Текст книги "Switch"

Автор книги: Jennifer Ryder

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Yes. Definitely less arsehole-ish.

Who knew?

****

Lucky to get a drop of warm water, I have a quick shower once Rocco has gone to bed for the night. I can’t believe he’s gone quietly. I wonder if it has to do with the fact the guys are racing this weekend, and they’re leaving at the crack of dawn tomorrow. With all the commotion tonight, I forgot to mention to Rocco that April and I are coming too. Oh well. I’m sure Jones will fill him in.

When I get back to my room, I rub some jasmine-scented moisturiser over my body, taking my time. Yes, I’m aware I’m romancing myself. When my skin feels suitably soft, I slip on my leopard print Victoria’s Secret nighty but don’t bother with the matching G-string. Besides, all my good underwear is hanging off the edge of my wardrobe tonight. Not where De Loser can get his sleazy hands on them.

I rummage through my bag of toys for my lube and favourite dildo. BOB didn’t quite do it for me last night. The vibrations were either too intense or didn’t have the right rhythm. Tonight, I need to go old school. Bonnie and I always preferred this one. I would have fought her tooth and nail to keep it too, but she didn’t put up a fight.

I wonder if Bonnie has company tonight. She’s successful. Sexy. Seductive. Everyone is drawn to her. It’s a shame we were never going to work out, because I swear the best sex of my life was with her. The things she could do with her tongue. Sigh.

Applying lube to the object of my affection this evening, I lie back into the pillow and move my legs apart.

I glide the dildo between my lips, spreading the silky lube. With a few swirls around my clit, I push it in, a little at first until I adjust to the glorious girth.

I want a mouth on me, all over my skin. I want hands to explore, to hold me tight, to touch me softly. I miss that closeness with a person. It doesn’t do the same thing for me, doing it myself.

But I deserve to be single. I’m in such a shitty place that I can’t comprehend having any kind of relationship. I need my head right. My career right. I need to sort my shit. As much as I’m trying to get ahead, I feel as if I’m pushing a hail-bale-size piece of shit up hill. It’s nasty and it’s taking it out of me, but I know when I reach the top I’ll be able to breathe easier. Let’s just hope I can get the stench of shit off my hands.

One day, I’ll be rid of Prince Fuckface and his bloody debt for good. If I believed in God, I’d ask him to help me out. To help me carry the burden, but as my parents drummed into me, I’m going to hell anyway, so what’s the point in praying?

Aware that my breathing is heavy, I throw my head back and allow the moans to rise up my throat. I’m not afraid to get noisy, but there’s a big problem here.

Where the hell is my O? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I get off?

I move the vibrating dildo faster, tilting it so it reaches that sweet spot. It feels so good, but I’m wound up too tight. I rub at my clit with one hand as I thrust the dildo inside me with the other.

“That’s it … yeah,” I whisper to myself, as I climb to that point of no return. I’ve got this. Oh. I’m almost there. “Oh, God—”

“You alright in here?”

I look up and the fucker is in my doorway, his hair dishevelled, wearing nothing but boxers.

I launch myself up right. “Don’t you knock?” I scream.

His eyes widen. “Don’t you know the walls are paper thin?”

“Argh!” I swing my right arm towards him and before I know it, the dildo leaves my hand and goes flying in his direction.

I gasp, as the scene before me plays out in slow motion. The heavy phallic-shaped object hits him in the eye. He yells out. His head bounces off the doorframe. Rocco’s legs give out and he hits the floor like a pile of rubble.

I scramble from the bed and tug my nighty down. “Shit!”

He isn’t moving. Oh my God. What have I done?

I kneel beside him and slap his cheek. “Rocco,” I repeat a few times, slapping harder until his eyes open.

“Am I dreamin’?” he asks as he reaches out and places his hands on my boobs and squeezes hard.

I swat his hands away. “No, you’re not.” His eyes are a little glazed, and a lump is forming around his eye. Knowing my luck I’ve probably blinded him. “Shit. Are you okay?”

Blood oozes from a gash on his forehead, just beneath his hairline. Oh no. Blood. All of a sudden I feel lightheaded.

“We, um, need to get you to a hospital.”

“What happened?”

Christ, he has amnesia. This just gets worse. He’ll sue me, and I’ll have to stand up in court and provide a play by play of the incident. I might as well end it all now.

The offending dildo is within reach of his head. I have never been more mortified in my life. Could I pick it up without him noticing?

I lean forward to snatch it. Rocco grumbles and sits up, his head swaying. I make my move and reach for the dildo.

“No wonder you were moaning. Look at the size of that.”

“Shut up.” I throw the object on the bed, and drag a stream of tissues from the box on the bedside table. I don’t do blood, and Rocco is bleeding. The bright red liquid creates a stream down the side of his temple.

I clutch at my stomach. I don’t need to be sick right now.

Shit. I’ve cut him open good and proper. I hand him the tissues and guide his hand to put pressure on the wound. Saliva builds in my mouth. I force myself to swallow it down.

Pretend it’s strawberry jam.

“You bare under that sexy thing you’re wearin’?” he says, his voice gravelly.

“What’s it to you?”

“Just give me something else to focus on, huh? I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.”

I can’t believe I threw it at him. I was so fucking angry, and seeing his cocky face pushed me over the edge. Too bad I missed out on an orgasm first. If I had been flying high on Cloud O, I wouldn’t have reacted that way. And Rocco wouldn’t be potentially blind and bleeding.

“Fine. I’m not wearing any underwear. That shit tends to get in the way when you’re getting yourself off.”

His eyes roll back into his head, and his shoulders jerk up and down. A low, raspy chuckle leaves his mouth, gaining volume as the fucker laughs hard.

“Please don’t wet yourself. I can barely handle blood, and there are other bodily fluids I have zero tolerance for.”

“I won’t piss myself, Suds,” he assures me.

“Thank God for that.”

“Just help me up.”

On unsure footing, he stands and holds onto my shoulders for support, the bloodied tissues falling to the ground. Rocco’s dark, glassy eyes flit around my face and down to my chest. His head dips, as if it’s too heavy for his neck to support. Fuck, does he have concussion?

“Can you see?” I ask, using my finger under his chin to draw his gaze back to me. He brushes his thumbs back and forth over the curve of my shoulder, causing goosebumps to prickle over my body. “Well? Can you?”

“All I see are nipples,” he says, straight faced. I glance down, and there they are, perky and poking through the sheer fabric of my lingerie. Perfect. Something moves below my gaze, drawing my eyes to his black-and-white checked boxers. The bulge grows, tenting his shorts and creating a giant shadow on the floor. Bloody hell. He’s hard? Really? And why am I now thinking about how big he is?

“Very funny, De Loser. So you can see.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’ like a smart arse.

“Can you stand by yourself?” I shake my head as his stupid grin grows. Is he faking being dazed and confused?

“Yup,” he repeats, in the same annoying way.

“Then get your inked paws off me so I can drive you to the hospital.”

He leans down and picks up the tissues, trying to sneak a peek at my vag while he’s there. “Are you wearing that?” he says, with a raise of his eyebrow.

“You dirty bastard. Do you want me to throw it at you again?”

“Chillax, Suds. Kidding.”

“Get a washer from the bathroom, and hold it on your forehead while I get changed.”A few minutes later, we’re both fully clothed. Rocco grits his teeth as he climbs into the front seat of my piece-of-shit car.

“Is something wrong with your leg?”

“Nah, just my dud knee flaring up.”

What a relief. An existing injury. Just as well, otherwise it’d be another thing for him to sue me for.

“What happened to your knee?” I have to ask.

“I used to race motocross as a kid with my … anyhow, I fucked up my knee, had surgery and couldn’t ride after that.”

Shit. That’s too bad. “Is that why you got into mechanics?”

“Yeah. Bikes are kind of a family thing. ”

“Cool.”

For the next few minutes on our way to the hospital, Rocco is quiet. Small victory.

“So did you get yourself off?” he asks.

I grip the steering wheel tight, and wonder if I’m a bad person for wishing in this moment that I’d hit him harder.

“Well, did you?” he prompts.

Yep. I’m a bad, bad person.

“I’m guessing by choosing not to answer that’s a big fat no.”

Concentrate on driving. Don’t say anything you don’t mean. Be careful; he might sue for civil damages yet. Pain … suffering …

“Don’t worry, Suds. You’re not the only one.”

I look over to read his face but find him staring out the window.

What the hell does that mean?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SOPHIE

“How did this happen?” the elderly nurse asks in a strong Scottish accent. She scowls as she looks over the admission form I helped Rocco fill out in the waiting area.

“Well, it’s a funny thing really,” I start with, and prepare to lie through my teeth.

“I’m speakin’ to Mr De Luca, lovey,” she says, and narrows her eyes at me.

“I was hit with a sex toy,” Rocco informs her.

“Jesus,” I mutter. I am never living this down. Ever.

“Okay, wasn’t expecting that one,” the nurse says, prodding at the swelling around his eye. “How did you get the cut?”

“Hit the door and fell,” he continues.

“Hmm. It’s a nasty one.”

Perfect. Just perfect.

The nurse takes some white gauze and tape from a shelf behind her, which is full of white packages and small containers. She dabs at the wound with a white cotton ball and then tapes a small square of gauze over it.

“It looks as though the bleeding is starting to stem, but you’re definitely going to need some attention.”

The nurse writes something else on the form and then guides us to a bed in the emergency room. She assists Rocco in lying back on the bed, which is raised at the head. She hands me an ice pack.

“If he can stand it, try hold this on his eye on and off for a few minutes at a time to try and reduce the swelling.”

Rocco winces as I help him place the small cool pack on his eye.

“One of the doctors will be with you in a moment, lovey,” the nurse says, before swaying her rounded hips out of the curtained area, leaving us alone.

We wait for at least twenty minutes, and still there’s no sign of anyone. Thank God Rocco has shut his mouth, because he was seriously doing my head in. He keeps looking at me strangely, so I keep scowling back.

“So here we are,” he pipes in with.

“Yeah, here we are.” I probably should say I’m sorry. If I did this to anyone else, I would have apologised profusely by now.

“I’m real sorry about this,” I say quietly. There, I said it. Now, let’s move on.

“Are you?” he asks, and folds his arms across his chest.

My eyebrows pull together, and I curse myself for thinking I could apologise and that he would react like a normal person. “Of course I am.”

“Okay, just checking.” He nods and smirks like an arse. I won’t react. He’s just baiting me.

I rub the sides of my temples and take in a deep breath, shaking as it fills my lungs. I look around, and there’s not a single soul at the nurses’ station. Where the hell is everyone?

“Seriously? They’re lucky you’re not bleeding to death,” I mutter. I’m lucky he’s not. How much blood do you need to lose before they have to do a blood transfusion?

“Chillax, Suds. I’m good. I’m sure I just need a couple of stitches and then we can piss off out of here.”

“You’re relaxed about needles? How can you be?” I hate that stuff. I’m the kind of girl that always has to look away when shit like this happens in movies. Needles. Blood. Gore. Not my cup of tea.

“Do you see my ink? Clearly I don’t have a problem with them.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He lifts up his shirt and shows me the writing on his ribs.

“You see this tatt?”

“Yeah.”

He takes my hand and runs it over his ribcage. It’s an intricate script in a foreign language. Italian?

“What does it say?” I ask as I trace over the words Fratellino and La Famiglia.

“In great detail it describes my cock. Long, good girth, powerful …”

“Very funny arsehole. What does it really say?”

He chuckles. “It’s about family. La famiglia.”

“What does fratellino mean?”

“Little brother.”

“Oh.”

“This tattoo hurt like hell. It was like the needle was grinding its way into my bones, but at the end of the day, in comparison to being stabbed in the eye with a flying dildo, it was like a tickle, really. Piece of piss.”

“You dick,” I spit out, with a roll of my eyes.

“You’ve had dick,” he teases.

I remove my hand from his side, which was still there for some reason, and scrape my hands down my face. I’m strung out, exhausted, and at the end of my wits with Rocco. Just when I think he’s getting serious, sharing something of himself, it comes back to dick.

Men.

“I think you need someone to sedate you. I’ll call a nurse.”

Before I get a chance, the pale blue curtain is whisked open.

“Mr De Luca,” a familiar husky voice chimes.

My jaw drops, and I simply stare at Rocco. I consider commando rolling to the floor and hiding under the bed. Unfortunately, I’ve missed my chance, and instead I move my hair so that it kind of covers my face.

“I’m Dr Sainsbury. Let’s take a look at you.”

Rocco cocks his eyebrow and smirks at me. It’s as if he can sense the uneasiness pouring out of me. Of course, his stare draws the good doctor’s attention. Shit a brick.

“Sophie,” Bonnie gasps. I glance up to meet the confused expression on her face. She looks between us a few times, simply by moving her eyes, and then makes a ‘huh’ noise before looking at his chart.

If you looked up the definition of awkward, this is what you’d see. A first-class description of the whole lot of awkward that’s going on here. I know Bonnie works here, but that thought didn’t enter my mind. Not even for a second. I just drove on autopilot to the nearest hospital, to save Rocco from bleeding to death and me from emptying the contents of my stomach everywhere and making a right mess.

“What’s brought you here this evening?” she asks Rocco.

“Suds here threw her big dilly at me and knocked me out.”

Insert silent, hell-awkward pause here.

“O … kay.” She reaches for her white coat pocket and takes out a pen-light, then flashes it in each of his eyes in a side to side motion. “Were you unconscious for long?”

“Nah. I’m fine. Sometimes we get a bit rough, but that’s the way we like it, hey honey?” he says.

My palm makes a slapping noise as I bring it forcefully to my forehead. I am without words. The arsehole has rendered me speechless.

Damn you, De Loser!

With the snap of latex, Bonnie secures some white gloves and takes a look at the cut.

“If I had known there were beauties like this in the ER, I would have hurt myself long before now,” Rocco says, as he tries to look down her black and white-spotted blouse.

Really? One second he’s calling me honey, as if we’re together, and the next he’s trying to hook up with her? He truly has no filter, no idea how he comes across—or does he?

“What time do you finish?” His voice turns smooth, with a hint of mischief.

Boy, does this guy have some gall. Does anything besides his dick ever come to the forefront of his mind?

“Mr De Luca, I don’t date patients … or men,” she adds. She slowly turns her expressionless face towards me and then turns her attention back to him. “Sophie can attest to that.” Her tone is curt, intending to cut me. Why did she have to throw our failed relationship out there like that, and in front of him? I don’t need Rocco coming out with uncomfortable questions about us, and what we had.

“Wow,” Rocco says, through a chuckle. He bites his lip, as if he’s trying not to burst out laughing.

“I think with three stitches, you’ll be fine,” Bonnie says, back to business. “I’ll just get a suture kit.” She stands, takes off her gloves, tosses them in the waste bin beside the bed, and then leaves.

“Why did you do that?” I whisper-growl.

“What?”

“Make out like we’re together?”

He shrugs. The cocky bastard has nothing to say for himself?

“We’re never gonna hook up,” I tell him. I need that to be clear.

“And why’s that?” he challenges.

“I don’t do dick.”

“Ah, but you have done dick, something you’ve kept to yourself.”

“Correction, then. I will never do dick again.”

“Never say never.”

Oh my God.

“Can we drop this?”

I stand up and move outside the curtain. I jump when Bonnie appears right beside me. “Have you got a minute?” she asks with a jerk of her head in the direction behind her.

I huff. “Sure.”

Thankfully she moves a few steps away, with any luck out of Rocco’s earshot.

“What are you doing with this guy? Should I be concerned?” she asks in a hoarse whisper.

“No need for you to worry,” I scoff. “I’m fine.”

“Does he have a substance abuse problem?”

What? Where is this coming from? I narrow my eyes at her. I know he has a huge tequila problem, but from what I can tell he’s not into drugs. “Why the hell would you suggest that?”

“He looks like the type. Tattoos, piercings. He doesn’t exactly look healthy. The whites of his eyes aren’t exactly white.”

“Geez, way to judge, Bon.”

“Guys like him are here in hospital all the time, one OD after another. Don’t be disillusioned.”

“Do you hear yourself? Give the guy a break. You know nothing about him.”

“Ah, so I’m guessing it’s true then,” she says, with a hand to her hip.

“What?” I spit out.

“You two are together, otherwise why would you be championing for him? Is that what you left me for?” She motions her hand flippantly in his direction.

“It’s none of your business what I do, or who I’m with.”

“What happened to your dream, Sophie? The one you were so hell bent on.” She leans in close, her warm breath teasing at the shell of my ear. “Are you using him to fall pregnant?” she whispers.

Fuck me. She thinks that?

“I’m not doing this. Can you just stitch him up?” I need to get him out of here, because I’m not entering into any further conversation with her. I’m finished. A thousand times over.

“Fine.” She walks off and I storm back to the bed, whipping the curtain closed around us.

Rocco looks a little pale, but it doesn’t seem to affect his ability to smile like a fool.

“That’s the ex?” he whispers, as I sit down beside him.

“Yup.”

“Nice. You two would have looked pretty fuckin’ hot together.”

“We did.”

“What’s this dream she was talking about?”

Dammit, the fucker heard us. And probably heard the accusation of him being a druggy too. Nice. If by chance Rocco heard her comment about me using him to get knocked up, and he brings it up, I will deny it until my last breath.

The curtain moves, and Bonnie pushes in a round leather stool on wheels.

Saved by the doctor.

We all sit in silence as Rocco is stitched up.

A young nurse, with blonde hair in a bun and perfect skin, joins us just as Bonnie is taking off her gloves. “Dr Sainsbury,” she says, with a shy look and a bat of her lashes.

A soft smile ensues on Bonnie’s face as the two share a silent conversation with their eyes. The nurse gathers rubbish for the hazardous waste bin beside the bed. She takes her gloves off, and then writes something down on Rocco’s chart.

Bonnie brushes behind her, and I swear the nurse shudders. I’d bet my last dollar there’s something going on with them. Has Bonnie moved on, or is she simply playing the game because I’m here with Rocco?

Before too long Rocco is discharged under my care, with instructions to keep a close eye on him during the next twelve hours.

When I reach my car door, I pause before we get in, staring at Rocco over the roof. “We never speak of this again. Got it?’ I bark at him.

He swings open his door and gets inside. I do the same, anxious for his reply.

“Why not, Suds? It’s funny as fuck.”

I turn to him, with my index finger pointing directly at his side. “I’m serious. I will gut you like a fish if you breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“I guess I’d better take down that Facebook post, then.”

“What? You’d better be fucking with me.”

“Kidding! I don’t even have an account. Why do you have to take everything so literally?”

I rest my head against the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. Tonight has been …” I breathe out heavily and think of what it is I’m trying to say here. “It’s been crazy.”

I couldn’t explain it any other way if I tried.