Page 52 of Riding the High

By the time we get back to shore, it’s dark and Mabel is already dozing. Cole carries her up the steps and she snuggles against him, her dark hair hanging down over his strong arm. It’s obvious she knows she’s in the safest spot on earth, and I wonder if it’s possible to crush on this man any more; my baby-making equipment feels like it may burst at this sight alone.Plus, he doesn’t even break a sweat on the fifty-foot climb to the top.

He turns back to me before he enters the house to tuck her into bed.

“Hot tub and a drink?” he asks.

I glance over to the tub on the deck. Just behind it is a bar area, with built-in solar lighting, that sits against a wooden privacy fence.

Getting inside the tub might be the worst idea ever when I’m trying not to jump this man’s bones.

I should retire to my room and work at getting myself off to push through this weekend. I should say no. But instead I say, “I’ll get changed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Cole

Well, fuck me.

Thisbathing suit is not like the ones she wears in my pool.Thisbathing suit threatens to ruin me when Ginger emerges in what may as well not even be a cover-up because I can see right through it, revealing the outline of the skimpiest yellow bikini ever.

I sink further into the water as she approaches and the sun says its final farewell to the day. Ginger shrugs off her coverup and tosses it onto a nearby lounge chair. I swallow hard. Her full breasts are barely covered. The thin spaghetti strings are doing the Lord’s work holding them up and the sides of the bottoms match the top. One thin strap runs over each of her flawless hips, leaving the tiniest scrap of fabric to cover the place I instantly wish my face could make a home in. My cock throbs against my swim shorts with the thought, aching to be freed. I’ve never felt more like staking a claim to someone in my life as I do in this very moment.

Bad idea. This was a bad idea. I avert my eyes to a safer view—the bar area beside me—as I think of the way horseshit gets on my boots in the barn, or how the cell block floors at worklook after a bunch of drunkards have spent a night in the tank. Anything to bring my inflated cock back down.

I clear my throat.

“Drink?” I ask.

“Is the sky blue?” She doesn’t miss a beat.

I chuckle and pour her a glass that equals mine from the tub-side bar stocked with plastic glasses and the bourbon I brought. This place truly has everything for the perfect stay. There’s even a container of little paper umbrellas for cocktails on the bar, which runs a whole side of the sunk-in hot tub. Above it sits a black metal cursive sign that says “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

I pass her the drink as she steps her pretty red toes over the side. Even her feet are fucking spectacular. I would settle to fuckthemright about now.

The stress I’ve been feeling, at having Ginger living under my roof, constantly wandering around in her jean shorts and bare feet,anddealing with my new position as sheriff, trying to keep the townspeople happy and run the office properly, has me sucking back this bourbon and pouring myself another as quickly as possible.

My swearing-in is on Tuesday night, and then it will be official: I’ll be Laurel Creek’s sheriff and will have sixty-one days before life goes back to normal.

“Oh my God, that’s nice,” Ginger half moans as she takes a seat.

The curse of her tits floating up to the perfect level so I can see her pearled nipples through her suit, coupled with the noise she just made, has me feeling like a man crazed. My muscles stiffen and I look out to the dark, murky lake.

“Chasing after her all day makes you crave this type of relaxation,” she continues as her head tips back. She holds her dark mass of curls above her head and lets them drop over theedge behind her onto the deck. Hot water laps against my body as she makes herself comfortable. It’s a six-person tub but we’re less than a few feet apart.

“Try chasing her for eight years.” I let out a low laugh and run a hand through my damp hair. I sneak a glance at Ginger as I shift to pour myself more bourbon. Her arms are spread wide, and she glances up to take in the view of the stars.

“You’re right, it really does feel like you’re the only people on earth out here,” she says as I take in the sight of the moonlight grazing the column of her throat. She’s so exposed like this. So open. So free.

“I like being out on the water. It reminds me of my childhood,” she hums. As she shifts, her toes brush my calf. She doesn’t look at me when it happens, but the simple action sends a jolt of heat right up my leg to my still-inflated cock.

“I can’t picture the great Edward Danforth out on the water in a little skiff boat,” I say, keeping my tone light. The whole town knows him. He’s robotic to the core. Ginger has always been a lot more like her mother and grandmother than she is her father.

She laughs. “Definitely not. My dad sailed and tried to teach me the best he could. My grandad taught me how to boat. We fished a lot in Cave Run when I was young too, and he showed me how to hook a worm when I was Mabel’s age.” She smiles at the memory. “I really miss him.” She whispers her last words and I feel them.

I nod, aware of how rare that tiny admission was. She doesn’t talk about him much, and I, more than anyone, know why. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about my dad. But sometimes it’s easier to keep that grief inside, rather than talk about him.

“My dad used to take us to Cave Run all the time too. I wonder if we were ever there together,” I say casually.

“Probably. I would’ve been the only girl, in bare muddy feet and a baseball cap. I never saw girls out there fishing much.”

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