The waif squirts shaving cream across Jones’s chest, down his torso, and then finishes off with a smiley face over his cotton-covered cock. Ginger girl kneels at Jones’s head and then open her legs and kneels on all fours, giving Jones prime view of that leather thong that’s parting her rounded cheeks. She clutches his wrists out to the side in a typical sixty-niner pose.
She glides her tits down his chest, mewling and squealing like a porn star as she spreads the shaving cream between them, making sure she gets her pussy close enough for him to smell her. I check the wall clock. We’re only at half-time.
“Lick that puss,” Brett yells, knocking an empty beer bottle off the coffee table. Lucky for him it doesn’t smash, but rolls aside.
“Fuck you, Brett,” Jones mutters, his eyes closed. My bet is that he’s probably waiting for some kind of natural disaster so this will be over.
The song finishes and Ginger rises to her feet, grazing her long pink fingernails up the length of his chest.
“Time for some fun,” the brunette says with an evil glint in her eye. “It’s Getting Hot In Here’ by Nelly fills the room.
“Jesus,” Jones says, lifting his head to look down his body, which has remnants of cream everywhere. The brunette rubs it off with a black towel and then applies a thick layer of cream to his chest in the shape of a star. Then she makes a circle around it.
Ginger tosses her a small box.
Nelly keeps on telling us how hot it is.
A lit match is tossed at his chest. The cream sets alight, the flames dancing around the pattern until the entire star is on fire. I gasp and take a few steps closer, watching as my friend becomes some kind of pagan sacrifice.
“Shit, that’s freaky,” Brett says, in a creepy low voice.
“Shit,” Jones curses, his jaw tight. “Is it supposed to be this hot?”
“Feel it, baby boy. You look so hot.” The brunette places her heel-clad feet either side of his head and draws in long breaths of the dark smoke rising from his body through her nose, as if she’s getting high off it. Her head lolls about as she slips her hand inside her G-string and fingers herself. Is she fuckin’ high?
“Fuck, that’s burning!” Jones roars, flailing his arms about.
The smoke detector goes off. Its piercing cry triggers panic. Everyone is out of their seat. Nathan starts yelling at the ceiling.
The groom curses as the smoke continues to swirl into the air. I snatch Jones’s T-shirt from a nearby chair and swipe the flaming cream off his body, which is now blotched with shades of dark pink. “You okay, bro?” I fan the shirt towards the ceiling, trying to clear the smoke.
“What the fuck just happened?” he asks, confusion clouding his blue eyes.
“I’ve got no fuckin’ idea,” I grunt out. I usher the girls to the side of the room, but watch on as Billy stands on the arm of the lounge and bashes the alarm.
“Sit the fuck down, Billy,” I shout. The blaring alarm continues, and Nelly is still fucking whining.
“I’m pretty sure settin’ my friend on fire was not part of the fuckin’ plan,” I roar at the girls. My jaw ticks as they stare at me and dismiss my comment as if I just told them a joke.
“That was hot,” the brunette says and pouts. “I thought Aussie boys would totally be into it.”
“Get dressed and get the fuck out,” I yell.
They scramble for their clothes and head for the door. If I hadn’t paid them already, there’d be no way they’d get a cent out of me for this fuckin’ show.
Billy roars and rips the smoke detector from the roof.
“Billy, I said get the fuck—”
A ceiling tile smashes over Jones’s head, dropping him to the floor like a sack of shit.
“Fuck me dead,” I mutter as I rush to Jones’s aid.
It’s a fuckin’ madhouse in here.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SOPHIE
Sunday
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.