Page 41 of Cool for the Summer

“Is this a trick question?”

“I’m just wondering what this would be. Friends with benefits? A one-night thing?”

I already know he’s not the kind of guy who wants the latter. The former is a cliche. But not inaccurate. “We’re roommates with benefits,” I offer. “Taking advantage of our mutual attraction for a mutually beneficial arrangement. For the summer.”

“Hey, who said anything about mutual attraction?” Beck says, but I know he’s just giving me a hard time.

“Whatever, you know you want me,” I say. And then I put my hand on his thigh and squeeze. He shivers. “See?”

He bites his lip. “Just for the summer?”

It must be the law school dropout in him that wants to clarify terms before entering into the contract, such as it is.

“Just for the summer. Is that cool?”

He puts his hand hesitantly on top of mine, meets my gaze with his. “Cool.”

SEVENTEEN

BECK

By unspoken agreement,we don’t seal our bargain with a kiss. Not yet.

Negotiations for a roommates-with-benefits situation for the duration of the summer complete, I put the car back in gear and finish getting us home in the dark, wary of possible nocturnal animals on the country roads.

When we get back to the house, Donovan stops me on the front step before I can put my key in the lock.

“Wait,” he says, and then he’s kissing me, soft bristles from his two-day-old beard brushing my chin, softer lips brushing mine. It’s an unexpected kiss—both the timing and the location—but not unwanted. Kissing Donovan is actually kind of perfect. He’s slightly taller than me, but he picks just the right angle, and his hand snakes around my waist while I grab one of his shoulders with the hand that isn’t holding keys. I think he just means to tease me, to get the awkward first kiss out of the way, but then he deepens it, and suddenly I can taste the beer on his tongue and saliva pools in my mouth because I want more. I want to taste all of him.

He steps closer, and that’s when I can feel his dick through his jeans, pressing against my hip. Holy shit. This is really happening. We’re really kissing and he really wants me.

And I’m really letting him have me, even though this isn’t ever going to be all I want it to be.

He couldn’t have been clearer about not wanting to be my boyfriend. And that’s something I’m apparently willing to accept, if it means I get to make out with him under the milky glow of the front porch light, softly grinding my own swiftly filling cock against him, somewhat unable to believe this is really happening.

He pulls back and I’m struck again by the unreality of it. He’s just too pretty, those dark lashes, those cheekbones, the crooked nose so dear to me after only a week. Donovan Eastman is fucking hot, and apparently slender blond bakers turn him on.

“Um,” is all I can think to say.

“I forgot how good it feels to kiss,” he says, with a touch of gravel in his voice, surprising me for the millionth time that night.

I made him feel good. It’s bananas.

I laugh, slightly nervous, afraid to wake up. “Yeah. Well. Kissing me on the front step is a little too close to boyfriend territory for me, so.”

His eyes widen, and I laugh again. “Just a joke.” I’m going to be terrible at this.

But he seems to relax. “You’re right,” he says lightly. “My bad. Should we?” He gestures to the door.

I unlock the door and disarm the security system, then lock the door and arm it again. “Are you hungry or?—?”

“Horny,” he corrects me. “Want to come up to my room?”

My dick pulses at the idea of imminent sex, even if I’m not prepared in any practical way. “Sure. Let me check on Cleo first.”

“Good idea.” We check on her together—she’s snoozing in her bed, raising her head sleepily when we come in, then settling back down again. She should be fine until morning.

“Give me a minute,” I say to Donovan, who nods and then goes upstairs.

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