Switch

by Jennifer Ryder

  “Ah, thanks. I was wondering if, maybe—”

  “Maybe what, Soph?”

  “If you would write a reference for me?”

  “You’re leaving me?” His tone is higher pitched and his eyes widen.

  “No, um, well I’ll be finishing my degree soon and—”

  “Can I tell you something?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve been waiting for this day for years, Sophie. You’ve always been above everyone else. You put the other waiters to shame. I’m glad that you’re finally putting yourself forward for something better.”

  Heat rushes to my face. I am going to get somewhere. Somewhere better. Today was the first step. I wish someone had’ve kicked my arse into action earlier. I just never expected it to be Rocco.

  “Wow, thanks, T.”

  “I’ll be sad to see you go.”

  “I’m not leaving yet.”

  “You might not think that, but someone will see the potential in you and snap you up. I just wish Tarsh had your smarts.”

  Way to insult her intelligence, T. She has what it takes. Tony might discover that if he left the office every once and a while.

  “Hey, she’s a good kid. She’ll get there. It all comes with experience, but you have to support her. Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  “Do you think you could give her a bit of intense training before you go? I’d be happy to give you a few extra shifts.”

  “Not a problem.” If this will make the transition smoother for everyone and I get to earn some dollars in the process, then it’s a win-win.

  “I’ll put something together for you now. Rebecca should be starting in ten minutes, and Tarsh is due for a break then. Why don’t you make Tarsh and yourself a coffee and I’ll have the boys in the kitchen rustle you up something nice for lunch?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Tony must be in a good mood today,” Tarsh says, as I place two coffees on the staff room table in front of her.

  “Yeah, must’ve got lucky last night.”

  Tarsh blushes and makes a weird sniggering kind of noise. “Ha, yeah,” she says quietly. We have a casual chat while we eat a chicken and roast vegetable salad that the guys prepared. It’s kind of nice—the chatting, that is. It makes me realise that I’ve probably been coming across as a bitch. I really need to put in more of an effort to make new friends. If I’m going to succeed in a new job, I’ll have to push the self-doubt side and really try.

  I give Tarsh some pointers on how to deal with the guys in the kitchen, particularly Theo. She was very excited to find out that if you simply bat your eyelids at him, he’ll pretty much do anything.

  “You heading back out there, Tarsh?” Tony’s familiar deep voice comes from behind me.

  “Sure am,” she says and stands. “Thanks for lunch, Tony.” She places her hand on my shoulder and smiles.

  “I’ll see you next shift, Tarsh,” I say, mirroring her smile.

  “Awesome,” she says sweetly, and walks quickly from the room.

  Tony hands me an envelope with my name written messily on the front. “I’ve emailed a scanned copy to you as well so you can easily forward it on.”

  “Cheers, Tony.”

  ****

  On the way to my car, I stop at an ATM and take money out. Not even the fact that my account will be bone dry after I pay rent and then the bank will get me down today. Hopefully the bank won’t come down too hard on me for being a week late. Once I’ve paid Rocco rent, I’ll have a hundred and twenty bucks for food and stuff until next pay.

  I slip my purse into my handbag and pull it tight into my side. Thank God I have that much money left over, because without it there’d be no petrol in my car, and my treasured jelly and noodles would be off the menu.

  Once I’ve parked my car on the street in front of the apartment, I finally get up the courage to open the envelope and read Tony’s letter. I remove the letter from the envelope, slinging my bag onto my shoulder.

  I dawdle up the path, and take in a deep breath.

  To whom it may concern,

  Sophie McKenna has worked at Wild and Free Range café for more than four years.

  During this time, Sophie has proven herself to be a dedicated, hard worker. She is loyal, has a strong work ethic, and is a valued employee. She is determined, and has put as much effort into this business as if she were the owner herself. Her dedication to customer service and organisational skills, particularly in highly stressful situations, are second to none. My business would not be the success that it is, without her.

  Tony Marasini

  Owner

  Wild and Free Range café

  I pull out my phone and open my emails. Tony’s email is waiting for me, as promised. I forward the reference to Julie with a brief, yet polite message. She doesn’t know how much I’m looking forward to hearing from her. I slip my phone in my pocket and look at the reference again.

  The roar of a loud bike from behind startles me. As I turn to look behind me, I jump back as the bike zooms beside me on the footpath. The rider’s arms swings out. My shoulder is violently yanked forward. I gasp as the strap on my handbag bites into my upper arm, then burns its way down to my wrist before being ripped from my body. With the momentum I collapse. My knees and palms break my fall on the unforgiving pavement.

  Panting heavily, I move my hair from my eyes with the back of my wrist. My hands shake as the sting sets in.

  “No!” I scream out, my voice catching in my throat.

  I watch in horror as the bike skyrockets up the street and takes a sharp turn between apartment buildings.

  Motherfucker.

  I can’t believe it. My rent money. My spare cash for the next fortnight. I was gonna be square. Now it’s fucking gone. Gone!

  I shakily stand up in my now-scuffed heels and inspect my grazed palms and knees. The skin is pierced and small pebbles and dirt cling to the blood seeping out. I grit my teeth. I will not cry. I’m too pissed to be sad about this. I bend down and pick up my prized reference before the breeze carries it away.

  I don’t even have my keys, so I can only hope that Rocco is home. I reach for my jacket pocket and am relieved when my fingers curl around the familiar device. Thank God I have my phone. I can’t afford to go replacing that, but now I have to get a new licence, my cards … Tears bank up in the corner of my eyes, blurring my vision. I grind my teeth. Fuck me dead, I don’t need this shit.

  Just when a sliver of hope appears, the darkness weaves its way in and swallows it. It’s so fucking typical of my life.

  I hobble up the stairs and once I reach my landing I knock on the door, careful not to clench my fist, because it’s stinging like crazy. I swallow down the acid rising up my stomach. Blood. It’s warm and it’s trickling down my shins. Gah! I reckon I’m only moments away from spewing with the gross excess saliva in my mouth.

  “Argh,” I growl. “Toughen up, Sophie.”

  The door swings open. “What?” Rocco’s eyebrows are pulled together, one hand wedged against his hip. He’s barefoot, and wearing a stretched black tank top and the black skinny jeans he seems to wear every day. As he looks me up and down, the cockiness fades, and he stammers something as he moves forward and slips his hand around my hip and smooths his palm to rest on the small of my back.

  “Suds? What the fuck?”

  “Blood … I need it off,” I choke out. “Quick.” I swallow down the rising vomit, and cough as the acid burns the back of my throat.

  He aids me to the kitchen, keeping me upright as I madly kick off my heels along the way. He ushers me to the sink and slams on the water. I thrust my hands into the stream. The ice-cold liquid shoots off my hands and in every direction—into my face, down the front of my shirt. I turn to Rocco, and he’s drenched too.

  My knees buckle as a white haze casts over my vision like a shadow. Something that sounds like a nervous giggle comes out of my mouth. I focus on the tattoos over Rocc
o’s shoulders, and the ones peeking from the front of his stretched tank top. He never parades around in less than a T-shirt. He doesn’t show much skin. Except for his giant peen that was out and proud the other morning. Great. Now I’m thinking about his dick. At least it’s temporarily taken my mind off what just happened. I can’t believe I got robbed.

  I strangle a sob that tries to climb up my throat.

  “Hey,” Rocco says, his voice firm yet comforting. He switches off the water and grabs a tea towel from the dish drainer. Slowly, he shuffles me back against the counter and pins my body in place with his hips. With the towel, he tenderly dabs at the wounds on my hands, making a calm shushing noise, as a parent would when tending to an injured child.

  “You gonna tell me what happened?”

  I take in a stuttered breath, followed by a few deep ones to calm myself. “Bike,” I grunt out.

  “A bike? You got hit?” His voice grows agitated.

  “Some arsehole … on a shitty street bike … stole my handbag.”

  “Fuck!” he roars. “We need to ring the cops.” He looks around, presumably for a phone.

  I shake my head. “What’s the fucking point? I barely saw anything. The only thing of real value in there is cash, which included your rent money. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologise. I don’t give a fuck about rent money. But you can’t let pricks get away with shit like this.”

  “If they ever find my bag, it’ll be stripped. Not worth the hassle of filling in a bloody incident report.” I close my eyes and concentrate on taking slow breaths as a vision of blood floats in front of my eyes. I will not spew.

  “You’re pale. Let’s sit you down.” Rocco wraps his arm around my shoulders and takes me to the nearest couch.

  His dark eyes are filled with concern, as he looks me over more carefully. It’s kind of sweet. “You’ve grazed your hands and knees pretty bad. You’re not hurt anywhere else?”

  “Nope. Just my pride.” I offer him half a smile. One day I hope I can laugh about this, but right now I feel as if the universe has just given me a personal battering.

  “You right to wait here? I’ll get my first-aid kit from the car.”

  “I don’t plan on movin’,” I rumble.

  Rocco, my tattooed hero, swoops up his keys and runs from the apartment, barefoot and all.

  The cool breeze from the landing whisks into the room, sending a sharp chill right through me care of my wet clothes.

  I take off my jacket and unbutton my blouse, which typically has become see-through. I’m surprised Rocco wasn’t hard as a hammer as he propped me up in the kitchen. My wet clothes land with a slap on the floor. Thankfully my blanket is within reach, so I wrap it around my shoulders, covering my bra.

  Before I know it, Rocco is back. He kneels before me, checking out the wounds on my legs.

  “You’ve got a bit of gravel under the skin. Come on, you need to rinse this shit off in the shower.”

  I hold a hand to his chest and then wince. Motherfucker, this shit stings. “There’s no way you’re getting in the shower with me.”

  “You need to get this shit clean, otherwise it’ll get infected.”

  He rips off the blanket and with ease sweeps me up in his arms, one arm around my ribs, the other under my knees. I waywardly wrap my arms around his neck, careful to keep my palms open.

  “I can do this myself,” I grumble.

  “Relax. Can’t you just let me help?”

  I huff out in frustration, my way of saying ‘okay’. He’s right. How often does someone want to help me? Besides, I’m in serious pain, and I’m not quite sure I’m out of the woods yet with the whole vomiting thing.

  His feet pad up the hallway, and he takes his sweet time getting there. “I’m cooking you something decent for dinner, by the way.” His tone is curt, as if he’s pissed off.

  “Since when?”

  “Since you weigh next to nothing.”

  I look down at my torso. When I raise my head to meet his eyes, they’re intently focused on my white lace bra. Typical Rocco. His tongue darts out and wets his lips. It makes me wanna lick my own. I never really noticed before what nice lips he has. I’m more focused on the smart-arse crap coming out of them.

  “Lucky for you you’ve still got a good rack.”

  “Why, thank you. At least I have something going for me.”

  “Shut up,” he says, as he kicks down the toilet seat and lowers me on top of it.

  “So this is what I’ve gotta do to get you to put the toilet seat down, huh?” I joke. I don’t know how many times a day I have to put the damn thing in place.

  “Ha fucking ha,” he taunts. The shower curtain is whisked back, and he turns on the water.

  I look down at my bra and skirt and cross my forearms over my boobs. Suddenly I give a shit that I’m half undressed? “I’m not getting naked,” I spit out like a spoilt brat.

  He turns his head to the side, and his eyes wander down to my skirt. “You wearing matching panties with that bra?”

  “Of course,” I blurt out. I’m not a sicko. You always have to match. You never know when you could get hit by a bus, or for that matter, knocked over by a felon on a bike.

  “Then I’ve seen them before. Take off your skirt.”

  Well, aren’t we bossy?

  He undoes his jeans and kicks them into the corner, revealing a snug pair of navy blue boxer briefs. He seriously thinks he’s getting in with me? His tank top is whipped off next. Is he trying to distract me with the tattoos?

  “I. Can. Do. This,” I grunt out, as I lower the zip at the back of my skirt. In preparation for standing up, I stick my right leg out, only to be met with the shocking reality of streams of blood running down my legs. I look up to the ceiling and close my eyes, taking short, sharp breaths.

  Rocco steps forward and grips my waist, bringing me to my feet. He whips my skirt down and swiftly dumps me under the hot stream of water. I gasp for air as the heat shocks my skin, enveloping my head in a cascade of steam.

  I growl. “I said—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you said. Let. Me. Do. This,” he orders.

  He climbs into the bath and sits at my feet, the water spraying onto him. I position my body to block the water from reaching him. I suppose it’s the least I can do.

  “Some view from down here,” he says, and runs his hand back through his wet hair. It’s slicked back now, making him look a little different to his usual scruffy self. Will he wear his hair like that for the wedding? Will he scrub up in a suit? I have a feeling he will.

  “How about you concentrate on what you’re in here for.”

  As he applies light pressure to my knee with a washcloth, I grip the shower rail to steady myself, wincing as I do. “Fuck, these hands are starting to piss me off,” I mutter as I curl my fingers around the rod.

  “Sit if you need to. I don’t want you passing out and diving through the shower curtain. I think you’re injured enough, don’t you?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “I knew I’d get you in the shower one day, just not quite like this.” A soft chuckle echoes from the bottom of the tub. Arse.

  “Ouch,” I cry out as he moves the washcloth over my skin with more pressure.

  “Relax, I’m nearly done.”

  A few moments later he stands up in front of me. Our bodies are still a reasonable distance apart, but within the confines of the shower, with the steam and the water, it’s very intimate. “You’re good as gold. I’ll put a bit of cream on it and some strapping so you’re comfortable enough to sleep.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t like blood.”

  “Yeah, no shit. I don’t do vomit, so really, there was no other way we could’ve done this.”

  “How convenient,” I say, with an eye roll for extra dramatic effect.

  “Pass me the soap,” he says and chuckles.

  “Huh?”

  “Might as well have a shower while I�
�m in here.”

  I turn around and move the wayward hair from my face. I reach for the soap holder and a slap noise in the bottom of the bath makes me freeze.

  “Tell me you didn’t just lose the one thing stopping you from being naked.”

  “You want me to lie to you?”

  Shit.

  My skin prickles all over, and yes, even though I’m hot as anything, my nipples decide yes, let’s perk up and draw attention to ourselves.

  The sexual tension in the air has just taken on a whole new level. Rocco is as bare as he was the day he was born and I might as well be too in this white underwear ensemble.

  I close my eyes and hand him the soap.

  “You’ve seen it before,” he says.

  Yes, I have, big boy. And that makes me sad. Sad, because of the state he was in when I found him. I have to help him, and I know exactly where to start.

  I open my eyes, and simply focus on his face, as curious as I am to check out the lizard again. Rocco’s gaze is playful, yet his eyes are laden with something else. It’s not as intense as lust, but there’s something there. I probably look like a drowned rat, and because I couldn’t afford the good waterproof mascara, I know I have cheap black ink bleeding down my face.

  “Please don’t tell April and Jones about the bike.” My tone is serious now, because all I can think about is Rocco’s addiction.

  “Why wouldn’t you wanna tell your friends?”

  I step out and grab a towel. With the corner of the soft fabric, I rub it in circles over the fogged-up mirror, confirming my racoon eyes suspicions.

  “They have such an exciting time ahead of them, and they don’t need to be worrying about shit that happens to me.” I’m not a charity case. I know my friends don’t see me that way, but knowing I’d been robbed they would both bend over backwards to make sure I had that money replaced.

  “Whatever you want, Suds,” he says with a huff, and pulls the white shower curtain across.

  With small steps, I make it to my room without slipping over and strip out of my wet underwear. I towel-dry my hair and tie it up in a high ponytail and slip on a pair of pyjama shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt with RELAX written in bold black lettering across the bust. I don’t give a shit about wearing a bra. The best feeling in the world is taking that contraption off at the end of the day. I’m not about to put one back on now.