“Fine, but on one condition.”
I turn to him. “Name it.”
“That you come with me to AA this week?”
I love that this is on his mind. He’s really thinking about it and he’s making changes, but I have no idea why he’d use this as a condition. I’d already told him I’d come to as many meetings as he wanted.
“I’d be coming with you anyway,” I state the obvious.
“I know, I just—”
“Rocco, I’ll be there. Now put the damn movie on.”
“Such a bossy bitch,” he mutters, and then selects the channel.
I laugh and grab the blanket to cover us, tucking it around my feet. He wraps his closest arm around my shoulders, and draws me into his side with a firm grasp of his hand.
“Fuckin’ survived Vegas,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. He presses his lips to my forehead, leaving an imprint of the heat from his mouth. My mind jumps right back to that night.
I’m tempted to say ‘what happened in Vegas stays there’ but I don’t want it to. A part of me doesn’t want what transpired between us to stay on the other side of the world.
“Yeah, we did.”
“Glad I had you,” he says, in a voice so quiet that I barely hear him.
“Anytime. Now shush. Kevin is on.”
His upper body shakes with silent laughter as I wrap my arm around his warm middle.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ROCCO
Wednesday
“’Kay, I’ll see you tonight,” Suds says as she breezes out the door. Even sporting those bags under her eyes after staying up after the flight, she seems fresh. I guess the holiday did her the world of good, even though she ended up babysitting me.
I finish the rest of my orange juice and walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth. There’s fuckin’ underwear everywhere, with the addition of a stark white bikini.
Fuck me dead. Badarse Bridesmaid.
Now all I can think about is how she ground her pussy against me as I filled her mouth with my tongue that night. Now I want her in my bed. Yes, I’ve wanted her in there since she first threw daggers at me, but my motives aren’t purely sexual now. It’s probably about time I deal with the fact that I have feelings for her … because I do. Part of realising these feelings means I’m gonna have to talk to her. I don’t know what she wants, but I know I can’t let it slide and not open up to her about this shit. I can’t let the crackle of pure attraction that we had between us in Vegas fizzle out, and I don’t want her to move out. Maybe she could move into my room, and V could have his back? Soph is a part of this household now, and I know V will be cool with that.
Tonight, I’ll talk to her.
It’s time to man the fuck up.
****
After unpacking my bags, cleaning the place a bit and stocking the pantry and fridge with groceries, I do some weights in my room. I’m finding that keeping busy is the key. Distraction. At least it’s only another hour or so before she gets home.
With each bicep curl, I’m wondering what in the hell I’ll say to Suds.
‘I have a fuckin’ thing for you.’ Nah. Sounds lame.
‘I want in your pants, but I want you in my life more.’ She might slap me before she hears the last part.
I wander into the kitchen, and start making the pasta dough. I feel like a fucking kid, thinking about Suds and how to approach it. How do I make my feelings known to her when I don’t know myself what’s going on inside my head? I like her; I more than fucking like her, but do I love her? I did love Trinity—at least, I think I did. I was blinded by my feelings for her. It’s completely different this time. I’m older and I’m wiser, which could be debated, but this thing we have going on wasn’t like a punch in the face to start. It’s been a slow burn … it’s gotten hotter over time, but there’s other shit there too. An understanding. We’re kind of on a level ground. We’ve both had shitty pasts. We’re trying to better ourselves. It just feels right that we do this shit together.
As I debate all this, I knead the dough over and over. I try again to come up with some simple way of expressing to her what I want.
‘What do you think about us, you know, having a thing where we fuck and do stuff together?’
Jesus Christ. I have no clue how to do this.
You know who I should ask? V. He had the same girlfriend for years. Surely he knows a thing or two about relationships, even for a young fella. Guilt hits me head-on. Fuck. I’m a shit of a brother. Here I am thinking about myself when instead of fart-arsing around the house, I should’ve arranged to see him this morning. I’ll ring the office in the morning and book in another visit. I’ll have to get some photos printed off my phone, seeing’s the bastards won’t let me take it in there. He’ll be jealous as all hell when I tell him about the cars in the desert, among everything else, but like I said to him—I’ll take him there one day. When he gets out might be the perfect opportunity. We’ll take a break and get out of town before the MC think they can get their claws on him. I’ll have to arrange some time off with Mac.
I rest the dough and then tackle my washing. When enough time has passed, I unpack the pasta maker and dust the old flour off it.
I look up to the heavens, thinking of my beautiful Mamma. “I’ma making pasta,” I say, mocking her best English accent and waving my open hands in a ta-da gesture.
I hope I don’t fuck up this batch, because I feel as if I’m cooking for my harshest critic. If it’s shit, I know I can rely on Suds to tell it to me straight. I wouldn’t want it, or her for that matter, any other way. I need to show this girl how it’s done.
I clean and dry the bench and dust it with A-grade pasta flour. Have to have the primo shit. In no time, I’m in a good rhythm. Each wind through of the dough makes the pasta thinner each time until I have the perfect thickness for fettucine. There’s flour on the front of my black shirt, on my jeans, on the floor, but I haven’t had this much fun in the kitchen since … well, I guess since Suds and I started cooking together.
It’s right on the tip of my tongue what I want to say to her, but I’m thinking that actions will speak louder than words. I’m just gonna haul her into my arms and let my mouth do the talking. No more pussy footing around.
A series of knocks ring out from the front door.
If that Fuckface ex of Suds is out there, then I’m glad we get to be alone this time. I don’t need this fucker coming around and thinking that he’s welcome, because he’s not. This is my place.
I grab a tea towel and do my best to tidy myself up. Suds should be here any minute. Maybe she can’t find her key in her bag or something. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.
When I open the door, I’m met with two shadows in the stairwell. Two uniformed officers are standing side by side, with their hands clasped in front of them.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Mr De Luca?” the short, female officer enquiries. She brushes her fingers over the loose stands of hair on the side of her head, and tucks them into her navy hat.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Detective Senior Constable Coubrough and this is Detective Constable Grant.”
“My flatmate, Sophie, isn’t here. I’m assuming you’re here because she finally reported her handbag stolen?” At least I hope so.
“Mr De Luca, would you mind if we came in?”
“Sure. I guess, but she’s not home from work yet.”
They take a few steps inside, but we end up awkwardly milling around the entranceway.
“Can we take a seat?” the female officer asks.
I motion towards the lounge room. They both take a seat on the three-seater lounge. I sit opposite, waiting for them to get on with it.