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  SWITCH

  Book Five

  of the

  Spark Series

  Jennifer Ryder

  SWITCH

  Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Ryder

  Published by Jennifer Ryder

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to the author, addressed “Request: Copyright Approval”, at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Jennifer Ryder is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs or musicians or artists mentioned in this book.

  Louisa Maggio from LM Creations

  Editing by Lauren K McKellar

  Formatting by Max Effect

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Jennifer

  About the Author

  SWITCH

  Jennifer Ryder

  With an ex-fiancé leaving her in debt, breaking up with her girlfriend and struggling to find a place she can afford, Sophie McKenna has hit an all-time low. Everyone thinks she’s a lesbian, and she likes it that way, but her estranged parents know better.

  The foul-mouthed motocross mechanic Rocco De Luca only has his incarcerated brother left. Every day is a battle of the mind and of the bottle. Tequila and easy women soothe the pain, but they never fill the void.

  Rocco doesn’t mind offering his spare room to the hot lesbian he refers to as ‘Suds’. She won’t be clingy, far from it, and he’s keen on the idea of getting to see a bit of girl-on-girl action.

  With such volatile personalities under the same roof, and being in April and Spencer’s wedding party, they both have to learn to get along, even though they can’t stand each other.

  He never thought he might actually grow to like her.

  She never thought she might actually hate him less.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to you, the reader, and also my Nana who passed away during the writing of this book.

  You have your own story, as do I. No one is perfect. We all have our battles, some of which we fight in public, and others we struggle with in our minds.

  If there is a message for this book, then it is this:

  No one deserves to be judged.

  Whether you’re bi, gay or straight, whether you’re covered in tattoos, have an addiction, or are fixated with green jelly and 80s movies, you deserve love, success and happiness like everyone else.

  This is Rocco and Sophie’s story. They aren’t perfect, and they won’t apologise for it. To me, it is their imperfections that make them truly beautiful.

  “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” ~Mother Teresa

  PROLOGUE

  SOPHIE

  (Three months after the end of Strike)

  Once upon a time I believed in happy-ever-afters—a successful career, marriage and children running around a yard surrounded by a pristine picket fence. I almost had it with Prince Fuckface. He made promises and I ate them up, hungry to believe. I was naïve. I was blinded by his words of a blissful future. I put all my eggs in one basket—our future. Then he ruined everything and disappeared. I was evicted from the house that was to become our family home, and condemned to a mountain of debt that he had racked up without my knowledge.

  Five years after him, I’m no further ahead. I can’t let my dream of having a child of my own slip from my fingers again, because the next time it’ll be too late.

  As much as it’ll hurt, I have to walk away from Bonnie. It’s about time that the needs and wants of Sophie McKenna came first.

  “Don’t do this,” Bonnie begs as I furiously stuff my clothes from the wardrobe into my duffle bag. The heat from her body radiates beside me as she penetrates my personal space with her tall frame.

  My eyes sting as I blink back the tears. “This was never gonna work,” I choke out. “I was upfront from the start about wanting kids. You should’ve been honest.” I will not cry.

  I swear my uterus is shrinking with each passing day. When a baby cries in the supermarket, my ovaries ache. This maternal urge that fills my bones is only getting stronger.

  “Hon,” Bonnie says in a soothing tone. With her warm hands, she rubs down either side of my arms. The sweet hunger in her magnetising gaze and her ability to cast a spell over me would normally make me give up the fight—and I’d tell myself to be grateful for what I have. Today, I’m immune. Today, I’m fighting for me and what I want.

  With a step back, I widen the distance between us. Hurt flashes in her eyes as her hands drop to her sides.

  “You strung me along, thinking we were serious,” I say.

  “We are serious,” Bonnie says softly, as she crosses the room and sits on the edge of our unmade bed. She rakes her long fingers through her short mousy brown hair and huffs. “Sophie, it’s at least four years now before I can make that kind of commitment. I’ve got my doctorate to finish, and you know I’m pushing to get into the surgery program. I’m not ready by a long shot.”

  “We could find a donor and do this,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. I can’t see why she can’t still work and have a family. I’d already said that I’d be happy to be the one to carry the baby.

  “I can’t,” she says with a shake of her head. She purses her lips like she always does when she’s not backing down.

  Is she afraid to commit to me long-term? Am I not worthy of the sexy doctor?

  “I wanna be a young mum. I’m thirty, for Christ’s sake. I can’t wait until I’m thirty-five and then start going through the process. What if it takes years after that? What if I don’t fall at all?” When I finish my tirade, I’m almost out of breath.

  “I don’t know what else to say. I
. Can’t,” she says, her cold words slicing at my heart.

  Bonnie and I are at different stages of life. We’re both firm in what we want. We know each other well enough to know that neither of us is budging. This is non-negotiable shit.

  “It’s a deal-breaker. I’m sorry.” I try to stave off the tears as I lug my bags to the door. As the door slams shut behind me, it rips my heart in two. Tears stripe my face as I drive away.

  It looks like I’ll be doing this on my own.

  CHAPTER ONE

  SOPHIE

  “I feel terrible about this, babe,” I apologise to April as we move the last of my bags up the stairs to hers and Jones’s apartment.

  “Shut the hell up, Soph. That’s what friends are for. I’m sorry but the foldout sofa bed is all I can offer you. The spare room is filled with Spencer’s bike crap and my albums.”

  “I promise I just need a few weeks. Enough to save up a rental bond and find a bedsit or a one-beddie somewhere.”

  I hate the idea of encroaching. Her and Spencer work so hard and travel a lot, and from the long chats I’ve had with April of late, they make up for the time apart when they get home. I don’t want to spoil that for her by being here, invading their personal space. I also don’t need to hear the grunts and groans … from either of them.

  “However long you need, Soph. You’ve always been there for me, so as long as you can stand sleeping on it it’s yours.” She nods in the direction of the made-up bed. The black suede lounge is already folded out, and the mattress on top looks relatively plush. I’ve slept in worse places. “I’m looking forward to having my bestie back, anyhow. Having you to help me gang up on pretty boy is an added bonus.”

  “Ha ha, I’ve got your back, babe.” I poke out my tongue at her. Although I admit once upon a time I wanted to remove Jones’s balls, I kinda don’t mind the slightly domesticated version of him that I see now. He’s good to my girl, and because of that I have a lot more time for him these days.

  We move into the kitchen, and April pours us each a glass of red. I take a long swig, and savour the bold Shiraz as it swirls around my tastebuds.

  She lets out a heavy sigh. “We’ll have to get Vicky over here one night and talk about the wedding. You know I couldn’t care less about table settings and placards and stuff, but she’s been at me for weeks.”

  Jones’s sister, Vicky, as sweet as she is, is like a tiny Jack Russell puppy on acid. Mention the word ‘wedding’ and the squeals, and the unhuman sounds that come from her mouth I guarantee are summoning pets in the surrounding suburbs. Just think Snow White but with blonde hair, surrounded by a bunch of meowing stray cats.

  “Can I ply her with alcohol before we mention bridesmaids’ dresses?”

  April throws her head back and laughs. “Yeah, okay. I know she got a bit out of control the last time we talked about wedding stuff, but I haven’t got the heart to tell her to calm the hell down. She’s just excited, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know she’s harmless, I just don’t need happy incarnate in my face. I don’t wanna hurt the girl, and right now I don’t think it’d take much to push me.”

  My heart is still raw from breaking it off with Bonnie. The last week had been awful, packing my stuff into boxes and dividing up things that we’d bought together. I didn’t want any of it. None of it was going to help me get any closer to where I need to be. Truth be told, living in a share house before moving in with Bonnie meant I didn’t bring much in the way of white goods and furniture to our house, and thanks to still paying off the debt that Prince Fuckface left me, I didn’t have much else. Pretty much just my wardrobe.

  “Just give it time, and you’ll be fine. You never know—maybe we should finally take her up on that invite to go with her to karaoke.”

  Is she fucking serious? Sophie McKenna does not sing, and she does certainly not sing some rendition of a Taylor Swift song for shits and fucking giggles. I would rather die.

  “Over my dead body,” I say and gulp down the last few mouthfuls of delicious wine. I can already feel the warm tingles at my cheeks.

  “What if I promised to ply you with alcohol?”

  My ears prick up. “Are we talking enough booze to affect my hearing?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Then maybe, just maybe, I might go.” But just to watch.

  “Will you at least have a shot at singing? If I have to get up there with her, then you do to.”

  “Babe, you get me up on that stage, and the only thing that will happen is me tackling you bitches to the ground.”

  April laughs and tops up my glass. “Okay, I got ya. As far as our friendship is concerned, karaoke is a hard limit.”

  “I’m glad we have an understanding.”

  We cheers glasses, and I thank the universe that I have a friend like April.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ROCCO

  A month later

  “Do you wanna drop into mine for a beer?” Jones offers as we turn off the highway, that much closer to home. I rub at my eyes, irritated from watching the stream of car’s lights for the last few hours.

  “Yeah. I fuckin’ need one.” This round was so much more demanding with the bikes. Fucking Billy was devastated with his tumble today, and unfortunately for him his bike is in bad shape. I’ve got my work cut out for me over the next week. It’ll probably mean a whole re-build.

  Once in Jones’s apartment, quietly as I was asked in the stairwell, we wander into the dark kitchen. Jones flicks on the light and we crack open a couple of cold ones.

  I take a long pull of my beer, closing my eyes as the welcome taste fills my mouth. Just what I needed. Now I could go the rest of the case. I walk from the room, focusing on the stream of light highlighting a long bare leg wrangled with white sheets on the sofa bed. A tangle of long blonde hair is splayed across the pillow.

  “Who the fuck is that?” I whisper-yell¸ as I jerk on his arm.

  “Soph,” he informs me.

  Ah. Suds. As if I could forget her. “Ah, Soph.”

  “So you remember her?”

  “How could I forget? She wanted to cut my nutsack off within two minutes of meeting me.”

  “Well, she’s a little fragile right now, so best you steer clear. You may not get the benefit of two minutes next time.”

  “Fragile?”

  He ushers me back into the kitchen.

  “Broke up with the girlfriend,” he says, with an eyebrow raise.

  “Right.”

  Lesbian on the re-bound. Hell to the yes.

  “I’d wipe that fucking cocky smirk off your face if I were you.”

  “What?” I say, with a shrug.

  “You don’t have a chance.”

  “There’s every chance.” I grab my dick through my jeans and squeeze tight. “There’s a hefty package right here that I’d say increases my chances considerably.”

  “It’s not just her that’s gonna threaten your physical safety either—” Jones informs me, before he’s cut off.

  “True story,” a bleary-eyed April grumbles, as she walks zombie-like into Jones’s arms. “Hey, pretty boy,” she says into his shirt. Her golden, tangled locks fall back and brush her lower back as she looks up at him and smooches his lips.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he whispers, as his hands wander down her back and squeeze the curves of her arse, which are covered by the silky material of her clingy black nighty.

  “Ooh, missed me, huh?” she says, leaning into his body.

  Get a fucking room. These two can never keep their hands off each other. Jones has turned into a lovesick schoolboy. Sickening really.

  I scull down the rest of my beer, taking large gulps until the froth meets my lips. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

  “Good weekend,” Jones says, pulling his gaze from April.

  “Yeah. Fuckin’ ripper. I’ll see you in the workshop tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be in after lunch for the team meeting. As if Mac didn’t see enoug
h of our sorry arses over the weekend.”

  April slaps his chest. “Hey, be nice.”

  I grunt goodbye and head for the door. Unable to resist, I take another look at the sofa bed on my way out. She’s lying on her back now, hands above her head, the sheet bunched low at her waist. Her purple tank top is hugging a pair of full, knockout tits, and she’s high beaming, too. Well, hello there, girls.

  With a chuckle, I shake my head and let myself out, careful to close the door quietly.

  A hot lesbian on the rebound, huh? Never had one of those before.

  ****

  When I get home, I head straight for the one thing I know will help me. The jitters were out of control today, and the beer did fuck all to calm them.

  I grab a long shot glass, and crack open the tequila. One shot. Two shot, three, then four. With each one I melt back into the lounge. The calm finally sets in.

  Five shots, six—hell, I might as well finish the bottle.

  ****

  I wake up in a lather of sweat on the lounge, and stumble down the hall. When I stop short in front of the spare room, I have to really concentrate to focus on the bed.

  A bed and four lonely walls. I hate this room.

  “Fuck you, V,” I spit out into the space, the echo of my words taunting me.

  I wish V would hurry up and get the fuck here, already. Every time I walk past this damn room it’s a reminder of what he’s done and where he is. I wish he’d used that fuckin’ brain of his. He should never have gotten involved in the first place.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SOPHIE

  “You doing anything this weekend?” April asks, as I finish with the last of the washing up from dinner.

  “I’d normally be working a Saturday, but I didn’t get a shift this week again.” Which means less money in my pocket. I don’t know why all of a sudden my shifts have been changed. It’s not like the place isn’t busy.

  “Why don’t you come to the next round with me? I’ll be doing a little bit of work, but at least I’ll have my girl to talk to.”

  Do I really want to hang around a racetrack and listen to a bunch of guys talk shit?