I peel myself off the pink lounge chair and slip my sunnies on as I move around another cocktail waitress in a short red bodycon dress. The music pumps in the far corner of Drai’s, confirming that this is by far the best pool party I have ever been to. Hands down. I’m relieved that the travel blog I read mentioned this place. The guys have certainly embraced the whole cabana set-up, and I’m sure the people-watching part sealed the deal. I swear there are ten girls to every guy in here.

Cool water mists from shooting jets positioned on poles nearby, granting me relief from the heat, even if it’s only for a few seconds.

As I approach the bar, I sense Rocco behind me. The moment I got up, he was out of the pool reaching for his towel. He seemed in a hurry.

I keep walking, because I figure if he really wants to talk to me, he will. He’s been distant this morning, but I keep catching him watching me, staring even. He’s seen me in underwear before, so what’s the difference in me being in a damn bikini?

Maybe he’s quiet because he didn’t get much sleep. I get the impression from the boy-talk this morning that they only crashed for a few hours before arriving here. He’s definitely a moody bastard when he’s tired. On top of that, Vegas is probably playing with his head. There’s not a person around here that doesn’t have a drink in their hand. It can’t be easy for him.

“The bikini is fitting,” he says, his voice low in my ear.

“We’re at a pool party, De Loser.”

“I’m talking about what’s plastered across your buns.”

I thought Badarse Bridesmaid was a nice touch. I slap my arse cheek and say ‘dang’ in my very best Texan accent. “Just making sure peeps know not to mess with me.”

Rocco chuckles and runs his hands through his dark, wet hair. “They wouldn’t dare,” he growls. A couple of droplets cruise down his chest, tracing over his tatts as they glide down his stomach. He’s looking good.

“I have some rent money for you, too,” I announce.

His eyes dart to my chest. “What, stashed in that bikini?”

I slap his shoulder. “No, you idiot. Back in the room. You also need to tell me what you paid off my car so I can sort that too.”

“It was nothing. Forget it.”

I let out a loud huff. “I guess I’ll have to ring the bank then and confirm how much.”

“Seriously, Suds. Save yourself the phone call. It’s fine.” Why is he being so nice about this?

“Well, at the very least, I’ll sort you out with rent. I’ll give you enough to cover the next month.”

His smile turns into a firm line. “And what happens after that?”

As comfortable as this living arrangement has become, it has an expiry date. “I’ll have to start looking for a place. Your brother will be needing his room back.”

“Yeah,” he grunts. His dark brows pull together into a deep frown, and he casts his gaze farther in the distance.

“Back in a sec,” he says, and makes his way around to the toilets. Was it something I said? Does he not want me to talk about Vinnie? Is it a harsh reminder of where he is? I’m such a fool.

I line up at the bar, which is hell busy. This is why people hire cabanas.

I wait. I try and get someone’s attention. No use. I take in the view of Caesars Palace, and the late afternoon sun spilling through the giant palms overhead. It really is a beautiful place, but it’s so fucking hot here. With a wave of my hand, I try and get the attention of someone behind the bar, but it looks as though I’ll be stuck here for a while. I turn my head and look in the direction that Rocco left.

I find him leaning back against a railing. There’s an Asian girl in a leopard print two-piece with her hands all over him. She’s pretty tall and has quite broad shoulders for a chick. I laugh out loud. Lady-boy alert.

Rocco isn’t entertaining her, or him, as the case might be. He’s not making any moves to walk away either. For some reason, an uncomfortable feeling stirs inside my stomach. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I don’t like her touching him. I want her gone.

I make an executive decision to intervene.

He doesn’t notice me until my hand slips around his waist, grazing that muscular curve of his hip. “Baby, I’m tired. Take me to bed,” I whine, and then pout my lips and bat my lashes at him for good measure.

I smooth one hand up his chest. His pec muscle flinches beneath my fingers and he gulps in a quick breath. The beauty takes a step back, giving me the hairy eyeball as she flicks her hair and moves down to the next cabana.

Rocco turns to me with something in his eyes I don’t recognise. The intensity of his gaze and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he stares at me has turned this moment from something fun to something more … serious.

“You seriously need a wingman,” I say, and shake my head in fake annoyance.

“And why’s that?” he says, and looks off in the distance.

“My guess is that you had a lady-boy chatting you up. You’re welcome.”

In rapid time, his head swings back to face me. “No way,” he breathes.

“Either that or she has a serious case of haemorrhoids.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“No spewing,” I warn, through a chuckle. “That’d totally put a damper on today.”

“I wasn’t trying to pick her up,” he protests.

“None of my business,” I say, as I grab his hand and lead him to the Strip Bar. “Come on. You look thirsty.”

Eventually, I’m granted the privilege of ordering us both a soda with fresh lime in a short glass. While we have bottle service in our cabana, keeping Rocco away from the booze is the best thing. I know this must be hard on him, but he appears to be handling it well.

The booby brunette behind the bar mixes our drinks and places them in front of us.

“Billy Boy and Vicky seem pretty cosy together,” Rocco says, and nods in the direction of the small square pool at the front of our cabana. Earlier, Vicky was raving to him about the rollercoaster ride and he was lapping up every detail. Thank God she enjoyed it, because I certainly had reservations.

“Yeah.”

“I wonder what Jones will think of his baby sister getting dicked by Billy Boy?”

“They do look pretty chummy, huh? Funny, though. I get the impression that Billy isn’t her type.”

“Why’s that?”

“She was only talking about lawyers at her dad’s firm the other day. She was all gooey-eyed, talking about how much she loves a man in a suit.”

Rocco sculls a few mouthfuls of his drink, and then makes a loud ‘gah’ noise.

“What?” I ask.

“This staying dry shit is harder than I thought. There’s only so much fuckin’ soda a man can drink.”

“Would you check out the boobs on that?” I say to distract him, as a red-haired girl struts past in a poor excuse for a bikini.

“They’re not real,” he drawls, his tone bored.

“I didn’t think you were picky.”

“You can’t beat the feeling of a decent squeeze of real tits. Like yours, for example.”

I glance down at my chest. Strike me down, my nipples are hard again. I’m in Vegas in the middle of summer, so I know it’s not because I’m cold.

“How do you know they’re not fake?”

“Because I’ve held those puppies in my grubby hands, Suds, and they’re spectacular.”

“Yeah, they are, huh?” I’m totally taking that compliment. There’s a lot of breast action around here, so it’s nice to know I’m up there in the top percentile.

“You like looking at tits?” he asks, raising a dark eyebrow.

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

“Women generally don’t.”

“Ah, you see that’s because I’m different.”

“That you are, babe.” He chuckles, and it’s low and kind of hoarse. “You see any women here that you’d take home?”

I shrug and take a quick look around. “I dunno, maybe? But really, who’s got time for small talk? I’d rather sort myself out later. At least I know I won’t be disappointed.”