Chapter 97

Summer’s POV

I stretched out at full length on the countertop, limbs akimbo like a derailed spider, while Jared collapsed beside me with a theatrical flop. My cheek peeled off a smear of neon-pink frosting and maybe three varieties of bodily fluids. Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, spotlighting our post-coital mess like a crime scene illuminated by Edison bulbs.

“Wow,” I sighed, eyelids half-lowered, as I tasted cake crumb in my mouth. Note to self: frosting makes a lousy pillow. My face was an abstract canvas of icing, cake bits, and other unidentifiable sticky things.

“Damn,” Jared groaned, eyes closing as he basked in the afterglow. “We should’ve done this sooner.”

I cracked one eye open to admire him—perfectly tousled hair, that ready grin—then promptly flinched when a sliver of buttercream tumbled off my forehead. “No kidding,” I mumbled. My entire body felt like a rung of jello. Weeks of pent-up horniness had led to… well, an Olympic