Текст книги "Switch"
Автор книги: Jennifer Ryder
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
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.
As if I can turn away now.
Suds slips off her white sandals and moves like some kind of sexy goddess as she hoists herself to sit on the edge of the ring, and then twists slightly to place one foot on the ledge, spreading her knees apart. She giggles, carefree as anything as she climbs inside. With a swivel of her hips, she grips the edge and turns her back on her friends. She leans back, showing off how fuckin’ incredible her tits are as her upper body hangs upside down off the edge and she balances like some kind of kinky yoga teacher with her toes reaching for the sky.
I palm the front of my jeans. I don’t know why I had to physically confirm that I’m hard as a hammer.
“You tease! Hurry up and ride that animal,” April shouts.
“We need more champagne,” Vicky squeals at a passing waitress.
Suds pulls herself up and then throws a leg over the machine and wiggles her hips until she settles into position. She gives a nod and then the bull starts to move.
With each roll and twist, Suds sways her body, holding her left arm high in the air and pushing her chest out when the time is right. She’s in control. She makes it look as if she was born to be a bull rider, but more than any of that, she’s hot as fuck.
“Here’s your Coke,” Jones says, and holds the tall glass in front of me. I choke. On what, I’m fuckin’ baffled. As I scull down my drink, the bubbles itch inside my nose with each gulp.
“Will you look at that?” Nathan says from beside me. “What I’d give to have that beauty ride me. Holy hell. The way she rolls her hips …” The bull turns so her front is facing us. “Those tits are frickin’ superb.”
Suds has now gained the attention of a large crowd of guys, who are milling around the edge of the ring. I hate that they’re watching her. Everyone in here is ogling at my …
“We should go,” I bark out. I’ve got a right mind to haul Soph over my shoulder and drag that sexy arse out of here. It’s not my place, and she’s not my girl but fuck, if only.
Why am I thinking like this? Is the desert air doing something to my brain?
“Um, yeah. Drink up boys,” Jones announces. “We don’t want to disturb the girls on their night out.”
****
The two strippers hover over Jones as he lies flat on his back in his Calvin Klein jocks where the coffee table was just minutes before. Stone, Billy, Nathan, Steve and Brett sit around the neighbouring couches, and I perch on the arm of a chair in the corner. Stone looks more interested in the label on his beer bottle than the main attraction in front of him. The other guys look like salivating dogs ready for their next meal.
The end of “Wet” by Snoop Dog blares through the portable speakers. Thank fuck the song is nearly over.
Every other man in the room is transfixed on these women as the ginger-haired girl takes a can of shaving cream and starts shaking it. As she performs this simple act, her bare oversized boobs jiggle. They’re big, but her skin looks stretched to almost bursting point. Those nasty surgical scars underneath her tits leave no illusion as to whether they’re fake or not. It makes me wanna vomit.
When they said they did tricks, I had no idea what that entailed, I just said they needed to keep it clean. Nothing that in any way shape or form would lead the bride-to-be to inflict grievous bodily harm on me, or more importantly, on the groom. I hope to fuck they stick to the plan.
“This’ll be cool to start, honey,” the dark-haired waif says as she squats over him in a black string bikini. She might as well be wearing nothing, because the top is more like putting two discount stickers on a pair of watermelons.
“You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC kicks through the speaker and instantly my mood sours. Suds. This is something she’d listen to. I’d give anything to be with her now, rather than be witnessing this freak show.
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.
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.”
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.
