SOPHIE

Who’d have thought I’d actually enjoy spending some time on the track? It was good to talk wedding stuff with April and actually escape my life, if only for a day.

Rocco seemed different today. A little less intense. Was it because he was in his working environment? He was different. He was focused. He wasn’t a giant bear with a sore head. I kinda liked seeing this side of him.

At the pub, he was different again. He was funny. He was sociable. Again, not so arsehole-ish. He’s got something over me, and yet I trust him not to say a word … even though a part of me nearly died at dinner when I thought he was gonna spill.

I could have easily stayed at the pub for a few more, but I was happy I left when I did. Dinner was nice. The steak was incredible, and the most surprising thing was that I actually enjoyed Rocco’s company.

He was weird about me leaving. Almost clingy. I have no idea why. The fact that he offered to walk me to the hotel I found rather odd. At home he seems so indifferent, but tonight he was in protective mode. Huh. It’s like he actually cares.

I pull my jacket tighter around my middle as I turn the corner down to the hotel. The wind is at my back for a change.

I let myself into room seventeen, and I’m grateful that there’s a door to the bedroom and the sofa bed is out in the main living area. I know April said they wouldn’t be shagging, but I know how things are after a few reds. Liquid leg-opener.

Speaking of which, I need a shower. Let’s see if I can flick this bean back to life.

I take my pyjamas into the bathroom and turn on the taps. The hot water sinks into my body and loosens the tightness in my muscles. From the moment I start working myself, my fingers are no longer mine, but someone else’s.

They are inked. Rough. Dexterous.

In record time I come hard, gasping as waves spread out to every part of me.

My heart beats frantically.

Why am I thinking of him?

****

ROCCO

Four hours later

“Are you fucking serious, Rocco?” Jones curses as he yanks my arm upwards. I swat the branches away from my face as he pulls me out of the garden. The garden? How the fuck did I get here?

“What’d I do?” I slur, as I try to regain my balance and then brush the leaves and tanbark from my jeans.

“I had to pull you off Brett.”

He what? Whatever I did to him, the fucker had it coming.

“Brett’s an inbred fuckwit. He deserves everything he gets.” For a mechanic, the guy doesn’t know a wrench from his own dick. I hate working with the fucker. How he came to be senior mechanic is beyond me.

“I just managed to get you out of there before the publican called the cops. What the fuck is it with you and Nowra?” He takes me by the arm and leads me to a door. “Gimme the fuckin’ key.”

I pull the room key from my pocket, and he takes it, opening the door. He nudges me inside.

“Nowra’s not the fuckin’ problem,” I groan. My head pounds as if it’s about to split open and spill brain matter everywhere. I throw myself back onto the queen-size bed and swallow down the rising acid. I will not hurl.

“You have a problem,” he barks. He grabs a bottle of water out of the small bar fridge and shoves it in my face. “Something’s gotta give, ’cause you can’t keep doing shit like this.”

“Don’t worry about me, bro. I’m fine.”

“You’re in denial.”

“Pfft. About what?”

“Drink that and then get some sleep,” he grunts at me, and then slams the door.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SOPHIE

Sunday

After a few hours’ drive, April and I arrive at the bridal shop to Vicky waiting out front. For a Sunday, she’s dressed far from casually, in a short-sleeved navy dress with white spots. The skirt of the dress is flared out to her knees and she has a pair of pristine red patent heels and a matching belt. Her short blonde hair is smoothed into an impeccable bob. If she put on a pair of short white gloves, you’d swear she’d just walked out of the seventies. She must think I’m a slob in jeans and an old faded black AC/DC T-shirt.

After looking at some hideous shades of pink, and sparkly aqua numbers that you’d expect to see modelled on a Barbie not an actual person, April pulls out a short champagne-coloured dress off the rack.

I rub the soft chiffon material between my thumb and forefinger, admiring the cut of the dress and the detailed lace bodice.

“Ooh, I think you definitely need to try this on, Soph,” April says as she whips through the rack, presumably looking at the sizes. She pulls another one out and hands it to Vicky.

“I adore this colour,” Vicky squeals, and rushes to the change room beside mine.

I pull the curtain across and undress yet again, and slip the dress on over my head. I do up the side zip, and am surprised. There’s a little more room in the bodice than I was expecting. I guess I’ve lost more weight than I’d thought.

From the waist, the dress flares out in layers of chiffon, which is slightly curled at the hem sitting a couple of inches above my knees. I don’t have many dresses in my wardrobe, but this one I actually quite like.

“What do you think?” April asks, eyes wide.

“I don’t look as hooker-ish as I did in the last one.” True story. It was as short as it was tight. And it was fucking tight.

April laughs out loud and walks into my change room. She nudges my shoulder. “You could wear anything in this shop, Soph, and you’d look amazing, but I love this.”

“Yeah, I think it’s a winner.”

Vicky comes out of the change room, looks at me, then to April, and then bursts into tears.

“Oh my God, these are it. Sophie you look simply beautiful. Do I look okay?” She does a little twirl, and then turns again to face us, blinking back her tears and sniffing as if a bout of hay fever is setting in.

“Yep. I think we’ve found our dresses, girls.”

Hallelujah.

Kelly, the very smiley shop owner, takes a few measurements before we each take off our dresses, and then she sets them aside. We get back into our normal clothes.

Bridesmaid dresses done and dusted.

“I love that you don’t muck around,” I congratulate April.

“Well, I guess in keeping with that, I’ve kind of got a surprise for you both.”

Vicky jumps up and down on the spot, her hair bouncing all over the place. “What, what, what?” she asks. It’s as if her voice is preparing to go into a full-blooded squeal at a second’s notice.

“Are you pregnant?” I joke. Will we ever be pregnant at the same time? I need to take another look at that donor site and check it out further.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t get knocked up when you only take it in the arse, Soph.”

The sharp intake of breath Vicky takes in and the pursuing look of horror on her face is by far the funniest shit I have ever seen. April has told me how she’s trying to bring Vicky out of her shell, getting her to talk more about sex. I just piss myself laughing, because I know April’s sense of humour.

“Are you joking?” A nervous giggle slips from Vicky’s mouth and she re-directs her scrutinising gaze from April to me. “She’s joking, right?”

I shrug and put on my best confused look.

“That’s disgusting, April. Anal sex is no joke,” Vicky continues.

I shake my finger at the bride-to-be. “You’re right, Vicky. It’s not.”

“Okay, we kinda went in a totally opposite direction than I was aiming for, so maybe enough of the arse talk and I’ll actually tell you my surprise.”

Vicky’s shoulders drop, and her rainbow-bright smile is back.

“Spill it,” I order.

“My wedding dress is here,” April says.