Page 42 of Riding the High

“Hey, don’t hate the players just ’cause you ain’t joining the game,” Pop says, putting his glasses on, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back in his wooden chair.

“Take it easy, old fella,” I chuckle. “I’ve been there, done that. Clearly wasn’t for me.”

“So did I. But it wasn’t like this, because I wasn’t with the right person,” Wade says, angling his almost empty glass of bourbon at me and turning to the grill to check our steaks. “Yours could be right around the corner. You never know.”

“Or in your own backyard,” Pop adds with a smug grin.

“Christ,” I whisper, looking back over at Mabel to make sure she didn’t hear me. “What a bunch of shit-disturbers.”

I stand and walk from the big house patio that runs into the wide, flat yard to watch the girls play. It’s an open space with a view of all the barns to the left, and the highway in the distance through a big field of crab-apple trees to the right. I take a deep breath once I join them. Yep, this view is much better.

The smell of grilled steak fills the air and I can’t help but laugh as the girls compete like their ring toss game is an Olympic sport. I watch as Ginger lands her third ring on the spike, before turning to give Mabel a high five. Mabel’s smiling from ear to ear and I can tell she’s so fucking happy to be surrounded by so many people who love her. People I want to keep in her life.

The only job I have for the next couple months is remembering this is a business arrangement. I cannot get used to having Ginger around.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ginger

80 days to go

“That’s the last of it,” I say happily as Cole grimaces. He’s carrying in my last tote of clothing as I carry in my “toolbox,” a secret home for my spicy novels and vibrator collection.

“Christ, woman, how many outfits do you need?” Cole grunts, dropping my clothes onto the bed.

“My apartment is on the other side of town. I don’t want to go back and forth more than I have to. Plus I want to dedicate all my time to Mabel.”

“Bullshit. It’s because you’re an overpacker and are afraid you might need that one pair of socks you didn’t bring.”

I bite my bottom lip and consider any socks I’ve forgotten, like the overpacker I actually am. He shapes the brim of his Yankees hat and his upper arms flex as he does so. I eye the ink dancing down his left arm. It’s a full sleeve decorated with vines, Mabel’s name, his father’s birth and death date, and various phrases.

It briefly occurs to me that I haven’t seen Cole shirtless in years, and find myself wondering what lies under those clothes. It was so dark when we were together in Vegas, I didn’t get the chance to sneak a good look.

I’m still mid-ogling Cole when Mabel bounds into the room and passes him her American Girl doll, dressed in a floral romper that matches her own.

“Can we start the garden tomorrow?” she asks me with the world’s most excited look on her face. I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

“Absolutely!” I say, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. The more she grows, the more she looks like Cole—or CeCe, really, but with dark hair.

“And you’re really going to have breakfast here with me every morning?” she asks, switching direction.

“That’s the plan. We’re going to have lots of fun this summer, Mabes.”

I look more closely at her and realize she’s covered in some form of dirt and sticky matter from what I assume is the backyard, judging by her muddy bare feet. Cole must be thinking the same thing.

“God, you need a bath, Half Pint. You been making mud pies again?”

She nods with a smile and holds up her dirty little hands.

“Yes, but I don’t want a bath. I want to play with Ginger.” She adds a little pout into the mix, the one she knows makes Cole turn to mush every damn time.

I laugh. “Maybe we can do two things at once. You know, when I was little, and I didn’t want a bath, sometimes my mom and dad let me have a pool bath. Maybe Daddy will let us do that.”

“What’s a pool bath?” Mabel’s eyes light up as if I’ve just told her I’m taking her to Disneyland.

“Well, you put your bathing suit on and scrub your hair really, really well, but with no soap and no shampoo. Almost like a pretend wash.”

I wink at her and Cole shoots me a disapproving look.

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