CHAPTER TWO Ginger
CHAPTER TWO
Ginger
O f course he was pushing some woman to the elevator when I got off. Typical Cole Weston Ashby. To say he’s never been a real one-woman man since his disaster of a marriage would be an understatement. I’m not sure if he’ll ever settle down again. I’d be okay if he didn’t, at least for a little while. I like what we have. Over the last couple years we’ve become friends, sort of. I mean, Cole is definitely the one that pushes all my buttons but he’s also the first person I’d call to bail me out of jail.
Our friendship is unique, and it’s enough. After all, sometimes I get lonely too. Hookups are easy, but finding someone you don’t hate watching TV with? Someone that actually puts the comfortable in comfortable silence? Not so much.
“I ordered room service. Pizza and nachos. Figured you’d need to replenish your carbs after your ‘workout,’” I tell him as he breezes through the door. His sweatshirt sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, his arm bearing Mabel’s name in ink. He’s wearing grey Nike sweatpants that fit him just right, his wet hair from the shower touches his forehead and he smells so damn good. Too good.
If he wasn’t Cole … I would be having totally different thoughts about how this night should go.
“You tracking my every move?” he jokes. “What are the odds you walk out the elevator the second she leaves?”
I laugh and tighten my messy bun.
“It’s programmed into my psyche to not be around when you’re in the middle of … that.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure my body would recover if I had to listen to you and your lady friends.” I hold my hands to my heart.
“Oh Weston,” I fake-moan in my highest-pitched voice. “I never do this. Tell me again how you don’t either,” I mock. “That’s it, right there …” I fall back on the couch in a fit of giggles. Cole grimaces in response.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Cole says, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “Just put the show on, woman.”
Cole makes his way to my minibar and grabs himself a Coke, then settles on the sofa beside me.
“Seriously though, she re-up your cup?” I ask him.
He gives me a serious look. “It’s hurtful that you think so little of me. How do you know I don’t have feelings for Stacey? An instant connection that neither of us could fight?”
I laugh in spite of myself, then pat him on the head. “Well, for one, because I met her at the race and her name is Tracey .”
Cole chuckles in defeat.
“And two, because she’s not here. Instead, you’re spending your Saturday night watching Jake and Amy.” I toss a Skittle at him. “With me.”
He picks it off his sweater and pops it in his mouth. “She was alright.”
“What’s her story?”
“Kept telling me to call her Miss Riverbend County.” Cole snickers as he cracks his soda. I let the ridiculousness of that scenario play out in my mind.
Cole lets his head fall back on the back of the sofa and groans.
“Fuck, I have to get my shit together. I’m the sheriff now. Nights like these need to stop.” He’s muttering to himself like he does sometimes around me.
I pull my legs up to my chest. I try to be the only person that doesn’t judge him. He is who he is, and when the hell else is he supposed to get laid with a daughter to care for 24/7? Hooking up is his way of escaping his everyday life.
“You have a lot on your shoulders. Tomorrow is a new day.” I smile at him as the knock at the door tells us our pizza is here.
“That’s what you say every time.” He smirks and gets up to grab our food.
We watch our favorite episodes of Brooklyn 99 for the next hour while chatting about everything and anything: my summer, Nash and CeCe’s wedding, our friend group’s trip to Vegas next weekend. The conversation flows easy but, then again, it always does.
“Truth or dare?” I ask him as we watch an episode we’ve seen at least five times before.
“Truth?” he mutters as he leans back on the sofa. “I’m too tired for a dare.”
“You never choose dare.” I scowl. “Alright, real talk, do you ever give any of these women a fighting chance?” I ask, genuinely curious to hear his answer. “You never know, one of these days any given Tracey could be the one. But you’d have to actually try.”
Cole shrugs his broad shoulders and puts his hands behind his head.
“I enjoy women. I make sure they enjoy me. That’s where it ends.”
“TMI …” I retort, although there’s really nothing that is too much for me when it comes to Cole. “But glad to know you’re just cocky enough to consider yourself advanced in the women’s enjoyment department.”
He gives me a half-grin but doesn’t say anything.
“Maybe you’re choosing too many amateurs,” I push on. “You should start screening them first to make sure they’re on your level, so they don’t bore you. You could have a sign-up sheet, or hold auditions?”
Cole’s grin grows wider, but he keeps his eyes on the TV.
“I could wear a t-shirt when I go out that says ‘ Not for beginners ’?” he counters.
“Title of your sex tape?” I retort, referencing Brooklyn 99 one-liners.
He looks over and leans in, a wide smile on his lips.
“Or ‘ Advanced Users Only ’?”
“Fuck,” I say, although it comes out a little breathless. “Please stop.”
There’s a beat before we both laugh, and I toss another Skittle at him.
He scrubs his freshly shaved jaw with his knuckles.
“I’m used to women telling me to do anything but stop, Vixen,” he says in a low voice, and pinches my calf. It’s meant to be playful, but his tone is too low for my lady bits to handle.
“Gross,” I say, averting my eyes from his.
“Look. The truth is, everyone needs their thing. And the women I meet, they’re my only vice. Though sometimes I wish I chose better the first time around. But the moment that thought goes through my head I feel like shit. Because Mabes wouldn’t be who she is if she had a different mom.”
I nod. I want children, but I can’t imagine carrying the weight of a human being’s life on your back, and doing it virtually all alone. Cole turns his whiskey eyes on mine. There’s a glint in them that tells me the serious talk is over and he’s about to say something mischievous.
“Your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Dare. Always,” I answer confidently as I take a sip of my water. Readying myself for whatever Cole tells me to do.
“You always sound so sure of yourself.” He tilts forward, his elbows resting on his muscular legs as he thinks.
“You’re tired after all that advanced sex, remember? Probably can’t come up with much at this hour. I’d say a dare is a safe bet.”
The glint in his eye returns as he picks up the remote for the TV.
He opens YouTube and searches “ Macarena dance ” before handing me the remote back. It’s the song I performed junior year with CeCe and Liv as part of our talent show routine, and he knows it. He also knows I hate it.
“Grr.” I grunt at him but stand anyway.
“Backing down already?”
I narrow my eyes at him, but don’t answer.
“A dare is a dare so … start dancing,” he commands like a drill sergeant. “And I’ll be judging your technique.”
Cole leans back and folds his thick arms behind his head, relaxed and ready to watch me thoroughly embarrass myself. But he should never underestimate my willingness to beat him at his own game. I smooth down my tank and take my place in the middle of the room.
“Atta girl.” He grins.
The beat kicks in and I throw him a small smile.
This is about to become the sexiest macarena dance he’s ever seen, all in a plot to make him uncomfortable as hell and call it off.
I slink closer to stand right in front of Cole’s legs. I cock a hip, and as I pull my hair out of its bun, it falls down around my shoulders. Then I blow a real slow kiss at him.
“The fuck are you doing?” he asks, recoiling. Shock lines his face. Excellent .
“What you asked, darlin’,” I say sweetly. “Just playing out my dare.”
Cole’s throat bobs as he swallows, hard, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
I begin to roll my hips smoothly to the beat, the steps ingrained in my memory. The dance doesn’t call for a sexy hip roll, but like I said, he asked for it.
I extend my arms, palms down, palms up, palms to my shoulders, the back of my head, giving him the sexiest gaze I can. I’m staring into this man’s goddamn soul. I look right at him and move as seductively as possible, crossing one arm to my left hip then the other to my right. His hazy gaze takes hold of me for a split second and, for a moment, it feels as though he’s reeling me in as much as I am him.
I force myself to look away, tossing my hair around like I’m dancing for grocery money. I swear I hear Cole gulp and I smile internally. Perfect.
I watch my own movements carefully then look up to meet his gaze.
One hand to my left ass cheek, one to my right with a loud snap. I roll my hips slowly, and part my lips. I wait for him to call it, but my plan is backfiring because Cole doesn’t tell me to stop.
Instead, his eyes are dark and stormy, and they’re raking over me with a vengeance. I’ve never seen him look at me like this before. The dance that was meant to be a joke continues because I’m more stubborn than he is, though this is quickly becoming the riskiest game of chicken I’ve ever played. Cole’s body is tense as the singer croons the chorus. I complete a jump to swivel my ass right in front of where Cole sits. He clears his throat and stands, finally giving in before I do.
“Alright, fuck, enough ,” he growls.
I stop dutifully and start laughing, knowing I pushed the weirdness level too far but not giving a shit. He deserved it.
“Always gotta win, don’t you?” he asks, running a hand through his hair.
I point the remote, nixing the hideous song, and put our favorite show back on.
Ginger 1–Cole 0.
“Always, Law Daddy,” I answer, pretending the way he just looked at me didn’t settle right into my memory for all eternity. “ Always .”