Page 19 of Riding the High

Ginger just smiles, patting me on the shoulder on her way past.

“Remember those handcuffs, Law Daddy?” she asks with a sultry voice that for some reason goes straight to my cock. I give my head a shake and make my way to the minibar in search of a fucking drink. A double.

Three hours into the flight and Chris is still trying to make eyes at Ginger from the other side of the plane. Someone turned on the Shania Twain and the girls are all dancing in the small cabin. As Chris watches her, he looks ready to make a meal out of her.

I get up to pour myself another drink and pass by Ginger, CeCe and Liv. The way she moves tells me she might be getting a little tipsy, and tipsy Ginger might just go along with whatever this Chris guy is searching for.

“Hey. Uh …” I say awkwardly, interrupting the girls. Ginger turns to face me, her flushed cheeks and thrumming pulse making me stare a little longer than I should.

Focus, Cole.

“Remember last Sangria Sunday when you asked me to never let you drink like that again?” She looks at me like I’m crazy. You’d think I’d give up and walk away but apparently I’ve lost my goddamn mind. “How many of those fruity numbers have you had?” I push on. “Cause being in the air, it can make you intoxicated faster. Just so you know.”

Her mouth falls open and she glances from CeCe and Liv back to me with awhat the fuck are you doingface because I’m pretty sure my sister doesn’t know I drove Ginger home last time they went to Sangria Sunday.

Awkward.

“Uh … you’re notmybrother, remember?” she says, laughing, even though her eyes are begging me to shut up.

“Just saying, save some for Vegas maybe …” I mutter.

Fuck.Even more awkward.

I give up and take my drink back to my seat as Ginger continues to dance. Chris is still watching her, practically licking his lips. When the captain tells everyone to take their seats for the descent, I breathe out a sigh of relief. Longest four fucking hours of my life.

The lights of Vegas are a neon-colored bright spot in the middle of a black abyss as we head for Harry Reid International Airport. It’s the strangest thing to have a fully-fledged city in the middle of the desert, but a thrill runs through me whenever I see it. Because here, anything goes.

“What a fucking crew. Best behavior, hooligans,” Nash says as we travel through the gate, wagging his finger. His smile is wide as we pass some airport slot machines.

We have a plan to check in at the Paris Las Vegas hotel before heading down for dinner, after which we’ll separate from the girls for the night.

The rooms Nash and CeCe have booked us are stunning. Each one a newly renovated Versailles Executive Suite. I enter mine and close the door.

The view is incredible. From my window I look out onto the Sphere and the High Roller.

I take a few minutes to unpack and call my mother. She tells me Mabes had the best night watchingTrollsin the backyard on the old projector beside the campfire. I thank her again for staying with my girl, say goodnight, and hop in the shower.

When I’m done in the bathroom that’s fit for a king, I pull on a pair of navy chinos and a crisp white button-down that makes me look a lot more tanned than I should for May, but weekends in the yard and helping on the ranch tend to do that. I finish the outfit with a brown leather belt and matching shoes before giving myself a final glance in the mirror. We’re going uptown, high-rent for this dinner, and when I get down to the common area between the Paris and Horseshoe hotels, my eyes immediately flit to Ginger. She’s standing in the open bar drinking a martini. A chocolate martini, I’m betting.

Her hair is doing that wavy thing it was doing earlier but now it’s half up, and little pieces frame her pretty face. She’s wearing a black strapless dress that looks classic, like something out of the sixties, with a red belt around her small waist. She’s finished the look with gold stilettos. She looks like a pinup. I grit my teeth as she chats easily with Chris.

“Have some hair trouble? That why you’re late?” Wade smirks as I approach the group, the last to arrive.

“I had to check on my daughter, fucker.” I clap him on the shoulder.

“Maybe a little of that and fucking with your hair. You can admit it, we won’t judge.”

“This is all natural, bud, nofucking withrequired. Don’t be jealous ’cause you’re rocking your dad-hair era.”

I hear Ginger laugh. She’s got a weekend-in-Vegas glow to her and seems more comfortable around Chris than she was on the plane.

I clear my throat loud enough to make my presence known.

“ThankGodthe supermodel has arrived. I’m starving.” Ginger grins when she sees me and, as we start to walk, she falls into step beside me. We’re heading across to Brasserie B. Nash used his celebrity to get us a private area, and Wade is frothing at the mouth to eat at world-famous chef Bobby Flay’s restaurant. He thinks he’s a Bobby in training.

“You clean up pretty nice, Law Daddy, even though it took forever,” Ginger says to me, a playful smile on her lips.

I lean down to respond so only she can hear. “I had to practice my dance for the all-cop revue.” I waggle my brows at her and she laughs in response.

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