Page 9 of Vegas Heat

“That’s still pretty cheesy,” I say. “What’s the difference between a G spot and a golf ball?”

“What?”

“Men will actually search for a golf ball.”

Even our straight-faced dealer Kelly chuckles at that one.

“What’s the difference between a genealogist and a gynecologist?” he asks.

I shrug.

“A genealogist looks up your tree. A gynecologist looks up your bush.”

I giggle. “You’re getting better. I may have to teach you a thing or two.”

His eyes seem to heat over at the prospect of that.

My friends are watching from across the way, and they seem to be waiting on me. I’m not the girl who ditches my friends for some random dude no matter how hot he is, but I’m torn because just for tonight…I want to be that girl.

It’s strange, this connection I feel with Cooper. It’s the first time a guy has ever made me feel this way literally seconds after meeting him, but maybe that’s what twenty-one is. Legal to drink, gamble, and have one crazy night with a stranger.

“They’re waiting for you,” he murmurs.

“I know,” I admit. “But I don’t really want to go.” I glance sideways at him, and he grins with exactly zero modesty, so I decide to take him down a peg as I nod toward my cards. “It’s a hot table. I can’t quit now, not when I’ve nearly tripled my investment.”

He chuckles. “Is that the only reason?”

I shrug. “You got more than that?”

He leans in and presses his lips to mine again, and I’m immediately convinced.

“Does that count?” he asks when he pulls back.

OhGodyes, it counts.

An ache of need pulses between my legs, and I nod. “That’s uh…quite a convincing argument.”

He chuckles and leans back in his chair as we play the round of blackjack mindlessly, not focusing on the cards or the dealer but instead on each other. “The birthday girl should get what she wants on her birthday. So what do you want?”

You. The birthday girl wants YOU.

I bite my lip to keep from saying those words aloud as I scramble for a solution. “What are your plans tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t actually have any.”

“Come with us to the club.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Nah, that’s not really my scene.”

I raise my brows pointedly. “It’s what the birthday girl wants.”

He chuckles and pushes his chips toward the dealer. “Touché.” He nods toward my chips as if to tell me to do the same. He stands then holds out a hand to me, and he doesn’t let go of it as he leads me toward the cashier. We cash in our chips, and then we walk over toward my group of friends.

“Ready for the club?” I ask, and I’m met with whoops and cheers. “This is Cooper. He’s coming with us.”

My friends are all pretty tipsy at this point—in fact, I think I’m most sober in the group of girls, and two bow out, heading up to the suite my dad booked for my group of friends here at this hotel tonight while the rest of us walk toward the other nightclub.

We’re carded before we go inside, and Cooper stops to say something to the hostess. She leads us to a table, and a minute later a waitress brings over a few bottles of champagne along with champagne flutes and a bottle of beer for Cooper.

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