Rocco clears his throat and swallows down hard.

April struts behind us and jabs Rocco in the ribs with one finger either side of him. He nearly jumps a foot in the air.

“There aren’t many people that can get away with shit like that,” he grumbles at April, and then follows up with a wink. April hangs her arm over his shoulders and bops her head backwards and forward to the beat, her caramel locks going every which way. Her moves have me itching to dance.

“Nice to see Spencer survived his buck’s, although that lump on his head practically has its own postcode,” April says.

We all chuckle.

“And I don’t even wanna know about the marks on his chest,” she continues.

I cast a look back to the cabana, and notice a few pink marks on Jones’s chest, which almost join together in a circle pattern. I’m tempted to press Rocco for more details, but think better of it, with April around.

“He’ll live,” Rocco says.

“So, kids. What’re we talking about over here?” April asks, looking between us.

“Boobs,” I blurt out, at the exact same time Rocco says ‘tits’.

April laughs and throws her head back. “Good to see you guys are covering the important stuff.”

“Always,” I say and pinch April on the nipple, which results in her pinching me back and me trying to take another shot.

Rocco weaves his hands between our bodies, separating us as we continue to try and outdo the other. “Please, girls. A man can only take so much before he has to crank the shank.”

“Ewwww,” April squeals. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr Can’t Handle Sister-Love Best Man, I need to steal my maid of honour. There’s a podium under a palm tree that requires our very best dance moves.”

I lean in close to Rocco. “I can’t protect you from the lady-boys from over there, so watch your back, huh?” I whisper in his ear.

The gruff chuckle from his mouth fades as April tugs my arm all the way to the podium. The beat is fast, but we both have no trouble keeping up.

“Best holiday ever!” I yell out, raising my arms to the sky.

“I know, right?” April says, pumping one fist at a time above her head.

“You want something to drink?” I ask her. Of course I couldn’t ask her in front of Rocco, but it is my duty to keep the drinks up for the bride-to-be.

“Seriously, I’m probably still drunk from last night. I just finished off a glass of champagne and it went straight to my head.”

“Well, let me know. I’m happy to get you something if you want.”

April nods and a smirk curls at the corner of her glossy pink lips. “I couldn’t help but notice that you and Rocco seem to be getting along well,” she says, and purses her lips.

“Yeah, he’s not that bad, you know?”

“Well I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you guys are making an effort. I know you’ve had your differences, but I really appreciate it.”

“No worries.” I’m not about to make a big deal of it, because it’s not an issue anymore. We get along. I look in the distance to see Rocco chatting with the boys, but he’s looking in our direction. He lifts his chin and grins. He really looks good. I’ve heard the clink of weights in his room even more often since he started his sobriety. Exercise has definitely been a good distraction for him.

“So there’s nothing else going on between you two?”

I swing my head back towards her. What? “No, why?”

“I would’ve thought in this environment that Rocco would be feasting his eyes upon all the girls, but his attention hasn’t been on anybody but you.”

“That’s bullshit,” I spit out.

But is it? He’s been quiet this morning, and apart from lady-boy he hasn’t strayed from the group. Aside from me pointing out the boobs before, from what I’ve seen he hasn’t been interested in checking out other women. Am I cramping his style?

“Then let’s agree to disagree then,” April says.

“Whatever,” I mutter, as I bump my hip against hers.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ROCCO

I can’t stop watching her. Stalker.

I love the way she holds herself, and the smooth way in which she moves that rockin’ body to the beat. When she smiles, it’s golden. When she looks in my direction it’s the only time that my mood improves.

I don’t wanna talk with random people or, for that matter, anyone else. Anyone except her. We can talk about anything. It can be as stupid or as serious as we want. I must admit though, it took a bit of time to get up the courage to talk to her today, because the images of her on that mechanical bull are still ingrained in my memory. I took those memories with me into the shower last night and tried desperately to get them out of my head as I came like a freight train. It didn’t fucking work.

Later in the evening, after a few more hours in the pool, Brett walks up towards me with a brunette with massive tits and an equally big arse tucked under his arm. I know for a fact he recently got engaged. He certainly doesn’t give off the ‘I’m taken’ vibe the way he carries on around other women. It’s typical behaviour of the arsehole that he is. I really feel sorry for his girlfriend. Does she even know what she’s getting herself into with this guy? What woman in their right mind would commit to that?

Brett and the brunette are both drinking margaritas. By the sway of his step, I’d say he’s pretty much wasted. Hopefully that means he’ll fuck off to bed soon, so I don’t have to put up with the look of him. Thank Christ he booked his accommodation last minute so he’s not in our room. I’d probably end up shaving his eyebrows off in his sleep.

“What’s up, De Luca?” he says, as if we’re mates. The chick does this stupid thing with her lips, making her look more duck than human. I guess the intelligent ones know to steer clear. This girl? Not so much. I couldn’t even be fucked asking for her name because really I don’t care, and I doubt Brett does either.

“Just takin’ in the Vegas sunshine,” I say, hoping he realises from my tone that I’m not interested in chitchat with him.

“You want a drink?” he asks.

“Nah, I’m good.” I look around, desperately trying to gain the attention of someone, anyone who can save me.

“Not drinking today, huh?”

I’m not even gonna answer that. Clearly he’s been watching me, otherwise why would he say it in such a demeaning tone?

“Don’t be such a pussy, De Luca. As if you can stop yourself.” This horrid cackle of a laugh escapes him. Fuck, I hate this cunt. “Man up and have a drink. You and alcohol are inseparable.”

Is he right? Can I give it up forever?

“I don’t need you fuckin’ telling me what to do, fuckwit.”

“Oooh, a bit testy, are we?”

“Testy enough to re-arrange your face.”

“I haven’t forgotten about Nowra, you know. You almost broke my nose.”

“It hasn’t made any difference to the way your face looks. It’s still fucked. Besides, your pretty fiancée is still on the scene, so I don’t think it’s anything to blubber about.” I stare daggers at him and then at the girl.

“You’re getting married?” she says in a high-pitched voice. With a hard shove to his shoulder, the girl storms off.

“Well done, dickhead,” he snarls.

“Maybe you should go home before you catch a case of raging STDs.”

“I’m not done here. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and whether it’s her or some other bitch, one way or another I’m getting some action. There’s plenty of pussy round here anyway; some rather nice-looking bridesmaids too, if you ask me.”

Motherfucker. He did not just say that. I need to control this rising urge to flatten him. As much as I hate him, this piece of work isn’t gonna see how much he’s riling me up.

“No one asked you a goddamn thing, fucker,” I say, as calm as I can.