Page 32 of Cool for the Summer

“Every actor thinks they’re never going to work again when they’re between jobs. It’s part of the existential angst of one’s profession being predicated on other people telling you they want you, and most of the time hearing they don’t.” It took time to grow a thick enough skin to keep going, and now that I’ve worked steadily for a while, it feels ungrateful to not be sure I even want to keep doing it.

“So you’re a mess, too,” Beck says. “That actually does make me feel better. Thanks.”

Making Beck feel better is infinitely more satisfying than winning a hand of poker against him. “Anytime. We can be messy together.”

He turns away abruptly, grabbing two of the dessert bowls. “Come on, they’re melting.”

I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing, which is annoying after feeling like I actually did something good for a second there.

But just when I think I’ve figured Beck out, there’s always more to learn.

THIRTEEN

BECK

Kingston and Sergiolove the cookies. Like, really love them. Their unstinting praise helps me to stop thinking about Donovan and how nice he’s being to me, and how he keeps saying things that I want to read in a romantic way, even though I know he doesn’t mean them that way.

Does he?

No. He’s just a supportive friend. And that tracks—he’s known Pete forever. I don’t know my cousin’s husband all that well, but I know he’s a good guy who wouldn’t be friends with a dick.

So far, Donovan’s biggest character flaw is that he’s not ready to settle down. Maybe he won’t ever be. And that’s his choice. None of my business.

I just wonder if my heart’s getting the message because every time he says something sweet or thoughtful, I get confused about why, exactly, we’re not taking advantage of our situation and getting off with each other, especially when people like Kingston keep assuming we are.

Oh yeah, because he’s a player who doesn’t mess around with his roommates, and I haven’t exactly been subtle about wanting something long-term. God. How cringe can I be?

Instead of going back to the game, we sit around in sugar comas, talking and drinking.

Sergio is really nice—kind of intimidating, since he’s clearly successful at his job—and he’s nice to look at. Tight black curls, appealing arms, a great smile. He and Kingston have the air of exes who stayed friends, intimate but somehow careful. I’m familiar.

Kingston is a charmer, but he’s definitely giving off paternal vibes toward me. Honestly, it’s comforting to know there’s someone nearby I can call if I need something.

Of course, if I need something, Donovan is right here. But he didn’t choose to live with me—I mean, I suppose in a certain sense he did, but he didn’t chooseme. In my quest to be an exemplary roommate, I’m not going to impose myself on him more than I have to.

This whole summer is an accident and we’re making the best of it, but I still feel unsettled. I came here at loose ends and the longer I’m here, the more I want to tie some of those ends up.

Like that empty storefront I passed today. I can’t stop thinking about it, about the possibilities. What could Rosedale need in that cute little space? And why do I think I could be the one to provide it? I don’t know anything about owning my own business. And starting a store isn’t something you can just try on a whim. I can hear my dad’s voice now, telling me to pick something and stick with it. He thinks I’m a dabbler, and yeah, I kind of am. But maybe I just haven’t found the thing I’m meant to stick with yet.

I tune back into the conversation when Donovan throws his head back and laughs at something Kingston’s said. I tamp down a stupid flare of jealousy that someone else is making Donovan laugh and then try to catch up.

“I haven’t been there in donkey’s years,” Kingston says. “But I’m not busy tomorrow. What do you say, Sergio? Wanna hit up Sparkle tomorrow night?”

“I guess I’m in,” Sergio says. “I have a meeting with my real estate agent at two, but after that, I’m free.”

“Sparkle?” The name is familiar, but I can’t immediately place it.

“It’s what passes for gay nightlife in these parts,” Kingston explains. “Though it sounds like the name of a unicorn from a children’s TV show, it’s actually a pretty decent place. The drinks are overpriced, but the music is good.”

“And the talent?” Donovan asks.

Oh yeah. I forgot he’s been stuck at home with me and Cleo all week instead of whatever exciting New York nightlife he usually partakes of. He probably has no shortage of willing partners in the city. I know that’s standard for some guys, but I’ve always been uncomfortable with random hookups. Call me a romantic or a prude, but it’s probably just because I’m careful. Does this mean I can count my number of sexual partners on one hand? Yes. Do I care? Sometimes, if I’m being honest. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing that I want to have feelings for someone before I have sex with them.

Kingston shrugs. “Depends on the night. But it’s usually a fairly big crowd on the weekends.”

“Well, I’m willing to give it a shot,” Donovan says. “I’m currently in a dry spell and it’s not a streak I particularly want to extend.”

“I’m a great wingman,” Kingston says. “I’ve got some stuff to do tomorrow, so let’s just meet there—say eight?”

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