Page 45 of No Summer Hotter than You

I slumped over my mess and let out a trembling breath, realizing who I not only masturbated to, but who I also had a dirty dream of. My neighbor. My business partner. My best friend.

I’ve officially fucked up.

CHAPTER 18

shoua

I wanted more when Anthony and I kissed on the corner of our mouths last night. I wanted so desperately to kiss his lips when he said “Again” with his low, husky voice. A shiver ran down my spine just thinking about the way his voice sounded as one of the summer pop songs I listened to pulled me out of my thoughts of his warm lips.

To my surprise, I hadn’t seen Anthony all morning. He came by to drop off my lilac glass cup of iced coffee and left before I could even say good morning. He mentioned something about a long gym session early this morning and needing to shower. I expected him to come back over for breakfast, but he never did.

I texted, but he didn’t reply.

When I called, he answered with a lazy yawn. “Sorry, Shoua. I woke up early to go to the gym this morning and I need to nap.”

I hung up, flustered, and then went about my day. When I came home from a four-hour open house, I noticed his garage door was open. Unfortunately, the heat had been unbearable, so not many prospective buyers came by to view the home even with the lure of free ice-cold drinks and ice cream.

As I drove up the driveway of my half of our duplex, I could see Anthony excitedly putting paint primer on the new vanity he was working on. He loved to restore old and forgotten furnishings from thrift stores, yard sales, or the side of the road. It had been his passion ever since high school when his woodworking teacher introduced him to it. Although I understood his passion for it, I couldn’t understand why the hell this man was in his garage working in the middle of a triple-digit summer day.

The heat was clearly getting to him despite having a weak ceiling fan and a full-blasting fan tower on. His damp, dark, practically black locks were pushed back as his forehead beaded with perspiration.

“Hey!” I yelled. I knew he was wearing noise-canceling earbuds, but I hoped my scream was loud enough.

No answer as he continued to put paint primer on his furnishing.

“Hey!” I yelled louder, startling him.

“O-oh, hey!” he finally responded, coming to a complete halt.

He pulled one of his earbuds out of his ear as a smile plastered across his lips. I tried not to stare at them too long as another shiver ran down my spine. My thighs clenched tightly together just at the thought of how deep and raspy his voice had been last night.

“My turn.”

I cleared my throat as I focused on his eyes. They had a hard edge along with dark circles, which was unusual. Something was bothering him. Maybe that was why he woke up early to exercise at five this morning.

Even though he was more than an arm’s length away, I could still feel his blazing hot body radiate warmth toward me. Which was why I made sure not to stand too close to him; today was already too much temperature-wise. I didn’t need to sweat any more than I already was, especially with my makeup already a melting mess.

“Here,” I said, handing him my water bottle.

He gave me a curt nod, grabbing hold of it and brushing his scorching, gentle, calloused fingertips over my fingers. He took a long swig as he clearly sweated out a day’s worth of water consumption already.

“Why are you out here working on this? It’s hot,” I said.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back for another two hours,” he said casually, ignoring my comment.

I glared. “Anthony, you need to be careful. It’s late in the afternoon and the heat is unbearable today.”

He shrugged too nonchalantly. “I’ll be fine!”

“No, you’re not. You’re sweating so much. The last thing I want is to come back out and find you?—”

I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

Last summer on another triple-digit day, Anthony was doing the same thing by working on his craft in the middle of the day. If I hadn’t been curious and popped in to check in on him after I got home from an open house, he probably would’ve had a major heat stroke. I had gone into his garage that afternoon to find him slumped over a double drawer he was painting, sweating profusely.

I had to help him into the house and forced him to take a cold bath on the spot with as many ice cubes as we had in our freezers. I was so worried I stayed with him all day after his ice water bath and monitored how long he worked in the garage every weekend for the rest of the summer. I never wanted to experience that ever again.

“Why do you think I bought the fan tower this year?” Anthony asked. “It’s helping!”

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