Page 49 of Cool for the Summer

“We have a lunch date for later in the week.” He raises two bags filled with bread and other baked goods. “I might have gone a little overboard on the carbs.”

I groan. “Remind me to double my workouts.”

He pats my stomach and shakes his head sadly. “Yeah, you’re really going to seed.”

“Shut up,” I say, laughing despite myself. “We don’t all have your youthful metabolism.”

“I know how we can get some more exercise,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah?” Now we’re talking. “Tell me more.”

“Well, after dinner we can…take Cleo on a really long walk.”

A joke that weak deserves a response like sticking my tongue out at him, so that’s what I do.

He giggles. “Okay, okay. Why don’t we go for a swim later? I’ll let you put my sunscreen on,” he adds in a breathy voice.

“Better.”

Later, we do swim, but only after I’ve touched every inch of Beck’s body and made him come with my hands, then emptied myself into his mouth. We lazily swim some laps, then end up having another epic splash fight, Cleo cheering us on with her excited barks from the side of the pool.

We eat dinner on the patio—vegetables and sausages we picked up at the farmer’s market, with Stacy’s crusty dinner rolls rounding out the meal.

Beck tells me he’s going to work on a business plan this week, and I promise myself I’ll devote at least a couple of hours each day to my play.

When he starts yawning as he puts some of Stacy’s breads in the freezer, I tell him to turn in. I know he didn’t get enough sleep last night, and I’m tired, too.

“All right,” he says, standing up straight and stretching his arms over his head. There’s a suspended moment where I wonder if I should ask him to sleep upstairs with me, which is a wild thought. I rarely share a bed with someone, and it’s not like me to want to. He looks like he wants to say something, too, but he just drops his arms to his sides. “Good night, then.”

He disappears into his room and it’s not until I’m upstairs getting ready to go to sleep in my bed alone that I wonder if what he wanted was a goodnight kiss.

TWENTY-ONE

BECK

My days have gonefrom relaxed and carefree, where the only thing I had to worry about was making sure I was sending enough photos of Cleo to satisfy Jack and Pete, to busier than I can remember being in a long time. There’s so much to do, and I want to do it all right now, but there are still meals to make and Cleo to take care of. And now Donovan to work into my plans.

It’s been two weeks since the night at Sparkle when Donovan turned down sex with a stranger to have sex with me. They’ve been two of the most wonderful, and most confusing, weeks of my life.

I’ve never been with someone who’s as easy to be around as Donovan is most of the time. He’s endlessly supportive, giving me notes on my business plan for Beck’s Cookie Counter—he’s absurdly proud that I’m using his name idea. He’s been letting his beard grow a little, and the scruff suits him. I also love the way it feels on my inner thighs and scraping across my tender nipples after he’s bitten them to pulsing red dots.

We haven’t had sex every single day in the past two weeks, but very nearly. The first time he topped me was the Fourth of July. We went to the town’s fireworks show at the high school, then made out in the car in Jack and Pete’s driveway until I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen. I took him to my room that night, having prepped for the occasion earlier. He was perfect—slow, then fast—and we did it twice that night. Then again in the morning, despite my ass’s protestations. Worth it.

That about sums up the whole situation. Am I confused that the guy I’m not only fucking butliving withwon’t consider what we have a real relationship instead of a no-strings summer fling? I might be able to keep my head on straight about it if Donovan didn’t start the day with sweet good morning kisses, casually touch me throughout the day, and end the day with whispered “good nights.”

I haven’t drawn his attention to the incongruity because I don’t want him to stop, even though I know we’re on borrowed time. If that makes me pathetic, so be it. I’m not giving up what we have just to keep my dignity.

As I mentioned, worth it.

But we’re about to face a new hurdle. Kingston’s in town for the weekend, and we have plans for a poker night at his place. He said he’d round up a couple of other players since Sergio is back in Seattle permanently. I’m loading the flourless chocolate pecan cookies I made for the occasion into a large container between sheets of parchment paper when my phone dings.

Jack

Checking in. How’s everything?

Everything is perfection. How’s Cannes?

Already in the rearview. We’re in Venice now.

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