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“And I love it dearly, but right now it’s interfering with my plans.”

His attention comes straight back to me. “What plans?”

I look him over.

There are faint red marks along the back of his neck from my nails, and his sweatpants are still sitting low on his hips in a way that was already distracting me before he told me he loved me.

As if I needed more problems.

I slide my hand down his stomach and stop at the waistband.

“I think you can figure it out.”

His eyes drop to my hand before coming back to my face, and my body responds to the look he gives me before he even touches me.

Pregnancy has made sleeping uncomfortable, shaving a logistical nightmare, and bending over something I now avoid.

My sex drive, meanwhile, is doing fucking fantastic.

Sumner leans in and kisses me again, and I’m more than happy to let him take it from there.

A few seconds later, I catch the frozen movie over his shoulder.

“Oh.”

He follows my line of sight toward the television. “You want to finish it?”

I reach for the remote, shut the TV off, and drop it back onto the nightstand.

“Not even a little.”

Then I pull him back down to me, and Earth can fend for itself.

CHAPTER 33

SUMNER

Thirty-Five Weeks:

Baby is approximately the size of a honeydew melon.

When I told Goldie the money from the house sale hit my account this morning, she announced I was “divorce rich” and therefore buying lunch.

I expected her to pick somewhere expensive just to fuck with me. Instead, I’m sitting across from her at a sun-faded picnic table behind a hole-in-the-wall seafood place near the beach, eating fried grouper out of a plastic basket while she steals my fries.

“You know I was going to eat those, right?” I ask when she reaches across the table again.

Goldie chews the one she just took and looks down at the pile still sitting in front of me with a pout. “Never beating the allegations you want your child to starve, are you?”

I bark out a laugh. “I think I’ve proven just how much I like feeding the two of you.” I let my eyes flick down her body, not bothering to hide how much she turns me on. When my dick starts to thicken, I clear my throat and focus back on her face. “I’m wondering why you didn’t order the same thing if you wanted what I’m eating so much.”

“Yours tastes better.”

“They came out of the same fryer.”

She shrugs and takes another one anyway. I should’ve known better than to argue. She finished hers a while ago, along with most of her sandwich and half my hush puppies, and at eight months pregnant, she treats anything on my plate like it belongs to her too.

Can’t say I’m mad about it.