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

‘Tell me again what happened last night,’ I plea, running the razor from my ankle to my knee. The faucet above me is on high, spitting hot water down onto my body. I can vaguely distinguish Toni’s silhouette on the other side of the shower curtain.

His outline moves and the curtain is suddenly jerked open. ‘How many more times must I narrate this for you?’

Straightening, I frown at him. ‘Really, Toni?’

He points between my legs, looking disgusted. ‘Are you going to shave that?’

‘It doesn’t bite, Toni. And, no, I wax. It needs to get a little longer first. Go back and sit on the toilet and tell me again.’ He flicks his head as if he has hair to flick – he doesn’t – and closes the curtain.

The dark shape of his body slumps down on the toilet lid. ‘Okay. So I’m getting sweaty with a gorgeous hairless gentleman in your game room when I look up and see Max Butcher with a dead-to-the-world, stubble-between-her-legs Cassidy Slater in his arms. And he’s carrying her up the staircase towards the bedrooms! He was up there with her for at least three minutes too.’

I can’t help but grin. When my eyes had finally peeled open this morning, I’d found two Panadols and a glass of water on my bedside table, along with a note that read, ‘Drink me, Alice.’

‘Were you even going to go check on her?’ I tease. ‘She could have been in some kind of trouble.’

‘Oh, darlin, I was hoping she was, but no.’ He begins making pigeon noises.

‘I have no memory of that! I barely remember talking to him,’ I admit as I begin to shave my other leg. ‘When did he leave? Did he leave with someone?’

‘I don’t know. I was ‘subliminal’ not long after that.’

I laugh. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Braidy. He’s a police officer, and he promised to arrest me the next time he sees me,’ he coos.

‘He’s a cop? How old is he?’ I ask.

‘I dunno,’ he says whimsically. ‘Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three.’

I giggle. ‘So you two really got to know each other then.’

He chuckles. ‘I could map his mouth.’

‘That’s a start, I suppose. But maybe next time, try pulling your tongue out and let him to get to know you.’

‘Why would he want to get to know me?’

I hate it when he does this. Shaking my head, I scold him, ‘Toni, you’re more than your body.’

‘Well, I suppose I could go out on a date with him if my queen accompanies me.’

I reach for the curtain, tugging it open to glare at him. ‘No.’

Sitting on the toilet and eyeing me with enthusiasm, he claps his hands together in a prayer like position. ‘Please. You know I don’t do dating well. They don’t like me when they realise I only have a one-track mind.’

I lift a blonde brow at him, my expression dubious. ‘They do like you. You have issues with liking yourself.’

He scrunches up his face as if he’s just eaten a lemon. ‘What cockamamie is this? I love myself. Haven’t you read my diary?’

I close the curtain to finish shaving my legs. ‘You just wanted to say cockamamie.’

‘Never had an opening before. I just took it.’

Sighing, I think about how very few people get to know Toni. Beneath the BS, innuendos, and mockery there is a really considerate and loyal person. ‘You struggle to accept that you have more to offer than your hot bod-‘

‘Eww. No. Stop it,’ he mocks.

‘You can do this on your own,’ I press, but I can feel my resolve slipping.

‘Please.’

‘I’d be a third wheel. It’d be weird.’

‘He has a hot friend named Luke,’ he says, hope lifting his voice a decimal.

I cringe and put the razor back on the ceramic shelf. ‘Toni. You know I hate it when you try to hook me up with people.’

‘It’s not a hook up,’ he assures me. ‘Just people getting to know each other. Just like you said.’

‘Oh my God.’ I give my body a final rise off. ‘How did I get roped into this?’

‘Ropes won’t be involved.’ He laughs. ‘Luke’s a cop as well. He’d probably use handcuffs.’

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see them. ‘Not helping, Toni.’

‘My, my. You get Max Butcher’s attention once and you’re a mean girl.’

I don’t know what to say to that.

He continues, ‘Come on, darlin. You’ll have fun. Meet new people. Maybe get your fanny wet?’

Feigning disgust, I wrinkle my nose. ‘Stop it. Or I definitely won’t be going.’

‘So you’re saying yes then?’

I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh. ‘You’re a suck hole.’

‘Yes, we have established that already.’

Pulling the curtain all the way back this time to stare at him, I warn, ‘No pressure!’

‘No pressure. Is that a yes?’ He smiles, lips set in a wide and triumphant curve.

‘Fine.’ I exhale in defeat and turn the water off. ‘But it’s not a date!’

Water splashes into the tub and down the drain as I quickly ring out my hair. As soon as I step from the shower and look at Toni, he’s grinning at me with hopeful wide eyes. I tilt my head at him and wrap myself in a towel before wandering into my room to get dressed. ‘I said fine. Now go home,’ I say as I riffle through my clothes. ‘I’ve got to meet Dillion in my studio.’

Toni suddenly appears at my shoulder. ‘I know. That’s why I’m still here. Can I watch? He’s so yummy.’

I moan. ‘No. Go home.’

He glares at me. ‘You’re a Mean Girl. You’re a witch with a B.’

‘You need to get new material!’ I yell out as he walks from the room.

‘Your mum’s chest hair!’ Toni replies and then laughs. God, I wish Mean Girls had never been filmed because he finds a Mean Girls quip to nearly everything I say.

When I hear the front door shut, I decide it’s an animal-print leotard kind of day. And even though I’m really hung-over, I’m dressed and out the door by eight fifty-five.

My studio is a hundred metres behind the main house with its own driveway and two parking spots. It looks just like another house on a rear block and has all the modern commodities to match. Bathroom. Kitchen. It has excellent acoustics and high ceilings completely covered in LEDS – the more lights the better. Mirrors line the inside walls and the flooring is a kind of vinyl plank. Dad had the studio built specifically for Flick and I when we’d both needed a place to dance. But Flick had given up ages ago.

I, on the other hand, attend a professional academy five days a week and my goal next year is to secure a higher paid position as a ballerina. It may be a bit ambitious, but I’d love to join an international company; I don’t want to be stuck in the District my whole life.

Rome maybe. Or Paris. . .

Bonjour, je m’appelle Cassidy Slater.

Ciao. . .

On top of that, I teach two senior dance classes on Monday evenings. My students pretend not to fondle each other while they waltz and I pretend not to notice. I also offer personal classes and have a few advanced students that I coach on Sunday mornings.

Dillion is one of them.

None of this pays much. It works out to be just enough to cover the electricity, WI-FI, costumes, props, alterations to the studio, and maintenance, while leaving about $50 a week left over for personal stuff. But it’s not about the money. Dad just really wants me to contribute to the costs associated with my business even though my parents are pretty rich.

I think they’re rich. . .

We don’t discuss money in my household.

Dillion arrives not long after I switch the lights on and start to warm up. After an hour of practising lifts, he places me on the ground with a sigh. ‘You’re so easy to lift.’

‘Oh, stop it.’ I shake my head. ‘I was able to balance very easily. That was a great lift.’

He scoffs. ‘That’s because you’re amazing! Not because I’m any good. When I’m holding you, you’re like an extension of me. You’re so light and easy to manoeuvre. The girls at my studio are just not as good as you.’

I make my way over to the foam mats. Sitting down, I begin to stretch out my hamstrings. ‘Well then, you’ll need to get better to accommodate them.’

Dillion meanders over and sits beside me on the mats, pressing his chest to his thighs. ‘You’re incredible at what you do, Cassidy. You’re good even after a night on the piss. Your movements look so natural. You don’t even look hungover this morning.’

I sit up and cross my legs. ‘Well, they only look natural because I spend like fifty hours a week practising, but trust me I’m hungover today. I’m faking a lot of it.’ I giggle and try to be reassuring. ‘Listen, you’re a good dancer, Dillion. That one-handed presage lift you just did was really strong, but you need to get out of your own head.’

‘I know,’ he moans. ‘I just can’t think straight today.’

‘I can tell. Your mind should only be on me.’ I study him as he stretches. ‘Your mind should be on my body and yours.’

‘It is,’ he mutters.

‘Well, good.’

A deep mechanical growling sound from outside grabs my attention, and I frown at Dillion. ‘Is that a motorbike?’ I jump up and rush towards the porch. The noise is rhythmic and intense as I open the door and step outside onto the deck. Leaning around the side of the studio, I watch a red bike and a big, black four-wheel drive park up on the grass beside our pool. Flick and Stacey bounce from the back seat of the four-wheel drive as Xander and Max jump out of the front.

Oh my gawd.

And I’m back inside as fast as I can, closing the door behind me. ‘Frick.’

Dillion is standing at the entry. ‘Who is it?’

I try not to smile because I’m painfully obvious. ‘Um, some of Flick’s friends, I think.’

He narrows his eyes at me, dubious. ‘Why are you hiding all of a sudden?’ He scrutinises my face. ‘It’s Max, isn’t it?’

My mouth drops open. ‘Oh my God, does the whole District know I have a crush on him? ‘

‘Yes.’ He grimaces. ‘Because he carried you up to your room last night, Cassidy.’

I look at him wide-eyed. ‘Were you there?’

He scoffs and shakes his head in utter disbelief. ‘At your birthday? Yes. And we danced. But, even if I wasn’t, there’s a picture of you in his arms circulating socials.’

I hate the internet.

Slapping myself on the forehead, I exclaim, ‘Yes, of course! I remember seeing you at the beginning. I’m so sorry, Dillion!’ I reach out for him, but he takes a defensive step back. His emotional response completely throws me because we are not even good friends.

His brows draw tightly together. ‘We danced for like an hour and you were kinda. . . flirty. I dunno. . . you were sorta. . . sexy.’

As I stare apologetically at him, my cheeks burn. ‘I’m so sorry. That’s so unprofessional. I swear, it’ll never happen again.’

He glances at the ground and frowns, before turning to collect his things from the bench. ‘Okay.’

‘Dillion?’

‘You have your head in the sand, Cassidy. Max and his brothers are trouble.’

‘You need to stop listening to rumours.’

‘Go onto Google. Check out some articles. Literally, I’m not kidding. Just google Butcher and you’ll see.’

‘I’m not interested in what The District News has to say about them.’ That seems to annoy him even more, but before I can press him for an explanation, my studio door swings open and Flick struts in.

‘Hey, my little love, how are you feeling?’ She glances at Dillion. ‘Dillion, looking toned in those tights. Hot.’

He continues to grab his things and then walks towards the door. I think he is probably feeling patronised, but I’m sure she’d only meant what she’d said as a compliment. Flick is so confident, she’s often oblivious to how she can make people feel uncomfortable.

‘Yeah, do they make them for men?’ I hear a voice say from outside the door.

Well, that definitely wasn’t a compliment.

Annoyed by the comment and how comfortable everyone is invading my studio space, I walk out onto the patio. Xander is chuckling to himself and Max is standing staunchly behind him. I freeze.

My eyes meet Max’s momentarily and I’m again consumed by insecurities. Frick. I’m only wearing a skin-tight leotard and stockings. Nothing is left to the imagination. That might be the intent in ballet – visible and obvious lines – but in the real world, I might as well be wearing lingerie.

And I have no tits.

So now he knows I have no tits.

Flick stops Dillion in the doorway. ‘Come for a swim with us? Cassidy you coming?’

Dillion halts and then turns to me. Enveloping my shoulders with his arms, he whispers in my ear. ‘We okay?’

I squeeze his waist. I’m not happy, but I still feel a sense of relief. ‘Of course. We’ll talk soon.’

His breath hits my ear as he says, ‘Don’t go there, Cassidy.’ He grips me tighter. ‘He’ll destroy you.’

The relief is replaced by discomfort.

My arms flop to the side and Dillion leaves, walking passed the boys and straight to his car. I glare at the brick wall for a moment, confusion and irritation both wrestling for first place in my mind.

He’ll destroy me? Like destroy my reputation or does he mean emotionally?

It’s almost unfair. Last night was the first time I’d allowed myself to make a few bad decisions. I’m not going to be destroyed by anyone. I’m not a delicate little flower. I’m a frickin’ ballerina – I’m always working on swollen toes, bruised knees, and cramping muscles. I’m a machine. I’m a model of self-control.

I grin at Flick and nod adamantly. ‘Yep. I’ll come for a swim.’ I massage my quadriceps. ‘It’ll be good for my muscles. I’m just gonna run to the house and grab my bathers.’

I dart across the patio, taking very little notice of Max on my way. Well, except for a few minor details like he’s wearing a casual white tee-shirt with short sleeves and navy board-shorts that display every wave of muscle on his arms and legs. The definition of some of those bad-boys can only be achieved by a rugby player or someone who does CrossFit every day. His biceps and forearms even seem to have somehow grown since last night too. . . Or maybe they just appear that way because they’re now folded across his chest. But his eyes are definitely bluer in the daylight.

He turns his head slightly as I rush pass and I inhale deeply, fighting the blush threatening to creep up my cheeks.

By the time I stroll back to the pool in my pink one-piece bathing suit, my nerves are replaced by annoyance.

Five-minutes-ago-Cassidy has some explaining to do.

What was she thinking, choosing the suit that sits high on my hips, riding up each bum cheek? She’s a little tart.

But thankfully as I unlatch the pool gate and walk in, my emotions once again shift. I’m just in time to see Max remove his shirt by pulling the back of his collar up and over his head with one arm.

Oh my gawd.

I glance away and take a big breath, wishing that I wasn’t so into him. That it wasn’t so obvious. That I wasn’t an asexual pigeon. Kicking my flip flops off, I drop my towel on the chair. He’s diving into the pool and it’s then that I notice the other brother. I’ve never seen him before, but I know that he’s Max’s brother because they look so alike. It’s hard to tell with them both submerged, but I think he’s taller, maybe less built.

‘Who is this then?’ The other brother smiles at me as he swims a little closer. ‘I don’t think we have met.’

Flick throws a pool noodle at Stacey, who catches it, straddles it, and jumps into the water. ‘That’s my sister, Cassidy,’ Flick says.

He lifts himself out of the pool just enough to offer me his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, sister Cassidy. I’m Bronson.’ And he’s as annoyingly gorgeous as his brother, with clear, opal blue eyes and a soft, infectious grin. He even has that signature Butcher dimple on his left cheek. The only ugly thing about him – and I’m not even sure if it’s ugly or just tacky – is a terrible chopper-style moustache. I hope he wears it ironically. I shake his hand and within a second, I’m pulled from the step and into the water. A yelp escapes me as I’m submerged. Within another second, I’m surfacing again.

My grin is huge as Bronson playfully pushes my wet strawberry-blonde hair away from my face. ‘You okay, sister Cassidy? Sorry, couldn’t help myself.’

‘Bronson ya dickhead,’ Xander groans from across the pool. ‘You don’t even know her.’

‘Bronson!’ I hear Flick growl.

I cough a little and then laugh. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ I wade backwards, purposefully splashing him as I kick over to the corner. It’s somewhat refreshing to not be coddled.

My hair is all over the place, so I dip my head back and smooth it down my crown. By the time I wipe water from my eyes, Xander is jumping into the pool, and Flick is splashing Stacey. Water goes everywhere as they chat and mock each other.

I stay in my own corner, a little overwhelmed by the three boys. I kick hard to stay afloat and watch everything unfold.

My gaze is suddenly snagged on blue-grey eyes just as they lock on me. And my chest is rising and falling faster to keep up with my quickening breaths. Max is swimming towards me now and I’m wading backwards, all the way backwards until I’m hitting the fibreglass boundary. Frick.

He grins. ‘Do I know you?’

I giggle nervously. ‘Funny.’ While I work to keep afloat, he stands with his shoulders above the surface. ‘Oh my god, how tall are you?’ I almost moan.

‘Six four.’ He studies my body as it moves underwater. ‘Want to wrap your legs around me, birthday girl?’

I burst out laughing and cup my face, nearly dunking myself in the process. ‘No.’

‘Come here.’ Chuckling, he reaches for me. He pulls my legs around his waist and my arms onto his shoulders, and although our torsos aren’t touching as water flows between us, his face is only inches from mine. And instantly I’m not smiling anymore. I’m lost in the dark grey outline of his irises, and I’m sure he can identify the exact hue of every one of my freckles.

‘Hands off my sister, Max!’

‘Mind your own hands,’ he yells over to Flick, but doesn’t turn his head. ‘Mine are wherever I want them to be.’

Flick splashes us. ‘Just scream if you need me, Cassidy.’

Electricity passes between us. I’m not naive enough to say it’s surreal or unexplainable; it’s just sexual energy, I know that, but it’s intense. His eye lashes have beads of water on them and his hands are wrapped around my waist, and come to think of it, they are big. He has really big hands. My lips part and his eyes drop to watch me breathe. I want more than anything to just get it over with and press my mouth to his, exploring this feeling, but I don’t think that’s what girls do in a situation like this. I’m sure they seduce or act coy or say something clever like. . .

‘You have big hands.’

Oh my God, shut up.

He flexes his fingers around my waist. ‘What do you imagine they’re good at?’

My cheeks burn. ‘Oh my gawd. Stop it.’

He grins at me. ‘So why don’t I see you around the District much?’

I try not to get sucked into the vortex of his eyes. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Busy doing what?’

‘Dancing. That’s kinda all I do.’

‘That’s good. Did you take the Panadol?’ His voice is even and authoritarian.

I blink at him as we float together. ‘Um, yes, thanks, and sorry about the whole, passing out thing.’

‘That made my night.’

My cheeks feel a pinch as I fight back a giggle. ‘Care to fill me in on before that?

He leans in a little closer. ‘Which part?’

‘Um, the part where . . . Well, any part that involved you and me? I don’t remember talking to you much.’

‘You told me to stop being so hot.’ His lips part and his white teeth show. ‘It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘Ah. . .’ I stammer. ‘Your level of, like, self-love, is like, so over the top.’

‘Like, is it?’

‘Yes.’ I nod and lose the fight with my mouth and just let a goofy grin show. ‘I would have never said that. . . to your face.’

He grins, his lips set in an amused and mischievous curve. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

The corner of his mouth draws out further until his dimple is on display. ‘So you don’t think I’m, ‘Oh my gawd you’re too hot, just stop it’ kind of hot?’

Frick.

I pull my arms from his shoulders and shield my face. ‘Oh no, Max. Go away. I did say that, didn’t I?’

‘Like I said.’ His hands move from my waist down to cup my backside and he pulls me in to him. My chest touches his, my nipples growing so hard they hurt. ‘Just helping you stay afloat, little one,’ he claims with a smirk.

I drape my arms over his shoulders again even though my heart is racing and my breathing becomes something I have to concentrate on. His eyes move around my face and down my neck as his fingers draw little circles on each of my cheeks. I suppress a moan, and he grins even further when my eyes slowly start to close.

I’m not a fricking asexual pigeon. . .

‘You have a serious girl boner for me, hey?’ Max laughs.

My eyes fly open and I glare at him. ‘Oh, stop it, Max. You’re being a jerk.’

‘I am a jerk,’ he declares, his tone brazenly unapologetic.

‘No, you’re not. A jerk doesn’t put Panadol out for a girl. A jerk doesn’t carry a girl to her room and not even try to sleep with her.’

His eyebrows are level and he fixes me with a stare. ‘You were unconscious. That’s not a jerk; that’s a rapist. You keep saying shit like that and it’s gonna worry me.’

I glance away. ‘I know. I didn’t mean. . .’ There is this silence between us now and it’s so palpable, I can’t breathe. ‘So what if I do have a girl boner for you? It’s just primal.’

He moves his hands back to either side of my waist and I sink down a little. ‘It’s a bad idea.’

My forehead tightens. ‘What is?’

‘You and me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re clearly a girlfriend girl, and I can’t think of anything I’d like less.’

‘That’s a heavy statement. What about polio? Bet you’d like that less.’

‘Nah.’ He curls his lips and shakes his head. ‘I think I’ll take the polio.’

‘You don’t even know me. Maybe I’m only interested in one thing from you, Max Butcher.’

‘Is that so?’

My eyes are suddenly drawn to Bronson, who is climbing out of the pool butt naked, and I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed that he’s been naked this whole time. He casually struts over to collect his towel. His thick, powerful thighs are wrapped in beautiful vibrant tattoos. An intricate family tree design runs from the base of his spine to his neck. I struggle to look away when he turns around and begins to pat himself dry. He starts at his lean muscular abdomen and works his way down each leg. His penis hangs thick and long between his thighs. There are colourful tattoos on nearly every inch of his body. It’s intense and sexy and awkward, and I really need to look away now. I glance back at Max.

He’s eyeballing me. ‘You checking out my brother, little one?’

My cheeks catch fire; I know I’m blushing off the charts. ‘Oh my God, he’s completely naked, Max.’

‘Yeah. He does that. I really wish he wouldn’t.’

Bronson calls over to Max. ‘Time to hit the road, Maxipad. Boss called!’

Max lets go of me and swims towards Bronson. He lifts himself out of the water and I push backwards to the pool edge where I watch the hottest man on earth stride away from me. Max has mostly black ink on his arms and chest and the exact same family tree tattoo, but the rest of his skin is smooth, bare, and bronzed.

I stare at them as they converse. He dries himself off quickly and pulls his shirt on. He’s definitely built bigger than Bronson, with large defined muscles that create visible curves beneath his shirt.

His jaw is tight as he talks to his brother, but then softens when he looks over at me. ‘Until next time, little one.’

I sigh, knowing that he was right – I’d want more than just one thing from him.

I’d want everything.