Our Thing: An Australian Mafia Romance (Kids of The District Book 1)
Our Thing: Chapter 12

Toni is sitting crossed-legged on my bed beside my half-packed suitcase. ‘Are you sure you still want to go to Bali?’

I fold another pair of shorts. ‘Yes. I’ll be fine. I’m focused.’ I motion with my hand, cutting the air in front of my eyes. ‘I’m focused.’

He pulls out a lacy pair of knickers and wrinkles his nose. ‘I really don’t think you should be going.’

‘It’s business.’ I shake my head and glance everywhere except directly at Toni. Chuckling nervously, I add, ‘It’s a lot of money. Plus Jimmy is sponsoring me now. He’s paying my way through Europe; he’s gotten me offers from companies in Italy. I’m not going to mess this up. I will keep my distance. I have the power to ignore. . . I’m an excellent ignorer.’

‘Yes, I think every guy from high school will agree that you are an excellent ignorer. But we aren’t talking about them. We are talking about-‘

‘Max Butcher. See.’ I shrug and smile with gullible enlightenment. ‘I can say his name again. It’s fine. Toni, I know what I have to do. I’ll keep it professional. I’ll go for bike rides during the day. I’ll visit villages, temples, and fricking volcanoes, and I’ll be fine.’

He pointedly lifts up my new toffee bathing suit. Between its spaghetti straps and thin criss-crossing wrap-around midriff, the suit resembles a few pieces of string rather than bathers.

‘It covers everything,’ I state adamantly.

His eyes widen. ‘I don’t think you should be going.’

Snatching the one-piece from him, I force a grin. ‘You underestimate me, my friend.’

‘No, Golden Girl, I don’t. I estimate you. I estimate you right at the point of blinding, young, irrational obsession. That’s my estimate.’

‘Well, um,’ I stammer. ‘Get a different ruler.’

‘Your comebacks are sad. I can’t believe we’re friends sometimes. Listen, you haven’t heard from him in nearly two weeks. And the last time you saw him, he crushed you, calling you a silly little girl. Just leave it, darlin.’

I begin to pace around the room, riffling through cupboards and drawers that I know have nothing in them I need or want. ‘I was a silly little girl,’ I whisper into the closet.

Toni sighs. ‘Cassidy.’

‘I was.’ Stiffening, I turn to face him. The back of my eyes heat and my lower lip threatens to tremble. ‘I thought I could relate to his world. I thought that being Konnor’s sister meant that we weren’t so different because I’d known hardship too. I’d thought that meant he could let me in, but I was wrong. I know nothing about pain. I know nothing about responsibility. I know nothing about violence or torment. I know nothing about anything, just like he’d said.’

‘Cassidy.’

‘No. I’m no longer an asexual pigeon, Toni.’ My voice cracks. ‘I’ve become very aware of my body and my sexuality since being with Max. I’m confident enough to wear something like that now,’ I say, pointing at the swimsuit. ‘It has nothing to do with him being there.’

He stares at me with furrowed brows. ‘I don’t think you should be going.’ Sighing, he adds, ‘But in the end, this is your life. If you want to be a glutton for the punishment that is Max Butcher, then fine. Flaunt your fanny around Bali, but what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t warn you against it.’ He pauses. ‘No, seriously, what kind of friend would I be? Because I’m one more Max Butcher altercation away from locking you in a tower and guarding you with a dragon.’

Laughing a little, I shake my head and finish packing. With a few more sarcastic comments, Toni drives me to the airport and waves me off at the gate.

Being only five foot three and petite comes in handy when flying on a small jet. Curling my knees up until they’re touching the cold metal curve of the plane, I peer out the window as the urban patchwork of the District is replaced by the flat red dirt of the Australian outback. The plane will head north across the Kimberley and Indian Ocean before setting down in Bali in several hours. Flick, Stacey, and the others are all on Jimmy Storm’s private jet, which is scheduled to land a few hours after mine.

As the Kimberley pans beneath me, I open the Indonesian language book I’d purchased in year twelve and practise simple terms of conversation. By the time we touch down at Denpasar Airport, I’ve learned the Bali words for ‘thank you’ and ‘please,’ as well as the numbers one through ten and numerous greetings.

Selamat pagi.

Terima kasih.

After grabbing my luggage, I step out of the airport and the humidity cloaks me like a blanket I can’t kick off. My brow immediately moistens. The thick air smells of tea leaves and rotting fruit and spices. It’s exotic, nice, and gross all at once. Bali is somehow both bright and hazy. The heat brings a kind of lethargy with it. Of laziness. Of leisure. Of romance. It’s moist and hot. I want to strip off and swim naked in a pool.

A nice man named Atu picks me up and drives me two hours north to Ubud. As he navigates through the chaotic sea of motorbikes and scooters, I watch the rice fields and dense lush greenery of this tropical island stream pass the window.

‘Terima kasih,‘ I say, thanking Atu when we reach our destination. After waving goodbye, I wheel my suitcase towards a lovely Balinese lady, who is wrapped in the most beautiful purple dress.

She shows me to the villa, which is carved into the side of a mountain and situated along the outskirts of a luxury resort boasting two pools with swim-up bars, and two restaurants. The villa itself has its own access point with a private pool and outdoor kitchen.

The fridge calls my name, so I pull out a Bintang beer, pop the cap, and have a few mouthfuls. I stand still for a moment in the empty villa before taking another sip. Then I wander around the rooms, reading the names on the doors: Flick and Stacey, Bronson, Max, Cassidy, Xander, and Clay.

Walking into my room, I stare at the double bed, beautiful wooden furniture, and hand carved ornaments. I take another sip and smile. I should jump on Max’s bed, scruff up the blankets a bit. I don’t, but the thought makes me happy. My room has a private ensuite with walls, but no roof. It’s decorated with grey tiles, a single bamboo chair, and enough foliage to make it feel as if I’ll be showering outside despite being completely private.

I place my beer on the bedside table before grabbing my luggage and tossing it onto the bed. Riffling through the clothes, I pull out my new toffee bathing suit. I strip off and squeeze into it. It’s one piece; the bottom connects to the top by thin bands. The seam of the panties cuts high, displaying the swell of my hips. The bands wrap three times around my belly and ribs. The top is a halter neck with a plunging neckline. It’s pretty.

Toni was wrong, I tell myself as I slide my toes into my flipflops. I’m not wearing these bathers for Max. I’m wearing these bathers because I like the way they make me feel and I don’t care what that means. I grab my towel bag and bronze-tinted Aviators and meander towards the main resort pool.

Kicking my flipflops off, I lay on a sunbed by the pool and stare through my sunglasses at the brochures I’d picked up at reception. The sun and humid air caresses nearly every inch of my body, creating beads of moisture on my skin. Strangers splash around me, laughing. Beautiful girls lay baking in the sun. Lovely Balinese people shuffle around, delivering cocktails and food, as well as offering towels and other comfort items. I focus on my book.

‘Cassidy!’ I hear my sister’s voice screech a second before I’m in her arms. ‘You’ll never believe what just happened.’

I return her embrace, dropping my book. ‘Yay! We’re in Bali.’

‘So?’ she pants. ‘We jumped out of a fucking plane!’

I sit up and she slides onto the side of the sunbed. ‘You what?’ I gasp.

‘Yep. They didn’t even tell us. They just strapped on parachutes, connected us to them with harnesses, and jumped. Out. Of. The. Fucking. Airplane. I’m not even kidding you!’

I feel terrible all of a sudden. My stomach threatens to create knots because, for the first time since all of this Butcher boy stuff had started, I’m concerned about Flick and whether she knows the depth of their secrets. I wonder if she’d care.

‘Wow.’ She’s clearly high on adrenaline, wired and smiling from ear to ear. ‘You’re obviously all okay, though?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. They apparently do this kind of thing all the time.’

Of course they do.

‘That sounds amazing.’ As I slide back down onto my sunbed, wriggling a little to get comfortable, Flick moves to the bed beside mine.

She pauses, ogling me. ‘Cassidy Slater, those bathers are gorgeous.’

I squeeze my lips to hide my smile. ‘Thank you.’

She shuffles slightly to get a better view and observes every inch of me. ‘They are evil! I love them.’

‘They aren’t evil. . . The red ones were evil.’

‘Um, I’ve never seen you wear anything like this before. Sexy as fuck, sister.’

I laugh and glance over my sunglasses. ‘You’re not my type.’

Stacey joins Flick soon after we have caught up on all things light-hearted and have settled down to drink some cocktails. The sun’s thick presence massages warmth into my muscles, and I bat my eyes closed as Stacey and Flick natter beside me. I drift into a fuzzy, warm world of muted, splashy giggles. Several long seconds pass before the sound of a playful scream causes my eyes to flicker back open.

I watch as a group of excited girls run down the steps. They’re screaming and laughing, but all my attention is on Max. He and his brothers, one of which I don’t know, are caught in the midst of the girls’ chaos for only a moment. And then they’re free and every inch of Max’s beautiful form is bared to me. I stare directly at him, but he doesn’t notice me.

Until he does.

Flipping over onto my belly, I rest my head on my forearm. I’m feigning confidence right now as my heart vibrates against the plastic cushions of the sunbed. Taking a big breath, I try to ignore the commotion and will myself to stay in my own lethargic, lazy, romantic Bali.

‘Cassidy,’ Flick whispers. ‘Max is fucking you with his eyes right now.’

I bite my lips to stifle the silly little girl smile – isn’t that what it is? A silly little girl smile. ‘I’m sure he’s not.’

My skin is humming from just having heard her say those words though. I’m aching everywhere for his lips. And that is precisely why I’m trying to mentally escape right now. If I look up and see his eyes mentally stripping me, I’ll turn into a smouldering puddle of need.

‘Felicity, don’t,’ I hear Stacey say, and I twist my head to face them.

Flick rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t what? It’s not subtle. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her arse since he got here.’

‘Please,’ Stacey mutters. ‘Leave it. It’s not a good idea.’

It’s not a good idea?

Stacey really is a Butcher; she even talks like one.

‘What does that mean?’ Flick asks. ‘Why isn’t it a good idea -‘

Stacey smiles tightly. ‘Look, this holiday is about the boys. You two need to behave or you won’t get an invite next time. I’ve seen these situations go wrong because girls get on their nerves. Especially Clay and Max, okay? Just be good.’

My loud sigh is inadvertent. Sitting up, I grab my purse and walk towards the bar.

I’m used to eyes on me, but today I can feel them caressing me, following each lift of my legs, each sway of my hips. It’s as though Max’s eyes have the power to physically touch me though, so now I’m struggling to stay relaxed. My stomach flips around with nerves. It takes all my strength to not glance over at him.

Once I’m finally at the bar, I lean against it. It provides a semblance of protection from the eyes that were following me so intimately only moments before.

I smile at the beautiful white toothy grin of the Balinese man polishing glasses.

‘Can I please get a mimosa. . . Sorry. . . Jus jeruk and sampagne. Terima kasih.’

His whole face brightens. ‘Yes, wanita cantik.’

I’m not sure what that means, but he begins to pour me a drink.

A stranger on the bar stool beside me presses his shoulder to mine for a split second. ‘He said, beautiful lady.’

‘Oh.’ I smile at the stranger whose accent is clearly Australian. ‘That’s nice of him.’

His grin slants. ‘Nah, he’s just being honest.’

I try to ignore the fact that this man is quite attractive, but my blush gives it away. Laughing awkwardly, I say, ‘Terima kasih.‘

He cracks up. ‘You’re fucking adorable. Can I buy you a drink?’

‘No,’ I state respectfully. ‘I can buy my own. Thank you, though.’

‘Come on, I’ve got a mining wage burning a hole in my pocket and no one to share it with. It’s like 0.20c. Let me buy you a drink.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Okay, sure.’

‘Sweet. I’ll pay for her drink and any others she orders.’ He swivels to face me. ‘Where you from?’

The bartender places a mimosa in front of me.

‘The District.’

He nods, one of his eyebrow’s raised. ‘Yeah, in WA?’

I grab the glass and take a sip. It’s considerably stronger than what we’d get back home. ‘Yeah.’ Standing on my tippy toes, I slide up onto a stool and cross my legs. A bead of sweat drips down my hairline as I study his tanned, rugged face. He’s as flushed and as sweaty as I am.

‘I went there once,’ he says. ‘Some bloody good restaurants in that area.’

My chair swivels slightly as I relax into the conversation. ‘There are. And museums and theatres. We’re. . . arty.’ I giggle nervously; he seems to like it because his grin gets wider. ‘I mean, we’re cultured. I’m an idiot. Sometimes I say silly things.’

Stranger chuckles. ‘I haven’t heard you say anything silly.’

‘Give her time,’ I hear Max say, his big form appearing in my peripheral vision.

My head turns towards him like a magnetic attraction and I stare at his naked, tattooed torso. His muscles shift hypnotically as he moves and – oh frick – he’s so close now I can see the beads of sweat on his chest.

I swallow hard. ‘Yes, Max?’

He stops right in front of me, unapologetically raking my body. ‘Tell me, little one, did they run out of fabric while making those bathers?’

Stranger leans on the bar. ‘Hey, man, don’t ruin it for the rest of us.’

Max’s biceps twitch.

I try to remain calm. ‘Just ignore me if you don’t like my bathers.’

His eyes are fixed on mine. ‘I didn’t say I didn’t like them.’ He signals the bartender. ‘A mimosa and a Jameson neat.’

I glance at Stranger as he says, ‘Hey, man, I’ve already bought her a drink.’

Max completely ignores him. Gripping the bar between us, his other hand reaches for my current mimosa. His eyes are firm and brazen as he drains the glass.

Stranger stands up abruptly. ‘Are you fucking serious?’

My pulse quickens when Max slowly turns to acknowledge him – all six foot four inches of scowling Max Butcher. He makes Stranger look like a little boy. He should probably have to declare his body as a weapon like people who do karate have to do. . . Or something.

‘This is ridiculous!’ I stumble to my feet. So he doesn’t want me. But he also doesn’t want anyone else to have me. Fricking caveman! ‘I’m going for a walk.’

‘Put something else on,’ Max growls.

‘Of course I was going to.’ I glare at him. Never breaking his gaze, I slowly slide on my flipflops. His eyes narrow further as I walk out onto the foot path and wander down the cobblestone street.

I half expect him to chase after me. Throw me into a stall. Force me to cover up my body. I wish the thought didn’t excite me so much. Literally as soon as I’m far enough away from the resort, I duck into a little street market and search for ‘something else to put on’. But there was no way in hell I was going to let Max Butcher dictate my attire. Especially since I haven’t heard from him in two fricking weeks.

Browsing the dresses, I take my time. I replace a few I like, and the woman is all smiles as I practise my Indonesian in an attempt at bartering. Of course, I pay the original asking price any way. Each dress only costs me five Australian dollars. The white summer dress that cuts directly across at the knee is perfect for today, so I pull it over my bathers before heading out again to explore a few spots around Ubud.