I’d love to let this money ride, to keep going until I have enough to give a comfortable gap between my debt and me, but it would be foolish to continue. I know better than this. Prince Fuckface and his gambling is what got me into this cluster-fuck of a situation. I’d be stupid to make it any worse for myself. Time to quit while I’m ahead, or rather, not so far behind.

I gather up my chips and pour them into my purse, the soft clanging of them pooling at the bottom music to my ears. April links her arm around my waist.

“Let’s cash my chips, get changed into our hen’s outfits and then go ride a bull to celebrate,” I say, and plant a loud kiss on her cheek.

“A what?” she asks.

“Relax. It’s not a real bull.”

“I’ve run in Pamplona, baby. I got this,” she slurs, and holds a palm towards me, attitude dripping from her.

“Come on, Vicky. We’re cashin’ in,” I call out, getting her attention from where she sits at a neighbouring table. She turns and all but skips over. “And then we’re goin’ for a ride,” I inform her.

“Woo-hoo,” Vicky hollers and skips ahead to the cashier. I can’t help but laugh. She didn’t even care to ask me what we were riding. For all she knows, I could be challenging her to ride one of those young Texan boys who we ran into earlier. They were on a buck’s night, although they were very animated when trying to inform us Aussie girls that it’s called a stag party.

“Babe, after the bull we’re going to Stratosphere Tower to go on the X-Scream rollercoaster.”

“Yay!” April shrieks. I’m quietly shitting myself, but I knew this adrenaline junkie would jump at the chance at riding one of the highest rollercoasters in the world.

I look up to see Vicky a few people ahead of us. “Just don’t tell Vicky yet, because I have a feeling Miss Always Do The Sensible Thing will never forgive me.”

“She’s a bridesmaid. She has to do it. Us sisters are in this together,” April says, with a nod. “Maybe we can trick her into it. We can tell her it’s like a little shuttle thingy that gives you a view of the strip.”

Even though she’s pissed, I think she might have a plan. “I think when we’re dangling headfirst over the edge eight hundred feet above solid ground, she might be onto us.”

April throws back her head and laughs. It melts my heart seeing her so happy and carefree. I hope that for many years to come, she looks back on this trip with fond memories. I know I will.

“That sounds like my kind of ride.”

April tugs Vicky’s hand, bringing her into line with us. When we reach the other side of the casino, I pour my chips on the felt counter at the small window of the cashier. The young dark-haired guy gives me a wink and flashes a dimple, and then slowly gathers the chips in piles and starts gathering notes from a drawer beside him.

“You’re wasting your winks on this one, my friend. She’s all about the boob,” April leans over my shoulder and slurs at him.

“She’s right,” I say to him, and then look to either side of me. “I love boobs. I’m a boob girl. The bigger the better.” Of course my tone is playful. I wink at him and secretly enjoy watching as the colour prickles at his smooth-shaven cheeks.

He clears his throat and then counts the money in front of me. When he gets to seven thousand, he makes a neat pile of notes and then pushes it forward.

“Enjoy your evening,” he says, and then stands and leaves his chair. Eep. Way to make the young guy uncomfortable.

“Why’d you make me be mean to the poor cashier, babe?” I say through a chuckle.

“What? I just didn’t want him to get his hopes up, is all.”

As we walk out into the heat of the night, April steps between Vicky and I and we link arms in some show of solidarity. Us versus Vegas.

“We thought later we might go check out the view of The Strip at night, Vic. Whatdya think?” April asks, directing her gaze straight ahead. I don’t miss the curl to her lips. She looks as if she’s a second away from pissing herself laughing.

“Ooh, I bet it’s so pretty,” Vicky says, and then beams her bright white teeth at us.

I hope she’s smiling like that afterwards, because I’m worried that after what I have planned, she may never speak to us again.

“Let’s go get changed,” I announce, as we make our way to our hotel. “Our night has only just begun.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ROCCO

The rest of the drive goes off without a hitch, and after showering and changing into jeans and dress shirts we head to the Rock Bar for a few beers. Not that I’m drinking. We have about an hour to kill before the strippers arrive back at the hotel.

I feel like a sucky best man, because I’m not looking forward to it. What guy doesn’t look forward to lap dances and easy girls strutting around naked in a hotel?

One that’s trying to stay sober.

Once upon a time I’d be all over this kind of shit, but now? Easy chicks and strippers remind me of the stupor I used to be in, far too often. Paralytic, blind-rotten drunk. Now that I’m dry, I don’t need triggers. Really, the next thing I know my cock is going to shrivel up and drop off one day in the shower.

As we sidle up to the bar, wolf whistles and girls screaming and laughing around the end of the bar distract me.

“You want something?” Jones asks, with a shrug of one shoulder.

“A Coke.” I lift my chin. There might as well be a giant ‘pussy’ sign on my forehead.

“No dramas,” Jones says without batting an eyelid. He turns and hails a bartender.

Fuck he’s good to me.

“I’m gonna check out what’s goin’ on,” I tell him, and walk towards the squeals.

Much to my surprise, there’s a bucking bull area. Facing the ring, three girls are leaning up against the edge, wearing white tanks and matching short shorts, with dark purple sashes draped across their upper bodies. One is short with blonde, cropped hair, and the others are tall with long, fair hair. They have legs that go on forever. Another group of girls stand to the side, helping a girl dressed in pink out of the ring.

We’d already passed two hen’s groups on the way here. Vegas is just one big fucking hen’s and buck’s party.

I sit on a stool at an empty area and watch them. It’s a reprieve from watching the other boys drink.

“Come on, April,” a familiar voice chants. “Now that you’ve seen the other hen ride, it’s your turn to dominate this bad boy.”

Ha. What are the odds? How many bars are in this town?

The tall girl in the middle hitches her leg over and climbs into the padded ring. She turns around and bows, confirming that it is in fact April. She runs her fingers over the words ‘Bride to Be’ on her sash, wearing a smile that would melt hearts all over this party town.

“Watch me rope this sucker,” she says, and makes a lasso movement with her right hand. The girls encourage her with claps and cheers as she kicks off her sandals and mounts the padded beast.

The machine kicks and then starts a slow roll forward and then tilts and sways back. Two seconds later, April is flat on her back on the brown leather padding. She giggles as she rolls onto all fours, her shoulders heaving as the laughter takes over her whole body.

“This bull can kiss my arse,” April curses with a huff. Once she’s balancing on two feet, she slaps the back end of it. “Nothing on Pamplona,” she says.

She ran with the bulls? Why does this not surprise me about her? Jones has certainly gotten himself a firecracker.

Speaking of Jones, I’d better get back to him. It’s his bucks.

“Maybe I should show you how it’s done,” Suds challenges.

That “Pony” song blares from the speakers. Of course it fuckin’ does.

“Be my guest, fair maid of honour,” April says, and does a curtsy before her, gripping at the sides of her shorts.