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CHAPTER 7

GOLDIE

My thighs are shaking, and they have a distinctly Jello-like quality about them as I hobble to the bed and flop down. I’m panting like I just went eight seconds on a bronco, and you know what? Accurate.

Actually, my entire lower half is waving a giant white flag. Between my legs is a sticky mess, and I could really go for an ice pack right about now.

On the plus side, the throbbing in my vagina helps distract from the throbbing in my head from my hangover, so there’s that. But you know what? I don’t care about any of it. I just bury my face into Sumner’s bare chest, inhaling the scent of salt, sweat, and sex.

He really shouldn’t smell this good after the night we just had.

Beyond this hotel room door is a giant, steaming pile of bullshit waiting for me. My cheating ex-boyfriend. Getting said ex-boyfriend out of my house. The absolute insanity of letting Sumner inside of me to make a baby. I'm not dealing with a single second of that yet. Any of it. Right now, this bubble is exactly where I want to be, thank you very much.

And despite the soreness and the bone-deep exhaustion, he looks at me, I look at him, and the second our eyes connect, we’re on each other again.

We spend the entire morning naked. We devour the leftover room service, picking cold fries off the plates, and then we go right back at it.

The closer the digital clock on the nightstand creeps to eleven, the more frantic we get. We fuck like the world is ending at checkout. It’s a blur of desperation, skin, cum, and sweat.

He bends me over the desk, both hands spread across my ass as he drags my hips back onto his cock. Later he props me against the bathroom counter, hooks one of my thighs over his hip, and fucks me while the shower runs.

We squeeze out every last drop of this fantasy, going right up until the exact minute the front desk calls to politely tell us to get the hell out.

We don’t talk, not about anything important. I’m not sure either of us know what to say.

But it’s not awkward, not like I thought it’d be. It’s such a relief, like sinking into a warm bath, being around him. It’s hard to describe, but his energy just vibes with mine so effortlessly. I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than what I am, and I hope he feels the same.

It’s never been like this with anyone, and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that. The timing literally could not be worse.

But the night I just spent with him might be the best night of my life.

Getting dressed sucks. Pulling my underwear over my beat-up vagina is an absolute tragedy. I yank my wrinkled tank top down over my boobs and wince as I step into my shoes. "I'm probably going to need a wheelchair to get back to the bar."

Sumner grabs his sunglasses off the dresser, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Want me to carry you?"

I shake my head. “I’m good.” I scan the ground for my skirt and find it halfway under the couch, so I bend down with a wince and grab it, pulling it up over my hips. “As hot as that would be”—I eye his muscles—“I don’t think you’ve got enough left in the tank after last night and this morning to pull it off.”

He steps closer until his chest bumps up against mine, ducking down a little until I think he’s going to kiss me. But at the last second, he swoops down and scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing. "Wanna test that theory? I think I’ve proven I have excellent stamina.”

"Shut up," I laugh, pushing against his hard chest and wiggling until he sets me down. “Yes, you’re very strong and manly and everything. But you’re gonna have to try harder next time if you want to take away my ability to walk after.”

He raises an eyebrow, and his lips tug into a smirk. “Next time?”

“Uh.” I avoid his eyes while I search for my sandals. I find one over by the closet and tug it on. “About that.” I find the other sandal halfway under the bed and sit down to put it on, barely wincing at the throbbing between my legs. "We should probably set some ground rules before we walk out of here."

I don't feel that usual awkward panic of wondering what are we now? Because I already know exactly what we have to be. Even if I hate it.

Sumner's smirk fades into something much more serious. "Ground rules."

I stand up and walk toward him. "Yeah. My life is currently a raging dumpster fire. Yours is too. We're both bleeding out from major, catastrophic wounds from our asshole exes."

I swallow down a weird, tight lump in my throat and force my most confident, breezy smile. "Which means whatever this was..." I gesture to the totally destroyed room. "...stays in this room. If this worked, and we actually made a baby, we're friends. Co-parents. That's it. Neither of us is in any shape to be anything else to anyone right now."

He watches me for a long, heavy second. I can see the argument flash in his eyes, his possessive streak fighting against the logic. But the disciplined pilot in him knows I'm right. We're both walking back into active war zones when we leave this little bubble.

"You’re right," he finally says, his voice a low, gritty rumble. “For the record, I don’t like it”—he gestures with his chin to the bed—“because that was…”

"Yeah.” The silence stretches between us for a few seconds. “But the timing’s all wrong. We can’t complicate this, not if it’s going to work." I hold out my phone. "So punch your digits in, friend."