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CHAPTER 5

GOLDIE

"C’mon, try it," I demand, holding a hot, salty french fry dripping with cold chocolate milkshake up to his mouth. "It's literally the best drunk food on the planet."

Sumner eyes the fry like it’s radioactive. He’s propped up against the headboard beside me, the hotel sheet pooled around his waist, exposing a broad, muscular chest covered in a light dusting of dark hair.

I kinda want to lick it. If I lick it, then it’s mine, right? That’s the rule?

He finally leans forward and takes a bite. His nose immediately wrinkles. "That’s a crime against potatoes. And ice cream."

I laugh, popping a fry into my own mouth. "Ah, so you’re a psychopath."

I shift closer, letting my bare shoulder press into his warm arm. His hand hasn't left my skin since we peeled ourselves off the carpet twenty minutes ago. Right now, his fingers rest on my stomach, his thumb stroking lazy circles right over my belly button. The contact sends a fresh spark of heat straight between my legs.

My boobs are totally still out, but whatever. They’re nice.

The tequila haze is starting to fade a little, leaving just enough clarity for my brain to process the absolute insanity of my current situation.

"Okay, but seriously," I say, chewing. "We potentially just made a human being together. You’re not, like, a serial killer or a Republican or anything, are you?"

A deep, rumbling laugh vibrates through his chest. It’s a great sound. "Considering I was raised by two dads, being a Republican would make me a pretty massive hypocrite."

"Two dads? Love that for you. And for our hypothetical offspring." I point a fry at his chest. "You conveniently skipped over the serial killer part, though."

He raises an eyebrow, his thumb resuming its lazy circles on my stomach. "If I was a serial killer, I probably wouldn't be trying so hard to leave my DNA inside you."

I snort, nearly dropping my fry. "Fair point. You'd get caught immediately. Worst serial killer ever."

A slow smirk spreads across his face. "Exactly."

I dip another fry. "What's your last name, anyway? Since we skipped the awkward first date phase."

"Wells," he says. He tilts his head. "What about you?"

"Hahn."

He pauses, a slight frown forming. "Goldie Hahn? Why does that sound familiar?"

I groan. "Because of the actress. She was huge in the eighties and nineties. My mom was obsessed. Overboard, Death Becomes Her, Private Benjamin... they were basically on a constant loop in my house growing up."

He stares at me blankly. "I’ve never heard of any of those."

"Tragic," I say, shaking my head. "But my mom is great."

“She must be if she made you.” His thumb slides down an inch, slipping just under the edge of the sheet where it dips low across my hips. My breath hitches.

“What do you do for work, Sumner Wells? You’re way too hot to be something boring.”

He lets out another rumbly chuckle and steals the fry in my hand, sans milkshake, with his mouth. When he’s done chewing, he says, "I'm a pilot for NOAA.”

When I give him a blank look, he says, “I fly planes into hurricanes."

I stop mid-chew. "Shut up. You're a hurricane hunter?"

"Yeah." His attention drops to my boobs. "What about you?"

Yeah, we’re gonna circle back to that hot and scary job of his later.