Page 16 of Vegas Heat

How can I have an emotional connection with somebody I don’t even know?

I don’t have the answer to that, but I already know one hit won’t be enough.

CHAPTER 8: GABBY

I stare at myself in the mirror a beat as I wonder whether that was real or if I’m dreaming.

I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming, but I’m naked and I’m starting to wonder if it’s one of those dreams where you’re naked and when I open that door to my left, an audience is going to be there waiting for me to give an important presentation on stage.

Except when I open the door, I’m still in Cooper’s hotel room, and he’s pulling on a pair of athletic shorts near his suitcase. I realize too late that the only item of clothing I have is the dress I wore tonight, and I don’t really want to slip back into that to cuddle. So my options are walk around naked, or put the dress on and leave to get my own suitcase on another floor where my friends are. That also doesn’t sound overly appealing, so I stare awkwardly at Cooper for a beat, and then he tosses me a blue Dodgers t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

“You’re a Dodgers fan?” I ask.

He chuckles and shakes his head, and I feel like I’m missing the joke as I pull his shirt over my head.

It smells like him, that same woodsy scent I picked up on earlier.

It’shot, and I want to smell like him, too. I want to roll in the scent and remember it forever.

I wonder what comes next and whether it’s about to get awkward as I pull my panties on and skip the shorts. He lays on the bed and waves me over, skipping right over the awkward conversation about what comes next. Instead, I snuggle into the nook between his shoulder and his chest like we’ve done this a million times. His fingertips flutter in little circles on my bicep.

“I usually ask thisbeforeI have sex with somebody, but tell me about yourself,” he says.

I giggle and press a kiss to his jaw. “Well, it’s my twenty-first birthday, as you know. I moved to Vegas to attend UNLV, where I’m majoring in marketing, and I’m about to start my senior year.” I leave out the complicated part about finding my dad when I turned eighteen and my toxic mother who made me think my dad wanted nothing to do with me. Instead, I keep it simple.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re still in college and I’m already on my second career.”

“Your second career?” I echo.

“I currently work as the programming director for an organization in San Diego that promotes active and healthy lifestyles to kids through a series of health and fitness programs,” he says, and it feels like he’s leaving stuff out of the conversation, too.

“But you’re here in town for another job offer, right?” I ask.

He nods. “Sort of. It’s complicated, but basically an old buddy wants me to work with him. I could probably do both jobs to a very modified degree, but I’m not sure I want to.”

“What’s holding you back?” I tilt my head up so I can look at him, and he tilts his head down to look at me. When our eyes connect, I feel like I see some clarity in his.

“Fear,” he answers, and the honesty in his tone is unnerving.

“What’s there to be afraid of?”

“Giving up the stability and freedom I have now for the type of career that’s totally and completely consuming,” he says.

“But one which you think might bring you some degree of joy?”

He nods and twists his lips before running a hand through his hair. “I know it will.”

“And will it mean you’ll be in Vegas more?” I ask, the ulterior motive for my question clear in my suggestive tone as I tossa thigh over his leg with the unintended effect of my vagina rubbing on his leg.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Hell, if it means I’ll get to see you again, I’ll quit my job tomorrow.”

I let out a little gasp at his words. “Do you really mean that?”

He clears his throat, and I lean up on my arm and gaze down at him. He blows out a breath. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but I’m not walking out that door tomorrow morning without knowing how to get in touch with you again.”

I can’t help the wide smile that stretches across my lips. “Thank God,” I murmur, and I lower my lips to his.

“It’s crazy, right?” he asks against my mouth.

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