admin. We’re trying to see if we can run a little leaner.”
Sasha, his new wife, who clearly hates my guts? The one and the same woman who brought her stupid-arse mini dog in a handbag into the kitchen, and I said something to her about it being a food preparation area? She must get along great guns with Tarsh, because that girl is cleaning up with the penalty rates.
“I’ve worked for you for four years, Tony. I’m always there for you when you need me. I thought we looked after each other?”
“It’s just business, Sophie. Don’t take it so personally.”
“Wow,” I mutter quietly to myself. Really? He’s got to be shitting me. How can I take it any other way?
His eyes move back to the laptop, and he smiles, as if he’s looking at something funny.
I could teach him a thing or two about staff morale. Human Resources 101. You communicate with your staff, you look after them, and in turn they’re more productive and more inclined to bend over backwards for you. Right now, all I feel like doing is bending my knee between his legs and smashing his balls.
I’ve got a right mind to quit, but he knows that I won’t. I don’t want to go back to slaving away at a big chain coffee house working my guts out for minimum wage. That’s what I hate about this situation. I’ll always lose the argument. Apart from the details on my employment form, the only thing he knows about me is that I’m desperate for money, and as far as his business goes, he probably figures that’s all he needs to know.
I leave his office without another word. If I stay any longer, I’ll only get more riled up, which will no doubt end in me getting fired.
****
Not in the mood to go straight home to change first, I drive over to April’s. As always, she greets me with welcome arms.
“I missed your face,” April says, as she pulls me into a hug.
“Missed you too, babe.”
She drags me into the kitchen and points at the dining table, which is half filled with bridal magazines tagged with Post-It notes.
I’m such a bad friend. I should’ve been looking at all this stuff with her. I think a part of me has been avoiding it, because it reminds me of a time in my life I’ve been trying for four solid years to forget.
“I’ve been saving this bottle for you,” she says. With a smile a mile wide, she pours me a glass of red wine in a glass big enough to probably hold half a bottle.
I swear, I almost convulse in my pants after I have my first mouthful. The smooth taste of the rich, full-bodied wine lingers in my mouth moments after I’ve swallowed it. It’s got a bite to it, peppery, just the way I like it.
“Damn, this is good red, babe.”
She clinks her glass against mine and then takes a mouthful, moaning as she drinks. “Hmm. Yeah, it’s a good drop. Spencer’s dad raves about it. I knew of all people, you’d appreciate it.”
“I could go a case of this right about now.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Work’s just fucked,” I say, rubbing my fingers against my temple.
April takes a sip from her glass. “How come?”
“My shifts have been cut back to four days a week, no weekend shifts.”
Delicate lines form across her brow. “Why?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I dunno whether to blame Tony or his new wife, who clearly has it out for me, or whether they’re saving money by giving the shifts to younger staff.”
She shakes her head and scoffs. “That’s bullshit. Did Tony even talk to you about it first?”
“Not a single word. Four fucking years, you know? And what do I get for it? I get fucked up the arse. Loyalty means nothing to him.”
“You won’t have this job forever, Soph.”
A loud sigh leaves my lips. I take a gulp of red. “Yeah, I know.”
“How’s the study coming along?”
“I’m getting there. I’ve probably got another year ahead of me. Maybe six months, if I had the time to do the extra units. I just need to get in the right headspace.” And not be so worried about money. When the fuck will that day come?
“You’ll get there, hon. I have total faith in you.”
You’re the only one, and it means more than you’ll ever know.
“Thanks, babe.”
“So the burning question I’ve been dying to ask is how are you and Rocco getting along?”
“Ha! I guess as well as you’d expect. I witnessed a nice little outburst this morning, though.”
“What the hell kind of outburst?”
“He didn’t take too kindly to my underwear hanging in the bathroom.”
She laughs out loud. “You mean all the expensive stuff that Bonnie bought you?”
“Yup. He threatened to blow his load all over them.”
“Urgh, gross,” April whines.
“The thing is I actually believe him.”
“That’s Rocco for you. He has a charming way with words.”
“That he does.” I take another drink of red. Is Rocco home drinking right now? “Did you know he drinks a lot?”
“I dunno. I guess most of the time I see him it’s usually celebrating after a round,” April says.
“Well, he’s drunk. Like every night.” And I know the signs.
“Hey, lovely ladies,” Jones croons, as he enters the room.
“Hey, Jonesy boy,” I say, with a salute.
“He loves his tequila,” Jones says, as he plonks himself down at the table, but not before swiftly kissing April on the lips.
“If I drank as much as him, I’d be dead,” I offer.
“He needs to sort his shit out. He can’t keep fucking himself up like that. Mac’s getting tired of him rocking up late. He pulled the same shit when he was on the KTM Factory team. I don’t know whether it had to do with family shit, but his antics got him fired. He’s knows his shit when it comes to bikes, but he’s unreliable. The team relies on him to do his job, otherwise we don’t perform.”
“Was he in the shit the other day?” I ask, wondering how his day had gone. From the sight of him later that night, my guess was that it wasn’t the best of days.
“Mac and him had words.”
“Ah. That might explain the state he was in, and the piece of work he brought home that night.”
“He got her, hey?” he asks, with a raised brow. Is he proud of the sleazy son-of-a-bitch or just curious?
“From what I heard, she got one, maybe even two. From the shitty mood he was in the next day, I’d say he got a nil result because he seemed beyond frustrated.”
Jones gets up from the table and pisses himself laughing. “I’m gonna take a shower, then watch the footy. I’ll leave you ladies to it.”
Cautious not to drink too much, April and I flip through the magazines. The last time I looked at books like these, it was for my own wedding. Ouch.
“Hey, do you wanna come to the next round with me? It’s in three weeks. I got a text from Eevie, and she’s bringing her kids and her mum. We’re gonna play Cupid and see how her mum and my dad get along.”
“As if that’s not gonna be awkward enough you think they need an audience?”
“Come on, Soph. You said you’re not working weekends, so why not come along? We won’t have to get up as early as the guys. We can spend some time together and see how things unfold. I’m sure Eevie’s mum is lovely, but given Daddy’s past choices in women, I feel I should be there in case he needs help.”
“Okay, but I’ll need to do some study at some stage.”
“Sure, whatever. Bring your books, and I promise to give you some time to get some work done. There’s a sofa bed in our accommodation, so you can just crash with us.”
“As long as there are no sexy times. I’m happy to know you’re getting some, but I don’t need to hear it first-hand.”
“Babe, unless I sit on his face and drag an O out of him, I guarantee he’ll be too tired to shag anyway.”
“Very funny.”
“Oh, and I thought I’d book in an appointment on the Sunday at this bridal place I know so we can sort out these frocks. The owner normally doesn’t open on Sunday, but I know her from a photo shoot I did last year, and she’s more than happy to work out of her normal business hours to look after us.”
I love that she’s beyond casual about this wedding. She’s the furthest thing from Bridezilla. It makes this whole thing so much easier, and makes me feel less like a disorganised friend.
“I’d love that.”
CHAPTER TEN
ROCCO
Three weeks later
Friday
I’ve put in the hard yards at the factory during the last few weeks. We stripped the bikes down to the frames, inspected every fucking nut and bolt, and regreased the shit out of the bike as we re-assembled them. All the plastics have been updated with new stickers and sponsor logos. We’re ready to race.
I’m pretty fucking happy with what we’ve achieved. I hope to hell that Mac is happy, because I’ve been busting my arse to try and show him I’m trying. I’m not perfect, he knows that, but I don’t want to let him down. I can’t just tell him I’ll do better; I have to show him.
When I get home, Suds is talking on the phone. Her voice is raised, and something seems to be riling her up, the way she’s pacing back and forth in the kitchen.
“I’ll get it to you. I just don’t get paid until next week … Yes …” She scoffs. “Yes, I’ve very well aware how this works. I’ve been … yes … I’m doing the best I can.”
She slams down her phone on the counter, sighs heavily and then picks up her noodles.
“What was that about?” I ask, as I empty my pockets of change onto the counter.
“Same old shit,” she grumbles, and then twirls her fork in the cup and holds a collection of noodles high and slowly lowers them into her mouth.
“What is with the fucking two-minute noodles? You can’t live on that.”
“Well, I can. I’m still standing.”
From her tone, I can tell she’s in a mood. As if I give a shit, but what’s going on with her? Suds has been here for nearly a month now. She’s definitely lost weight. When she reaches for something high in one of the kitchen cupboards, or when she wears one of those short tops that show a peek of her flat stomach, I’ve had a glimpse of her hips. I swear her hipbones are poking out more. I don’t mind a bit of curve on a woman. At least you know they’re healthy.
“Don’t you like to eat?” I accuse her. Surely she’s not doing this on purpose? Is she bulimic or something?
“Of course I do.”
“There’s no point lying to me.”
She moves one hand to her hip and challenges me with her narrowed green eyes. “Why the fuck would I lie? I don’t care what you think.”
“Are you one of those girls that throws up after a meal?”
“Fuck no. I love to eat.”
“Then why noodles for every bloody meal?” I throw my hands up in the air. They’re noodles. How fuckin’ good can they be?
“You wanna know why?” she says, her tone rising an octave, disdain dripping from each word.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Because the less I spend on food, the closer I am to getting my own place. And then I don’t have to listen to your bitchin’ anymore.”
That’s fucking it. She’s not eating because she needs the money? Jesus H. Christ. What kind of shitty financial situation is she in?
“Well I’m fucking remedying this shit right now. You,” I say, with an accusing finger pointed at her face, “are gonna eat a decent meal, even if I have to jam it down your throat.”
She slowly puts her noodles down and then slides her hands to her hips. Attitude drips from her every pore as she narrows her eyes at me. “Excuse me? You’ll jam what down my throat?”
I grab between my legs and squeeze the growing bulge at my crutch. Something about all this yelling is getting me worked up. “This if you’re not careful.”
She looks down between my legs and back up to my face. Her eyes never leave mine as she shakes her head from side to side and tuts. Mirroring my earlier move, she points her index finger toward the middle of my chest. “Let’s get this straight,” she states, with conviction clear in her tone. “That cock of yours,” she says, and jabs her finger like a weapon towards my cock, “is never gonna be anywhere near my mouth. Not in a million years.”
“Ah, a woman in denial.”
“Argh! Do you ever shut that mouth of yours?”
“Rarely. I tend to do my best work with my mouth open.” I roll my tongue out enough to give her a flash of my stud. Of course I do it slowly. I want her to see it. I want her to imagine what I can do with it, because if there’s one thing Rocco De Luca knows how to do, it’s eat pussy.
She watches my mouth hungrily and then swallows hard. Hmm. Is this conversation getting her worked up too? Her cheeks are now flushed and she’s doing this puffing, snorty thing with her nose.
“Just sit the hell down on that chair,” I say, pointing at the stool in a deliberately slow move, “because I am feeding you. Got it?”
She sits down with a huff. “Fine,” she says, between clenched teeth.
“It’s not a big fucking deal, you know. I waste half the food I buy anyway.”
I grab some steaks from the fridge, put on some potatoes to boil, peel some carrots and cut the broccoli. Yeah, meat and three veg is boring as shit to most people, but it’s what this string bean needs before she ends up breaking a leg from malnourishment. It’s not one of the many family recipes my mother taught me growing up. After she left, I can’t cook like that anymore. Cooking this avoids memories of her. Besides, I’m not about to cook that shit for just anyone, let alone a girl that treats me with such indifference.
“Do you have any sisters?” Soph asks, toying with the salt and pepper grinders at the end of the bench.
“No. What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
“You have no idea how to talk to a woman.”
“That’s bullshit. Of course I do.”
“You’re bossy as shit, and have no filter … whatsoever.”
“I’m just honest. It’s the way I am, and chicks love it.”
“Well, I don’t get the attraction.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Suds. You will.”
Soph yawns, stretching her arms high in the sky. I can’t help but shake my head at this skinny girl. I don’t mind a bit of padding on a woman. A little extra to hang on to when I’m driving into them. This girl needs fattening up. I add a crap-load of butter and cream to the mash, and then turn the steaks in the frypan.
I turn to face the stove, because now I’ve got a semi. Going commando when I got out of the shower earlier tonight doesn’t seem like such a good idea now.
“I bet the only woman that loves that mouth is your mother. How on earth do you talk to her?” she probes.
Mum. Dear old mamma.
“I don’t.”
“Had a fight?”
I turn around, now having no fear of having a hard-on. “Nope. She’s dead.”
Her mouth falls open. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“What about your dad?”
“Dead too.” Lost the battle with the bottle, didn’t you, Pops?
I hope to Christ she doesn’t ask about siblings, because I can’t talk to her about V. And the fact it’s almost his birthday …
“I’m on fire tonight, aren’t I? I’m sorry.” Her voice is quieter now, and she stares at the bench in front of her instead of meeting my curious gaze. She’s uncomfortable. I like it. A lot.
“Yeah, I bet he is, too. What about your parents? Alive?”
“I guess so.”
Meaning, what exactly?
“Where are they?”
“Last time I heard, in a white-rendered mansion about half an hour’s drive away.”
“I’m guessing moving in with them wasn’t an option?”
“Nope. My parents don’t support my life choices,” she says, using air quotes. “I’m not welcome. I taint the strong catholic values of the family. Apparently I’m on a path straight to hell.”
“That’s fucking harsh. When did all this shit happen?”
“When they found me in bed with a woman. Everything was fucking peachy when I was engaged to Fuckface. But after him, I turned—”
“Say what?” I splutter.
She rolls her eyes and drags her fingernails over her scalp through her blonde hair. “Okay, calm down. I’m bi, okay? I’d been with guys and girls in college, but I kept that little titbit from my parents because I knew how they’d react. It took me a while to work out where I fit in with the whole sexuality thing. After him, I—”
My head reels with this new information. “Wait. Go back a sec. So you were engaged? Fuck. I want the whole story.”
“Yeah, well I’m not drunk enough and don’t exactly feel like sharing, so …”
“I can remedy that real quick. The bottle shop is just around the corner.”
“Don’t you get sick of drinking?”
“Nope. Why would I?”
“General good health? I don’t know. Just seems like you have a problem.”
I don’t have a problem. I just have a healthy obsession for the finer things in life—namely, tequila. “Ha. Why not tell me what you really think? Anyway, we’re not talking about me. I wanna know the goods. It’s the least you can do, because I’m cooking you a decent fucking meal.”
She purses her lips and lets out a long stream of air. “There are things I want in life. It doesn’t matter if I’m with a girl or a guy.”
What kind of things? A house? A family? What? Why’d she break up with her girlfriend, but more importantly, what did he do to her?
“Did he fuck you over?”
“He FUBARed me.”
“He what?”
“You know, fucked me up beyond all—”
“I fuckin’ know what it means,” I blurt out. With a sharp prickling sensation, blood rushes to my face. “Did he beat you? Is that what you’re saying?”
She scoffs. “No, but let’s say if I ever see him again, his face will be FUBARed.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“What about you? Surely one day you’d be looking to settle down?”
“Not in the foreseeable future.” I turn back to face the stove. I can’t see it happening. Why put myself out there again just to be shut down? Besides, I never meet the right women, which is probably my fault, but who’d be interested in someone as fucked up as me?
“There’s more to life than getting your dick wet, you know.”
I chuckle as I take the steaks out of the pan. “You’re probably right, but it’s one of my favourite pastimes.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You and April like to talk about my dick gettin’ wet?”
“You wish.”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ do.”
****
SOPHIE
Rocco lets out an almighty burp, standing right behind me at the kitchen sink. It reverberates around the room, drawing a mother of a scoff from me.
“In what fucking universe is that acceptable?” I ask him, surprised that a God-awful noise like that is even human.
“In mine.”
“Well it’s disgusting.”
“The last I checked it was my name on the deed to this place, so if I need to burp, love, I’m gonna fucking burp.”
“Fine, but just so you know, if you ever fart when I’m around, I’ll hurt you with the nearest blunt object I can find.”
He chuckles. “I make no promises.”
“Okay then, at your own peril. It’s just good manners, you know?”
“I suck at manners.”
“Ha. Yeah, you kinda do. It wouldn’t hurt to try and put the toilet seat down either.”
“You’re fighting a losing battle, Suds.”
I wash up the last of the dishes, and wring out the dishcloth. I feel like my stomach is about to explode, but in a good way.
“Now doesn’t that feel better?” Rocco says, his tone heavy with sarcasm as he sidles up next to me, pressing his weight against the bench top.
I frown and eye him suspiciously. He’s biting back a grin, as if he’s a cat that just ate a fucking canary.
“What?” I bark out.
“To eat a decent meal.”
I roll my eyes, because I’m tired. I’m in a food coma. I can’t manage anything else.
“What do you want me to do? Drop to my knees and thank you?”
He thrusts his hips towards me and makes a grunting sound. “Hey, if the mood strikes you.”
“Argh! Enough of the sexual innuendo!” I splash him with enough murky dishwater to soak the front of his shirt.
A hearty chuckle rumbles up his throat. He ducks for cover as I raise my hand to do it again. “Hey, you’re the one talking about dropping to your knees.”
“Figure of speech, De Loser.”
“Take it easy, with the De Loser, Suds.” He dips a finger in the bubbles in the sink and flicks some at my face.
I regard him closely as he uses the tea towel to dab at the moisture on his top. Is he planning on drinking tonight? Here goes nothing.
“So you layin’ off the tequila tonight?” I dare to ask.
“Why?” he asks, with an arrogant lift of his chin.
“You seem less arsehole-ish without it. You’re almost tolerable.”
“Almost?” he asks, raising his dark brow.
I can’t help but smirk. “Yeah, almost.” I hang up the dishtowel and turn to him, one hand to my hip.
“I’ll make you a bet. You lay off the tequila tonight, and I won’t hang up my underwear all over the bathroom.”
“You can hang ’em up if you want. I can’t guarantee I won’t touch them though.”
“Ewww, gross,” I say, as I laugh and lightly punch him in the arm.
“One way or another I’ll get into those panties,” he says with a wink of one of those dark eyes.
I swallow down. My heart jumps in my chest, and the rush of blood to my lady parts takes me by surprise.
I don’t need De Loser talking about getting into my panties.
I don’t need a reminder of the last time someone was in them.
My poor pussy is being neglected.
“Just being honest. No filter, remember?” he says.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Rocco runs his hands down the front of his wet T-shirt and lifts it over his head. He slaps it over his shoulder and then struts towards the hallway. With his back to me, he turns his head, his toned muscles rolling in unison. “Guess I’ll wash this dishwater off me then go to bed.” He narrows his eyes, and takes his time looking me up and down.
I look down at my white T-shirt, and am horrified that my nipples are poking out like fucking headlights. Fuck.
“No shots then?” I challenge, hopefully diverting his attention from my traitorous boobs.
“Guess I can take a night off.”
“Night then,” I mutter.
He lifts his chin in my direction as a silent goodnight, and then enters the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.
