Page 16 of Cool for the Summer

“One gay guy in a town of, what, a couple thousand? Nice odds.”

“I’m here. You’re here,” I say, running out of patience.

“Yeah, but we’re not—” Donovan stops, the implication clear. I don’t count because he isn’t attracted to me. Which is totally fine and not at all demoralizing. I leave him loading the last few bags to drop into the driver’s seat and slam the door.

A few beats later, he gets in the car. “Look, as much as I like hooking up, I’ve never hooked up with a roommate. It’s just asking for trouble.” His voice is hatefully kind and mortifyingly apologetic. “I’ve had so many bad roommate experiences, and this one has been really good so far. So can we just?—”

“Of course,” I say quickly. “That’s not what I meant, anyway.” I hope the heat in my cheeks doesn’t betray me. “I just meant you might be surprised at the options in a town like Rosedale. Not thatweshould—” To avoid having to finish that sentence, I start the car and turn the AC up to full blast. “Anyway, Jack and Pete met here, didn’t they?” Why can’t I let this go?

“Turn left,” he says as we approach an intersection.

“I think I can get back home,” I say as I make the turn.

“Anyway, Jack and Pete are not normal,” he says flatly. Maybe he can’t let it go, either.

“Why exactly aren’t they normal?”

“For one thing, they actually seem happy.”

My heart twinges at the sour note in his voice. “I think they are happy.” I feel defensive on their behalf. “They have the whole package. Great house, great relationship, great career. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

“No.” Donovan doesn’t elaborate, and I can practically feel the bitterness radiating off him.

“Well, some people do,” I say quietly, then switch on the stereo, effectively ending the conversation. The air fills with Top 40 radio and we drive back to the house on Wild Rose Lane without talking. The only good thing to come out of that excruciating exchange was the knowledge that if he doesn’t hook up with roommates, he and Pete probably never messed around, which makes me feel irrationally better.

Cleo greets us with a wagging tail, and I let her out into the backyard while Donovan unloads the groceries. By the time we get everything put away, it’s lunchtime.

“I think I’ll take a sandwich upstairs and try to work,” he says, taking the sliced turkey right back out of the fridge again.

“Sure,” I say breezily, trying to recapture some of the ease of the morning. “I think I’ll eat later. I’m going to try out the pool.”

I go into my room and change into my swimsuit, berating myself for harboring the silly idea that the mild interest Donovan had shown in me meant anything. His no roommate policy actually makes a lot of sense. Why would we want to complicate an already unconventional living situation with sex?

I shake off the melancholy that settles over me knowing that’s all I’ll ever be to Donovan—his roommate. But I take solace in knowing if he’s that touchy about it, he’s probably had some pretty crappy roommates. Well, challenge accepted.

I’ll be the best roommate he ever had.

SEVEN

DONOVAN

I’m bored.

After retreating from Beck I opened up my laptop with the best of intentions—to look at the scenes I’ve already worked on—but somehow I spent the last few hours reading random news articles, texting a few friends, and checking my bank balance. I haven’t written a word.

Something’s off. Maybe it’s that if I was in the city, I’d have all manner of distractions to fill my day. I could go meet up with friends for a drink, or catch a movie, or visit a museum, or just walk around the park. I’m not sequestered in this house—it’s not a prison—but what is there to do in Rosedale, honestly, besides get coffee at Hot Brew or walk around Main Street? It might be fun to do those things with someone. With Beck, specifically. But I’ve managed to offend him somehow, and it rankles.

Okay, so that’s what’s really bothering me. Beck’s a nice guy, but he’s been throwing up red flags all day. Starting with the cute—and tasty—breakfast for two, and then the cozy little shopping trip. Beck has boyfriend material stamped on his forehead. Even if we weren’t sharing the house for the summer, I wouldn’t want to hurt the guy by dangling a relationship in front of him that’s never going to happen. Beck obviously thinks Jack and Pete’s marriage is something to aspire to, and he’s clearly unimpressed with my attitude.

Well, that’s fine. I don’t need Beck to approve of me. I just need to coexist with the guy for…one month, three weeks, and six days.

I push away from the little desk in front of the window that looks over the driveway and the street beyond and collapse on the navy blue quilt covering the guest bed. This isn’t going to work. Beck doesn’t actually need anybody to help with Cleo—he’s obviously capable of doing the job single-handedly. I’m completely superfluous.

Pete might be disappointed, but he’ll get over it. Beck will probably be happy to get me out of his hair. Then he can have the whole place to himself. I picture Beck here alone—baking cookies for no one. I sigh.

My phone vibrates on the desk. I consider ignoring it, but it buzzes again and I force myself up. I grab it and take it back to the bed, sliding open my notifications.

Pete

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