Page 31 of Cool for the Summer

Damn. He’s good at poker, too. Shouldn’t be surprising. And shouldn’t be so appealing.

But it is.

With Kingston coaching Sergio, his game improves after a couple of hands. I’m feeling like I could use some lessons myself. My chips are dwindling while Beck’s clearly leading the pack. Then Kingston takes a big pot and they’re about even. Sergio goes all in on a pair of kings and loses to Kingston’s full house. He gets up from the table with a rueful smile. “Anyone want anything else to drink?”

I switched to beer after my first glass of champagne. It did taste better in Beck’s classy vintage glasses, but I’m more of a beer guy, anyway. “I’ll take another beer,” I say.

“Oh, what about dessert?” Beck jumps up. “Can we pause for a minute?”

“It’s your deal, so you’re the boss,” Kingston says.

“Need any help?” I ask Beck.

He looks a little surprised at my offer. “Sure.”

I stand up, crack my neck after sitting so long, and trail Beck to the kitchen. “What have you got cooked up for us?”

“I made mini chocolate chocolate chip cookies earlier, but I just remembered we have vanilla ice cream, too. Want to get out the bowls?”

He softens the ice cream in the microwave, and I get out bowls and spoons. I steal one of the half-dollar-sized cookies from the rack and bite into it. Rich chocolate chunks are studded throughout the chewy cookie, and I smack my lips. “These are amazing.”

“Yeah?” Beck perks up. “I was getting sick of ginger and cinnamon, sorry.”

I laugh, glad it’s not just me who was ready for a change. “Variety is good. And I love chocolate.”

“You can’t go wrong with a chocolate chocolate chip cookie. I made them mini so we can eat a bunch and not feel like we’re overdoing it.”

“Brilliant.” I watch as Beck assembles four bowls of ice cream and sticks two cookies artfully in each scoop. “You’ve got a cookie gift, you know.”

“Do I?”

“But you’re also a poker shark. Is there anything you aren’t good at?”

Beck puts a hand on his chin and pretends to think. “Organic chemistry. Pretending to be nice to people whose politics turn my stomach. The butterfly stroke. But maybe that’s it.”

“If that’s it, then I think you’re doing pretty well.”

“It doesn’t feel like it on some days,” he says, losing some of the joy from his face.

I scoot closer. “Are you okay? Are you not having fun tonight—I can send those guys home if you want.”

“No, I’m having fun. Beating you at poker is surprisingly satisfying,” Beck says, and I believe him. “Maybe I’m just tired. Being on permanent vacation is hard work.”

I frown. “Permanent vacation?”

“I’m just kind of sick of not knowing what I’m doing with my life. Everyone else has it figured out, and I’m this cliche of a twentysomething with no direction. And I can’t even look for a job right now because I have to be here this summer.”

“Do you want to leave?” The idea of Beck going off and leaving me alone in this big house makes my chest ache unexpectedly.

“No, I love it here. But I have to admit that I’ve been running away from making any decisions about my life, and being here is not helping. Instead, it’s making me realize that I want the stability that Pete and Jack have—I want the beautiful house, I want to spend my days doing something I love. Hell, I even want the dog. But as long as I keep pretending I don’t know what I want, I can put off the hard work of actually figuring out how to get it.”

“Sounds like you’re getting tired of pretending.”

He stares at me for a second. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“You’re wrong about one thing, though. You think everyone else has their lives figured out? Look at me. I don’t have a place to live or even my next job lined up. I’m pretending to write a play, so I don’t have to admit I’m scared I’m never going to work as an actor again.”

“What do you mean? Of course you will.”

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