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He takes it, saving his contact, and shoots a text to himself so he has my number too.

"It's a two-week wait for the test, right?" he asks. His voice is a little quieter and more serious than he’s been all morning.

I nod. “About that.”

"Just... keep me in the loop. Whatever you need from me, I'm there."

He hands the phone back, his fingers lingering on the plastic case. His jaw tightens, and he shifts his weight, staring at me like he wants to demand he be in the bathroom with me when the time comes.

He clearly hates the idea of sitting on the sidelines for this part. But he doesn't push. He gives me space.

It makes a sharp, weird ache flare up in my chest. He respects my boundaries, but the fact he wants to be involved so badly is getting to me way more than it should.

Everything about this man so far is the greenest of flags, and I don’t know how any woman could’ve let him go.

"I will." I grip the strap of my purse, staring up at him. I really don't want to walk out this door. I want to strip back down and climb into that bed with him.

He doesn't look like he wants to leave, either. He’s still standing too close, still touching me, still looking like he’d happily drag me back into bed if I gave him half an excuse.

But we made a deal. The fun part is over. Now we walk out of this hotel, go back to the real world, and deal with the mess waiting for us.

We finally leave the room where I made several extremely questionable life choices and had a really fucking good time doing it. Checking out at the front desk takes two seconds, and then we push through the glass doors into the brutal reality of a Florida afternoon. I’m exhausted, hungover, and my stomach is trying to eat itself, but honestly? I’m weirdly happy. Fully satisfied.

Ten out of ten, would recommend.

The walk back to the dive bar is a special kind of torture. The St. Pete midday sun is doing its best to roast us alive, turning the humidity into a literal sauna, and I’m waddling across the pavement like a cowboy who spent way too long in the saddle. Sumner keeps his pace painfully slow, staying right beside me while I hobble.

I swear his lips twitch like he thinks this is funny.

"So," I say, squinting up at him. "Are you going to tell me what you wished for?"

He glances down at me, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. "What?"

"Last night. When you chucked your wedding ring into the Gulf. I know you weren’t that drunk that you don’t remember."

By the time we reach our cars, I’m still thinking about his stupid sea turtle wish. He stops and turns to face me, stepping right into my personal space.

"I wished you were exactly as crazy as you seemed," he says, his voice dropping into that low, gritty rumble. "And that this actually works."

My heart does a stupid, frantic little flutter.

This is it. The absolute end of the line.

Before I can rattle off some sarcastic goodbye to deflect from the sudden knot in my throat, his hands cup my face.

And then he kisses me. It isn't a sweet, polite goodbye peck. It’s hot, deep, and demanding. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, taking complete ownership of it, while one of his hands comes down to wrap around my throat and tilt my chin up. My knees buckle a little, but his arm goes around my back to hold me up.

He tears his mouth away from mine, his chest rising and falling fast. He drops his hands and steps back, but it looks almost painful for him to do it.

"Time to go take out the trash," he says with a tiny grin that’s too fucking cute on a man like him.

I blink, a little shocked he remembered my drunken rambling about my ex. "I plan on it."

He gives me a nod. Then he pulls his truck door open, lets his eyes crawl all over me one last time, like he’s stripping me back down, and climbs inside.

I stand there on the baking asphalt, watching him pull out onto the street and disappear into traffic. He takes all the heat and the madness of last night right along with him.

The fantasy is officially over.