Dashing Through the No (Summersweet Island 3)

“Who wants to play Guess What’s in the Unmarked Prescription Pill Bottles in Aunt Millie’s Birkin?”

“I’m just gonna—”

“Yep,” Tess and I both cut off Allie at the same time when she points to the living room, pauses a beat, and then runs as fast as she can out from behind the counter and into the living room.

Knowing Tess is probably about two seconds away from punching me in the dick for bringing her here, where so far there has been anything but peace and quiet, I quickly grab onto both of Tess’s shoulders and turn her to face me. Tugging her against me until all of her soft, perfect parts are pressed up against my hard ones, I drop my mouth to hers and kiss the hell out of her, hoping it will at least distract her long enough that she doesn’t reach for the lighter in her bra.CHAPTER 4Tess

“I’m gonna Comet on her Vixen.”“I want—”

“I want a—”

“I want a hippo—”

“I want a hippopotamus for—”

“Bodhi!” I shout, wincing when the sound of my own voice makes my headache get worse. “Stop opening and closing the door.”

With a big sigh, making me feel bad for about two seconds that I cut off his fun, Bodhi finally leaves the door to our room shut for the first time since Allie brought us up here and happily informed us her father-in-law installed a mechanism in the doors of each guest room to play the coordinating song that goes with the room’s theme every time you open and close it.

I am in hell when I enter this room, and I am in hell when I leave this room. Everywhere I look, there are jolly hippos wearing jolly Santa hats. We have Santa hippo sheets and a Santa hippo bedspread with a mountain of pillows with hippos on them, an animated hippo in the corner on the floor that slowly takes his Santa hat off and then puts it back on again, a five-foot-tall tree in another corner with white lights filled with nothing but, you guessed it, Santa hippo ornaments. And about a million other wall-hangings, knickknacks, and decorations all around the room and the adjoining bathroom to go with that horrendous Christmas carol theme that I have no other choice but to start reaching for the lighter in my back pocket.

“Sweetie, you can’t burn anything in this room. We’re guests here, and it wouldn’t be polite,” Bodhi speaks in a slow, calm voice over by the door so as not to spook me while I pace back and forth by the end of the bed, and I regrettably remove my hand from my back pocket. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I might throw up, but I’m sure it will subside the longer I’m away from the sticky, soul-sucking demons downstairs.”

Bodhi chuckles, and when the soft, deep sound makes me feel all tingly, I know I’m still fucked in the head after my momentary loss of brain cells earlier downstairs, when he picked up that damn baby and I felt… mushy. My entire body turned to liquid, and everything got warm and gooey watching him stand there snuggling a baby to his chest, and some weird, gasping-choking sound came out of my mouth before I could stop it. Wren has a term for it—a babygasm. An involuntary loss of motor skills that results in a climax of emotional excitement when you witness the man you love holding a baby. I had a goddamn babygasm!

Gross! Snap out of it, Tess!

“How did you ever help Wren raise Owen when you can’t stand kids?” Bodhi smiles in amusement, tucking his shaggy blond hair behind one ear as he casually leans against the wall next to the door, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his shorts while I sit down on the end of the bed.

He’s the only man I know who looks hot in cargo shorts. Cargo shorts and a white fitted T-shirt with a green Christmas tree and the words Lit AF printed on it. Whether it’s sunny or snowing, Bodhi will only ever wear shorts and a T-shirt. He says he’s allergic to pants and long sleeves after spending his entire life wearing nothing but pretentious designer suits and clothing. And let’s just say I’m perfectly fine with his choice in wardrobe, especially the fitted shirts.

If you’ve never seen a surfer’s body, you should really google that shit. And I’m honestly truly and deeply sorry for anyone who has never gotten the privilege of being up close and personal and been able to reach out and touch one. It takes a lot of muscles to paddle out through the surf and catch a wave, and Bodhi has caught some of the biggest ones out there all over the world. He’s so ripped I almost want to lift my crying ban and weep every time he takes his shirt off.