“Good, I think,” he says. “You?”
“Good. How’s your back?”
“Let me see.” Slowly, he pushes himself up, turning to slide his long legs over the side of the bed. He cautiously stands. “A lot better.”
He has an enormous erection and seems to notice at the sametime I do. He folds his hands in front of himself and looks around the apartment squinting. “There’s no way it was this hot when we fell asleep.”
He’s probably right, but I have no real recollection of how hot it was last night.
I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to process the heat.
Today cannot go the way of yesterday.
No more lounging around the apartment. No more sitting together on the bed. No more talking about Tinder. No more falling asleep together and half mounting him while unconscious.
Tomorrow, wedding festivities will begin for David and Tham (bachelor parties, rehearsal dinner, wedding). Today, Alex and I need to have enough uncomplicated, unconfusing fun that when we get home, he doesn’t need another two-year break from me.
“I’ll call Nikolai about the AC again,” I say. “But we should get moving. We’ve got a lot to do.”
Alex runs his hand up his forehead into his hair. “Do I have time to shower?”
My heart gives a sharp pulse, and just like that I’m imagining taking a shower with him.
“If you want,” I manage. “But youwillbe drenched in sweat again in seconds.”
He shrugs. “I don’t think I can make myself leave the apartment feeling this dirty.”
“You’ve been dirtier,” I joke, because I have misplaced my already faulty filter.
“Only in front of you,” he says, and rustles my hair as he walks past to the bathroom.
My legs feel like jelly under me as I stand there waiting for the shower to turn on. Only once it does do I feel capable of moving again, and my first stop is the thermostat.
Eighty-five?!
Eighty-five miserable degrees in this apartment and the thermostat’s been set to seventy-nine since last night. So we can officially rule the air conditioner fully broken.
I walk onto the balcony and dial Nikolai, but he sends me to voicemail on the third ring. I leave another message, this one a little angrier, then follow up with an email and a text too before going inside to search for the lightest-weight piece of clothing I brought.
A gingham sundress that’s so baggy it hangs on me like a paper bag.
The water turns off, and Alex doesnotmake the mistake of coming out in his towel this time. He emerges fully dressed, hair wicked back and water droplets still clinging (sensuously, I might add) to his forehead and neck.
“So,” he says. “What did you have in mind today?”
“Surprises,” I say. “Lots of them.” I try to dramatically fling the car keys to him. They fall to the floor two feet short. He looks down at where they lie.
“Wow,” he says. “Was that... one of the surprises?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, it was. But the others are better so pick those up and let’s hit it.”
His mouth twists. “I probably...”
“Oh, right! Your back!” I run over and retrieve the keys, handing them to him like a normal adult human might.
When we walk out onto the exterior hallway of the Desert Rose, Alex says, “At least it’s notjustour apartment that feels like Satan’s anal glands.”
“Yes, it’s much better that the entire city be this ungodly hot,” I say.