Page 22 of Riding the High

Cole

One hour, an extra chocolate martini and a tray of nachos later, Ginger is line-dancing at Gilley’s Saloon in Treasure Island, and she’s a fucking sight as the house band fires up “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” by Brooks & Dunn.

I sip my bourbon at the side of the dance floor because not only has she befriended a rogue bachelorette party, but it is genuinely as if every fucking guy in here can’t stop staring at her. I can’t just leave her to the wolves in a strange and wild city. Who fucking knows where these assholes have been. So, I keep watch. It’s mesmerizing the way her smile lights up her whole goddamn face while her full, pert ass moves under the structure of her dress. I swallow the rest of my bourbon and take a minute to run a hand through my hair and compose myself.

I have no clue what’s gotten into me tonight. Ginger looks back at me over her shoulder with a little smirk, lifting her hair off her sweat-slicked back before returning her gaze to the packed dance floor in front of her. I picture myself making her even sweatier. And then I picture myself licking every part of her clean, and my mouth turns to sand.

It’s at this very moment that I tell myself it’s probably time to stop drinking and get to the clarity of my own room. Stat.

I walk onto the dance floor to collect her and, because I just can’t help myself, take a moment to watch the way her hips roll as she moves. She turns to face me and I hear her breath hitch. That sound is enough to send all the blood in my body to my cock.

“Ready? You must be wrecked,” I say, averting my eyes from those perfect tits.

“Booo. Can’t I finish the song,Daddy?” she pleads in a teasing tone, tweaking my chin as she continues the sexiest fucking dance I’ve ever seen to country music. She wraps her arms around my neck.

“Dance with me,” she whispers. She’s had too much to drink. She flutters her lashes as she looks up at me in a pout, taking her juicy bottom lip between her teeth. “Pleeease?”

Fucking hell. Those lips.

No …I berate myself to get my shit together.

She’s your sister’s best friend.

Hell, she’s your friend.

I don’t listen to my inner voice and, instead, put my hands around her waist, loop my fingers under the belt in her dress and pull her gently to me for the rest of the song.

She must be able to tell by the end of it that I’m looking at her like I don’t understand why my cock is thickening by the second, because she tilts her head to the side and backs up a little in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her words blending together slightly.

“Nothing,” I reply, trying to sound cool but failing miserably. She backs up a little and the distance she creates sobers me sightly. Ginger and I may not always see eye to eye, but over the last couple years we’ve built a connection I care about. Ican’truin it now, no matter how much her body looks like magic moving this way in front of me, or how her pretty brown eyes watch me curiously. It can’t happen. End of story.

“Hey! We thought you guys were gambling?” I hear from my left. Turning, I watch as Chris Bell, now draped over a random blonde in all black leather, and Cory Kane and Anna approach. All of them are well past drunk. A smile plays on my lips. Chris is showing Ginger his true colors. Not like she didn’t already know but this moment makes me happy nonetheless.

I grip Ginger tight at her waist. “We just stopped in for some nachos. We were just heading out. Busy day tomorrow.” Looking down at Ginger, I ask, “Ready, Vixen?”

She nods and rolls her eyes at me. “Ready,Dad.”

The way we moved together is still front and center in my mind as we say our goodnights and begin walking the short ten minutes back to Paris, taking in the sights and sounds as we go.

When we reach the lobby, I push the button for the elevator. The door opens and a leggy redhead steps out. She looks me over and smiles, and I give her a friendly, uninterested nod as we step inside.

“I’m sorry saving me from Chris has really cut into your ability to find a Vegas one-night stand.” Ginger giggles.

Ouch.

“You know,” I say, “I’m not a total manwhore. I don’t really want to be the one-night-stand type anymore. It just seems difficult to stop.”

We press for floors 20 and 25, then the elevator begins to rise.

“You mean you just keep falling into their pussies? It’s hard not to, I suppose—”

“Look, it’s simple.” I turn to face her.Little brat. “Mabel is my priority. I don’t ever see myself putting anyone in front ofher, but I like human connection, and I like … sex.” I shrug, not embarrassed to admit it, at least not to her. “It’s the only time I can just be me. Free. So hence, double life.”

She nods like the shit I’m spewing actually makes sense.

“My life with Mabes is my life, and the life I live on the side is a form of release. Not real. I never lie to women about my intentions. I tell them exactly what I’m looking for. But the problem is, most of them only seem to want the same thing until the act is over.”

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