Page 27 of Cool for the Summer

No, Kingston’s coming over for poker night.

Oh, that sounds fun. Watch out. Kingston really knows what he’s doing.

What about Donovan?

Let me ask Pete.

He says Donovan’s decent but conservative.

Good to know.

Everything going okay with him?

It’s fine. We’re getting along. But I really have to go now. Have so much fun in Edinburgh!

Thanks, cuz.

By the timeDonovan returns with more beer and vodka from the liquor store and takes his assorted bags from the big box store to his room, I’m freaking out a little. I love entertaining, but it activates my anxiety brain. If we’re having people over, I want them to have a good time, which means anticipating their needs. I’ve chilled the beer and wine from the wine shop, tidied the house, taken Cleo out, and made dessert. What else?

I pounce on Donovan the second he comes downstairs.

“What about food? I have some veggies I can cut up, but that’s about it.”

“I told you; we’ll order pizza. You don’t have to cook.”

“Is the pizza around here even any good?”

“This close to New York, it’s gotta be decent,” he reassures me. “What toppings do you like?”

“I need to see a menu. We should wait until the guests arrive. What if one of them is gluten-free or something?”

“Beck. Look at me.”

I obey because I want to, not because he used the faux-stern voice he uses on Cleo to get her to settle down before she eats. When Donovan’s dark blue gaze is latched onto mine, I find myself distracted by the depths of that blue. I’ve gotten a little used to his handsomeness over the past few days. I don’t find it quite so unsettling. But looking right at those pretty eyes and having them look right back at me—as if they can stare right into me and see all the fantasies I’m actively repressing—I shiver.

“We’re not having ‘guests,’” he says, actually using air quotes and making me remember why I stopped being quite so in awe of his beauty—turns out talented actor Donovan Eastman is kind of a big dork. “It’s just Kingston and maybe a couple of his friends. It’s casual. Relaxed. Chill. And other words that mean calm down.”

I don’t bother correcting Donovan that it doesn’t matter if it’s a head of state or some old college friends coming over; I always want to make a good impression. Instead, I catalog the mosaic of blues that make up his irises while I have the chance. Then he blinks and turns away and the spell is broken.

“Right. I’m calm. I just want to be a good host.”

“We have beer, wine, and my nose tells me you baked something while I was gone, so that’s already more impressive than ninety-nine percent of poker nights. Throw in pizza and we’re golden.”

I allow myself to be persuaded. “Where are we going to play? The round table in the living room works, but it’s not too hot if we want to do it outside.”

“I think inside. Last night was pretty buggy.”

“True. Okay. You want to set up the table and I’ll slice up some veggies?”

“Since I know you will whether or not I think you should, sure. Oh, and put on some music, would you?”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you think. You always pick good stuff,” he says before heading to the living room.

I find myself smiling as I scroll through my playlists. Donovan liking my taste in music makes me unreasonably pleased. I choose a feel-good alt-rock mix and sing along while I make neat little carrot sticks and orange bell pepper slices. Hmmm. Too much orange? I’m rummaging in the crisper drawer for something of a different color when the front doorbell chime goes off.

“Can you get that?” I shout.

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