Page 46 of Cool for the Summer

He’s my rule.

I’ve done the inevitable and fallen for the one guy who told me he’d never care about me like that—never want from me what I’d be willing to give.

But as my second orgasm whips through me, wringing me out and leaving me empty and sated at the same time, I know it doesn’t matter. I’ll take what he gives me and at the end of the summer—after he’s gone—I’ll deal with the fallout on my own. He’ll never have to know how I feel about him. We both have our own boundaries, and I’m okay with stepping over mine as long as I keep my eyes open and acknowledge that’s what I’m doing.

Later, after Donovan’s fallen asleep on top of his comforter, I slip out of his bed, gather my clothes, and turn off his lamp. I tiptoe downstairs naked, consider a shower, then flop into my own bed without bothering. As I fall asleep, exhausted from my huge day, and my improbably glorious night, I tell myself I’m not pathetic for taking the deal Donovan offered me. I’m empowered for grabbing hold of something good, for as long as I can get it.

Right?

* * *

I startle awakeat Cleo’s sharp bark outside my bedroom door. I swear I’ve only been asleep for a minute, but when I glance at my clock, I find it’s an hour later than I’m usually up with her. I scramble into my shorts and fling open the door. Donovan’s right there, looking freshly showered, if a little sleepy, and he’s putting food in Cleo’s bowl.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Hey.” He smiles and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes have me internally sighing. How is he still so attractive first thing in the morning after we stayed up until all hours trading secrets and orgasms?

“Sorry, I overslept.”

“It’s okay. I was already up. I can take care of her if you want to go back to sleep.” His gaze pinballs from my face to my bare chest to my feet and then back.

I’m suddenly flooded with memories from last night. Kissing on the front steps, hot and urgent, touching each other on his bed. I wonder if it still smells like us in his room. “No, I just need a shower.”

“Put on the coffee first?” he asks hopefully before I can escape to my bathroom.

I laugh. “You can learn how to do this, you know.” But I walk over to the sink anyway to wash my hands and fill the pot with filtered water from the built-in tap.

“Somehow you have the magic touch,” he says. Is there a double entendre in his words?

“It’s just that some of us aren’t too lazy to grind fresh beans every day.” I reach for the grinder to prove my point. A minute later, the scent of freshly ground coffee beans fills the kitchen, perking me up.

I set the machine to brew, then startle at the sensation of a body at my back. Donovan presses into me, pushing my hips against the counter. He kisses the back of my neck, runs his nose through the short soft hairs at my nape.

I turn around, eyebrows raised. “Is this your way of asking for morning sex?”

He puts his hands on the counter on either side of me, boxing me in. He grins lazily. “Not necessarily. I’ve just wanted to do that for a while. The back of your neck is very distracting.”

I stare at him in amazement. I’d assumed this arrangement was about initiating sex when one of us was horny, not tender touches before we’ve even had our coffee.

While I stare without saying anything, his grin sinks into a grimace. “But maybe I should have asked?—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt. I’ve already made peace with myself that I’ll take anything he wants to give and give anything he wants to take. I contemplate sinking to my knees and proving just how okay it is, but Cleo lets out another sharp bark.

Donovan glances at her, pulls away. “I’ll take her out.”

I touch his arm. “Hey, no one’s ever told me I had a distracting back of the neck before.”

“Really? I get it all the time.”

He’s playing the moment off with a joke, but I don’t miss my opportunity to tell him, “Babe, every part of you is distracting.”

I sweep past him and into my room before I can regret the “babe” that just slipped out of me, like my brain wants to sabotage this at every opportunity.

I scrub myself in the shower. I’m objectively dirty after last night, but I’m also looking for a fresh start. I thought I could navigate being Donovan’s roommate, friend, and now fuck buddy, but it’s tough to keep what few boundaries I have when he’s non-sexually touching me. Does he even realize how boyfriend-like he’s being? Poor sap probably doesn’t. His tale of woe last night cleared up a lot for me. He had his heart broken and he let it break his spirit, too. I’m too smart to believe that through the healing powers of cookies and sex, he’ll suddenly want to be in a serious, long-term, monogamous relationship.

But since I haven’t lost my hope yet, I guess I’ll let myself believe it’s not totally impossible.

TWENTY

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