“Are you one of those girls that throws up after a meal?”

“Fuck no. I love to eat.”

“Then why noodles for every bloody meal?” I throw my hands up in the air. They’re noodles. How fuckin’ good can they be?

“You wanna know why?” she says, her tone rising an octave, disdain dripping from each word.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Because the less I spend on food, the closer I am to getting my own place. And then I don’t have to listen to your bitchin’ anymore.”

That’s fucking it. She’s not eating because she needs the money? Jesus H. Christ. What kind of shitty financial situation is she in?

“Well I’m fucking remedying this shit right now. You,” I say, with an accusing finger pointed at her face, “are gonna eat a decent meal, even if I have to jam it down your throat.”

She slowly puts her noodles down and then slides her hands to her hips. Attitude drips from her every pore as she narrows her eyes at me. “Excuse me? You’ll jam what down my throat?”

I grab between my legs and squeeze the growing bulge at my crutch. Something about all this yelling is getting me worked up. “This if you’re not careful.”

She looks down between my legs and back up to my face. Her eyes never leave mine as she shakes her head from side to side and tuts. Mirroring my earlier move, she points her index finger toward the middle of my chest. “Let’s get this straight,” she states, with conviction clear in her tone. “That cock of yours,” she says, and jabs her finger like a weapon towards my cock, “is never gonna be anywhere near my mouth. Not in a million years.”

“Ah, a woman in denial.”

“Argh! Do you ever shut that mouth of yours?”

“Rarely. I tend to do my best work with my mouth open.” I roll my tongue out enough to give her a flash of my stud. Of course I do it slowly. I want her to see it. I want her to imagine what I can do with it, because if there’s one thing Rocco De Luca knows how to do, it’s eat pussy.

She watches my mouth hungrily and then swallows hard. Hmm. Is this conversation getting her worked up too? Her cheeks are now flushed and she’s doing this puffing, snorty thing with her nose.

“Just sit the hell down on that chair,” I say, pointing at the stool in a deliberately slow move, “because I am feeding you. Got it?”

She sits down with a huff. “Fine,” she says, between clenched teeth.

“It’s not a big fucking deal, you know. I waste half the food I buy anyway.”

I grab some steaks from the fridge, put on some potatoes to boil, peel some carrots and cut the broccoli. Yeah, meat and three veg is boring as shit to most people, but it’s what this string bean needs before she ends up breaking a leg from malnourishment. It’s not one of the many family recipes my mother taught me growing up. After she left, I can’t cook like that anymore. Cooking this avoids memories of her. Besides, I’m not about to cook that shit for just anyone, let alone a girl that treats me with such indifference.

“Do you have any sisters?” Soph asks, toying with the salt and pepper grinders at the end of the bench.

“No. What the hell has that got to do with anything?”

“You have no idea how to talk to a woman.”

“That’s bullshit. Of course I do.”

“You’re bossy as shit, and have no filter … whatsoever.”

“I’m just honest. It’s the way I am, and chicks love it.”

“Well, I don’t get the attraction.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Suds. You will.”

Soph yawns, stretching her arms high in the sky. I can’t help but shake my head at this skinny girl. I don’t mind a bit of padding on a woman. A little extra to hang on to when I’m driving into them. This girl needs fattening up. I add a crap-load of butter and cream to the mash, and then turn the steaks in the frypan.

I turn to face the stove, because now I’ve got a semi. Going commando when I got out of the shower earlier tonight doesn’t seem like such a good idea now.

“I bet the only woman that loves that mouth is your mother. How on earth do you talk to her?” she probes.

Mum. Dear old mamma.

“I don’t.”

“Had a fight?”

I turn around, now having no fear of having a hard-on. “Nope. She’s dead.”

Her mouth falls open. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“What about your dad?”

“Dead too.” Lost the battle with the bottle, didn’t you, Pops?

I hope to Christ she doesn’t ask about siblings, because I can’t talk to her about V. And the fact it’s almost his birthday …

“I’m on fire tonight, aren’t I? I’m sorry.” Her voice is quieter now, and she stares at the bench in front of her instead of meeting my curious gaze. She’s uncomfortable. I like it. A lot.

“Yeah, I bet he is, too. What about your parents? Alive?”

“I guess so.”

Meaning, what exactly?

“Where are they?”

“Last time I heard, in a white-rendered mansion about half an hour’s drive away.”

“I’m guessing moving in with them wasn’t an option?”

“Nope. My parents don’t support my life choices,” she says, using air quotes. “I’m not welcome. I taint the strong catholic values of the family. Apparently I’m on a path straight to hell.”

“That’s fucking harsh. When did all this shit happen?”

“When they found me in bed with a woman. Everything was fucking peachy when I was engaged to Fuckface. But after him, I turned—”

“Say what?” I splutter.

She rolls her eyes and drags her fingernails over her scalp through her blonde hair. “Okay, calm down. I’m bi, okay? I’d been with guys and girls in college, but I kept that little titbit from my parents because I knew how they’d react. It took me a while to work out where I fit in with the whole sexuality thing. After him, I—”

My head reels with this new information. “Wait. Go back a sec. So you were engaged? Fuck. I want the whole story.”

“Yeah, well I’m not drunk enough and don’t exactly feel like sharing, so …”

“I can remedy that real quick. The bottle shop is just around the corner.”

“Don’t you get sick of drinking?”

“Nope. Why would I?”

“General good health? I don’t know. Just seems like you have a problem.”

I don’t have a problem. I just have a healthy obsession for the finer things in life—namely, tequila. “Ha. Why not tell me what you really think? Anyway, we’re not talking about me. I wanna know the goods. It’s the least you can do, because I’m cooking you a decent fucking meal.”

She purses her lips and lets out a long stream of air. “There are things I want in life. It doesn’t matter if I’m with a girl or a guy.”

What kind of things? A house? A family? What? Why’d she break up with her girlfriend, but more importantly, what did he do to her?

“Did he fuck you over?”

“He FUBARed me.”

“He what?”

“You know, fucked me up beyond all—”

“I fuckin’ know what it means,” I blurt out. With a sharp prickling sensation, blood rushes to my face. “Did he beat you? Is that what you’re saying?”

She scoffs. “No, but let’s say if I ever see him again, his face will be FUBARed.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“What about you? Surely one day you’d be looking to settle down?”

“Not in the foreseeable future.” I turn back to face the stove. I can’t see it happening. Why put myself out there again just to be shut down? Besides, I never meet the right women, which is probably my fault, but who’d be interested in someone as fucked up as me?

“There’s more to life than getting your dick wet, you know.”

I chuckle as I take the steaks out of the pan. “You’re probably right, but it’s one of my favourite pastimes.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You and April like to talk about my dick gettin’ wet?”

“You wish.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ do.”

****

SOPHIE

Rocco lets out an almighty burp, standing right behind me at the kitchen sink. It reverberates around the room, drawing a mother of a scoff from me.