CHAPTER TEN Cole
CHAPTER TEN
Cole
B y the time we get through a helicopter tour where Ginger death-grips my thigh for most of it and a late afternoon lunch at Caesars Palace, I’ve had a few shots with the boys to try to loosen up and forget how much I liked the feel of Ginger’s nails biting into my skin. Which basically means I’m doing my best to stay sober at four in the afternoon.
I head to the bathroom before we seat ourselves for our after-dinner showing of Indecency , the newest show Caesars offers, to splash some cold water on my face. All night I’ve tried to focus on another woman, any other woman, but none of them are fucking doing it for me. The only thing I can manage to pay attention to is how close Chris Bell sits to Ginger, how she smiles politely at him as they talk, how he bought her a drink (okay, he bought all the girls a drink) and how she laughed at something he said.
I look at the man in the mirror. He looks calm and collected.
I give myself a pep talk. “Get your shit together, Ashby. Anything with her would complicate years of keeping things platonic and you care about her. In ways that have nothing to do with sex.”
“You talking to yourself?” Wade breezes into the bathroom.
I flinch. “No.”
“Sure sounded like it.” He chuckles, heading to the urinal. We’re the only two people here. “Your fist is a sure bet—you don’t have to sweet-talk it, you know. Gotta say, I can’t believe we’re in Vegas and I haven’t seen you with some unsuspecting tourist yet, feeding her some bullshit story.”
I wash my hands as he joins me at the sink and does the same.
I shrug. “Just not feeling it, I guess.”
“Uh-huh.” Wade grins but keeps his eyes on his hands. “Doesn’t have anything to do with the way Chris is doing his best to charm Ginger?”
He reaches for a paper towel, drying his hands while he speaks. “Your gaze’s been burning a hole right through her all weekend.”
“Ginger is free to flirt with whoever she wants. Even if the shithead has a different woman on his social media practically every day. That’s her choice.”
“Right,” Wade says as he pats me on the back, “and you just called a guy you barely know a shithead so … Whatever gets you through the day, bud.”
“Fuck you.”
“Might be a good idea to stay back a few minutes, tug one out in here. I just gave the woman you aren’t staring at her ticket to the show. You’re sitting right beside her.”
“So?” I retort. Wade’s pissing me off, as if I’m some sort of lovesick teenager that can’t sit next to someone I’ve spent countless nights with.
“So … do you know what this show is about?”
I raise my eyebrows “Uh … indecent people?”
Wade snorts. “Let’s just say if you aren’t turned on before the performance, you probably will be by the end of it. But, you know, it’s only Ginger. You’ll be just fine sitting beside her.”
I give a low laugh and follow behind him.
“I will be just fine .”
Well, fuck, I wish I’d taken Wade’s advice. The show is sexy as hell, just as he said. But that’s not what’s had me bricked up beside Ginger for the last forty minutes. It may be the hottest burlesque show in Vegas; and I’ll be honest, it’s pretty fucking impressive. But it’s not the show that has my attention, it’s Ginger, practically panting beside me.
I lean down to whisper in her ear. “Need some ice? I have extra in my drink.”
She closes her mouth and nudges me with her elbow, but doesn’t turn to face me. She lays her palms out on her thighs and I wonder how warm and wet she is where they meet—
“A literal play by play of you and Miss Riverbend County last weekend at that whiskey bar?” She interrupts my thoughts with a little smirk.
I laugh a little too loudly. Wade smacks the back of my head.
I try to make it through the rest of the show without watching Ginger, but I can’t. She’s mesmerizing. The way her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths; how her pulse hammers away in her throat; the feel of her leg against mine as she shifts in her seat. I should be watching the stage, but this view? The one where I get to watch Ginger’s every expression, every reaction, is downright fucking captivating. For no reason I can understand, I’m finding it hard to ignore the feelings I haven’t let myself feel in a long damn time. Suddenly, it’s Ginger I don’t want to miss one second of.
Fucking Christ, Cole.
I need to get my head straight. Actually, I need a workout. And my fist, since no woman in this town, other than the one I shouldn’t want, seems to be doing it for me right now.
The group is ready to party by the time we’re done. The atmosphere is charged and Chris buys all the girls, except Ivy, another drink from the bar. I clench my fists involuntarily when Ginger happily accepts hers.
Does it make me see red when Chris leans down to whisper something to Ginger I can’t hear? Fucking right it does. And that is exactly why, after cruising the strip and having to watch Ginger command every red-blooded male’s attention, I decide to bow out early and head to the gym instead.
“Getting old, Cole? Can’t hack it with us young’uns?” Ginger challenges. Normally I would give her some witty retort, but the truth is it’s her I can’t hack it with. Not tonight. I don’t trust myself . And I like her too much to change anything between us.
“Must be it,” I reply with a rueful smile and a nod.
After saying my goodbyes and heading back to my room to get changed, I’m in the hotel gym. The facility is state-of-the-art and has everything I need to push Ginger and her perfect curves from my mind. By the time I’ve sat in the steam room, then moved to a cold shower, I feel better. Refreshed. Thinking clearly. Thinking like myself.
This is Ginger .
We can barely go a day without rattling each other. Not to mention, we’re totally different. I need order and stability. I do the same things every day. I have a calendar on my fridge that maps out laundry days and bath nights. But Ginger, Christ, she’s the opposite of routine. She is unpredictable. She’s sarcastic and feisty and she drives me fucking crazy.
But as I’m making my way back through the lobby and I see her sitting at the bar with a sort of sad look on her face and deep into what I’d bet my left kidney is a chocolate martini, not one , not even a glimmer of one of those fucking reasons stops me from making my way right over to her and dropping onto the stool beside her.