When we meet back up with the boys in front of Caesars, everyone is chatting away, but it all fades into background noise when I lay my eyes on Mr. Cole Weston Ashby approaching me. He’s gorgeous; his wavy hair still perfectly imperfect in the Vegas heat, and his freshly shaved jaw is looking like the ideal place for me to plant my lips. I can usually block out his hotness and remind myself of who he is, but the way he’s looking like the ultimate tall, dark, and handsome snack in that fitted white button-down, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms revealing his inked left arm that ripples with
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