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.
