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 jus
t 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?”
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