Hottest Heat Wave

by J. M. Snyder

  “Thank you. For everything.” Aaron’s left hand reached over the console and squeezed Ben’s right hand. “I’ll call you to let you know I got home safe.”

  Ben swallowed then nodded his head, his eyes tracing the cracks in the plastic of the steering wheel.

  “Won’t ever forget you.”

  “Me either.” Ben wanted to squeeze Aaron’s hand, pull the younger man onto his lap, and never let go. But Ben just sat there immobile and Aaron withdrew his hand.

  Ben’s gaze remained fixed on the steering wheel. He couldn’t watch Aaron leave.

  Aaron sighed. “Goodbye, Ben.”

  “Bye,” Ben croaked.

  Ben heard Aaron open his door, pick up his bag, then close the door softly again.

  Squeezing his eyes shut and fighting down his emotions—he was a grown man after all—Ben let out a breath through his mouth and then slowly breathed in through his nose. He did this several more times, but it didn’t help much.

  Ben slowly hauled his fat ass out of the cab, determinedly not looking over at the shuttle pick up point. He concentrated on following the familiar ritual of pumping diesel. Despite the heat and humidity Ben felt chilled. He was being pathetic. He needed to move on and get back into his old routine. He’d go home to Maine, drop off his load, speak to his brother, play with his young nephews, then…Letting out a steady, calming breath, Ben secured the fuel cap, returned the hose to the pump, and, squaring his shoulders, trudged over to the office to pay.

  Ben emerged from the air-conditioned building a few minutes later and slipped his shades back on. Keeping his head down, he crossed the forecourt, moisture running down his face and stinging his eyes. “Damn this fucking heat,” he sniffed.

  Ben climbed the steps and re-entered his cab, wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and reached for his paperwork. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on his task, images of Aaron’s happy face, sounds of his excited chatter, and feel of his smaller body snuggling itself against Ben, kept intruding. After the third time of entering his mileage in the wrong column, Ben threw the clipboard to the floorboard. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he growled. “If you want him, then be a fucking man and go get him and convince him to stay!”

  Ben felt energized, empowered at finally making a decision. Reaching for the door handle, he glanced through the windshield at the shuttle pick up point. No one was there. Aaron had gone.

  Ben’s hand moved from the door handle to his chest which ached, felt empty. He closed his eyes. He was too late. It had to be a sign that he and Aaron weren’t to be. He was stupid to think they ever could have been.

  The snick of the catch and the squeak of the hinges on the driver’s door made Ben jump and snap open his eyes. He looked and couldn’t believe what he saw.

  Aaron launched himself into Ben’s lap and slid his arms under Ben’s vest. Ben leaned forward and Aaron’s hands moved to caress Ben’s back. Automatically Ben’s arms encircled the smaller man, who was shaking. Instantly the empty hollowness at Ben’s core was filled.

  “I was standing at the bus stop texting Tammy when she called me,” Aaron said quietly into the side of Ben’s neck. “She ripped me a new one before firing off a bunch of questions. You remember me telling you she asks a lot of questions?”

  Ben nodded, not trusting his voice.

  “She asked if leaving you had been the hardest thing I’d ever done and if it felt like my right arm had been ripped off. Then she asked if I felt like I’d known you my whole life and if I wanted to know you for the rest of my life.” Aaron sniffed. “I answered yes to every question.

  Feeling some of his earlier determination return, Ben shifted Aaron’s position so he could look the man in the eye. “Will you come back home to Maine with me and maybe we could try—”

  “Yes.”

  Ben pulled Aaron in for a tight hug. He couldn’t believe it. Aaron was back and wanted to stay. “Thank you,” he whispered into Aaron’s hair.

  They stayed snuggled together for several long seconds, Ben listening to Aaron breathe. With the engine and A/C switched off the cab was heating up. Somewhere in the back of his mind Ben knew he should move the rig, but…not just yet.

  “How long will it take us to get to Maine?” Aaron eventually asked.

  Ben nuzzled Aaron’s ear. “About ten hours of solid driving depending on traffic.”

  “Will you drive all that today?”

  He’d been planning on it, but now had Aaron to consider. “What do you want to do?”

  Aaron sighed. “Don’t mind as long as I’m with you.”

  “Me, too.” Ben kissed Aaron’s ear. “I didn’t hear a weather forecast. But it’s likely there won’t be a heat wave up in Maine, so…”

  Aaron sat back and rubbed Ben’s naked chest. “There’ll always be a heat wave wherever my hot bear is.”

  Heat Wave: Stone Mountain by J.D. Walker

  “Oh, my fucking God!” I swore to myself as I walked to work on the overheated sidewalk. It felt like fire under my shoes.

  I would willingly jump into a fetid swamp right now—with alligators—if it would cool me down. Damn, it was beyond scorching today, and it was only seven-thirty in the morning.

  As I trudged along the road from the train station to my office building, I saw other miserable people stoically trying to bear up in the unrelenting heat. I wore a tank top and shorts and carried my work clothes in a backpack. I knew better than to try keeping myself nice, neat, and dry in this type of weather. I would fail horribly.

  I sauntered by one poor woman whose hair was flat from the humidity, and her white silk blouse was soaked to the skin. Farther along, a man had taken off his suit jacket and fancy shirt and strolled along in a white T-shirt. Smart.

  When I entered the ice-cold lobby of my building at fifteen minutes to eight, I almost fell to my knees in gratitude. As it was, I slumped against a wall near the elevator bank, just to breathe in the cool air. I could almost see smoke rising from my skin. The sharply dressed über-professionals waiting nearby looked at me askance, but I didn’t care.

  My car had broken down this past Monday, and I didn’t have the funds to fix it right now. So I took transit instead. And walked. And bitched. Maybe I should be grateful I had the option to take the train. I wasn’t really feeling that appreciative, though.

  Eventually, I took the elevator up to my floor and headed to the bathroom to freshen up and change. What a great start to the work day, with the heat wave of the century in town for a visit.

  * * * *

  I stared at Jenson Sommers in shock, not believing what he’d just announced to me.

  “A one-mile hike up Stone Mountain? Really?” I heard the unmanly squeak in my voice and cringed.

  I was the furthest thing from an exercise enthusiast, but even if I were, it was the middle of frickin’ August! What were they smoking in the peace pipe in the Human Resources department, thinking this was a good idea for employee-bonding?

  I looked at my coworker and frowned. “Don’t they get that teambuilding is a crock of shit? When will they learn that no matter how many incentives they give or parties they throw, the cliques will remain? It’s still high school in this place.”

  Jenson and I worked for a marketing firm that had over fifty employees. There were several departments. Each one had a popular set and…the rest of us. I thought I’d left that behind in my teens. Apparently, some of us were still stuck in puberty.

  “Suck it up, Stace. There’s no way around it. You sweat for a couple of hours, collapse in the shade with a beer, and then you’ll have an early start to the weekend. What could be better?”

  “Not having to do it at all. It’s over a hundred degrees outside! Isn’t it dangerous to be exposed to such high temperatures?”

  “Quit your whining. There’s shade along the trail, and you’ll be wearing sunscreen and drink lots of bottled water.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “And you’re this gung-ho because…”

  His gri
n was diabolical. “Never you mind the why. Since you’ve been paired with me, I will get you to the top of Stone Mountain, even if I have to drag you there.”

  I was sure I looked suspicious when I said, “That sounds…ominous.”

  “I’ll take care of you, promise. Plus, you have no choice in the matter. I’m a competitive son of a bitch, and there’s no way we’re going to be the last pair to make it to the top of that granite rock.”

  “And if I don’t want to?” I could feel petulance rising within me.

  “Want to keep your job?” Jenson retorted.

  “Nice try,” I growled. “You’re not my boss.”

  He rubbed his hands together and grinned. “It’ll be fun.” Such relentless cheer was nauseating.

  “Fuck me.”

  He winked. “You wish.”

  As Jenson went back to working on his computer, I thought to myself, Yes, I really do wish you would fuck me. Jenson and I were the only two openly gay employees in the firm. I had my suspicions about a few others, but they weren’t talking.

  We’d bonded from the beginning, and fate had placed us in the same department, working side by side in the cubicle maze on our floor.

  Whatever the case, I’d been attracted to the friendly graphic artist since the day we met. Unfortunately, he was in a long-term relationship, or so he said. Thus, I lusted after him from afar.

  It didn’t hurt that he was totally my type, multiplied by a thousand. I loved men with red hair, and the more freckles, the better. His almost aquamarine eyes were bright, intelligent, and always had a spark of mischief in them. Sometimes he could be overly aggressive, but I put that down to his enthusiasm for life.

  Jenson was a lot taller, but thin as a rail compared to my shorter, stocky frame. He liked to do rock climbing in the evenings and on weekends, and loved hiking—the complete antithesis of my interests in reading and blogging about the weird things in the world. My idea of exercise was turning the page in a book or typing. Perhaps my obsession with the written word was why I made a good marketing content specialist.

  All that aside, as far as I knew, Jenson was still attached at the hip to his trendy, model/actor boyfriend Bransworth Manley. Who names their child that, anyway? I couldn’t compete. The best description for my person would be…nondescript. I just had to suck it up.

  * * * *

  Friday morning, at ten o’clock, I stood beside Jenson, hands on my hips as I stared at the mountain before us.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, already dripping with sweat. The heat caused my sunscreen to run, and the air felt stifling and muggy as it can only be in Georgia. My head pounded already at the stress of it all.

  “You can do this, Stace. It’s just a mile, and we’ll take it as slow as we need to, as long as we don’t come in dead last.”

  “Can’t we just take the SkyRide?” I whined, checking my shoelaces and then tying a bandana around my head to keep hair and sweat out of my eyes.

  “Nope,” Jenson said as he stretched his legs and touched his toes beside me, the image of the perfectly limber athlete. I hated him.

  He wore shorts and a tank top, which was soaked, just like mine. The difference between the two of us, aside from his obvious athleticism and good looks, however, was that he was smiling. I was not. Definitely not looking forward to this.

  “Fine, let’s get this over with,” I replied and got into step with my coworker as we made our way across the relatively flat area before us. I knew that would change, however.

  There were at least twenty other couples from the company with us, some more enthusiastic than others. Of course, there were the jocks who dressed the part and took off running—spandex, Vibrams, bare-chested. Bastards.

  After the first eighth of a mile, I’d emptied three of the little water bottles on my belt, one of which went over my head to cool me down.

  “This is insane!” I griped as I panted, rock after rock, watching as the more nimble among us strode ahead with purpose. I looked behind me and saw a few couples who were slower than we were. Hallelujah.

  “It’s not so bad. You just don’t do this often enough to appreciate the beauty in your surroundings,” Jenson replied with nary a puff or grumble.

  Maybe I would agree with him if my skin wasn’t on fire. He acted like he was taking a stroll in the park compared to my blundering progress. His long legs tended to outstrip my stride, so he’d wait for me to catch up, from time to time.

  Within fifteen minutes, I’d removed my shirt and finished my fourth bottle of water, all while straining my untrained calves ever onward to our goal. As we moved along, men in training for some sport or other passed us. They carried weights in their hands as they went up and down the mountain. What was wrong with these people?

  Then, after what seemed like hours, we arrived at the steepest staircase I’d ever seen. Apparently, to get to the very top of the mountain—and the end of this torture—we had to climb it. What the hell?

  * * * *

  “One step at a time,” Jenson said, urging me forward with his hand on my lower back.

  I loved that he was touching me, but wished it were under different circumstances, and that he was single. “I’d rather lose my job than go through this ever again,” I muttered, silently begging my legs not to quit and turn me into a pussy.

  “You know I’ll be right there, telling you how full of shit you are. Now come on, take another step. We’re holding up traffic.”

  I looked behind us and saw that a line had indeed formed at the rear. I couldn’t go out like that, no matter my discomfort or fatigue. So I took a deep breath and climbed upward, trying not to cry out at the even steeper end to the staircase. A few more strides and…

  We reached the top!

  I felt no shame in collapsing on a bench, flat on my back, while Jenson went to check in with the organizers of this ridiculous event. We weren’t last, at least, but it had been a near thing. My God, everything hurt.

  A few cool drops of liquid splashed on my forehead. I opened one eye to see Jenson standing above me with a cold bottle of Gatorade, his body blocking out the sun. Ah, yeah!

  “I love you, man!”

  He smirked as I sat up and drank the contents of the bottle in seconds flat. “Is that all it takes to get your never-ending devotion?”

  I wiped my mouth on the back of a hand. “If you only knew,” I replied and burped.

  “Classy, aren’t you?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  He sat next to me. It was then that I noticed he had a similar bottle in his hand, too.

  “So what’s happening the rest of the day?” I asked, staring at the view of the Atlanta skyline before us. At least it wasn’t too hazy.

  “The company is paying for lunch. We’ll take the Summit SkyRide down the mountain in groups so we can gawk at the Confederate Memorial Carving, maybe see the Appalachians, and then stumble into the restaurant to stuff ourselves. I could murder three hot dogs, at least.”

  “What, like this? We’re all sweaty and nasty.” I pulled my T-shirt out of my waistband where I’d tucked it on the climb. “And wrinkled, too,” I groused, shaking my shirt with no hope of being neat anytime soon.

  “It’s the Big Rock Café—nothing fancy. I’m sure they’ll understand, Princess.”

  “Hey, now.” I admitted to being a little fussy about my appearance, but I was not a princess. Officially.

  “If it walks like a duck and wears a tiara…” he began, then was interrupted by the Human Resources Director, aptly nicknamed “Gung-ho Pete,” who began rounding everybody up.

  As I walked alongside Jenson, I noted the other members of our office who were even more the worse for wear than I was. Was it bad that it made me feel better?

  * * * *

  Three hot dogs for each of us, and any number of glasses of soda later, and I was full to bursting.

  “Jesus,” Jenson moaned, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach
. “I don’t know if I can move.”

  “Any reason you need to right now?” I asked, similarly incapacitated.

  “None.”

  We remained where we were, pleasantly lulled into a food coma while watching the people around us. I watched Andy Quinley, the senior sales manager, as he strutted around the restaurant, boasting about being the first to the top of the mountain, along with his partner, Josh Ridland. I had my suspicions about those two. I noted that most people rolled their eyes, but some—the groupies—hung on his every word. Whatever.

  “Why do people still act like that?” I mused aloud.

  “Act like what?” Jenson asked before draining his glass of water.

  “Like it matters who’s first or last. How is that important in the scheme of things, in life?”

  “You’re getting philosophical now? Must be heat stroke,” Jenson teased.

  “No, I’m serious,” I insisted. “All this could end tomorrow, and what do we have to show for it except the fact that we scaled a mountain in hundred-degree heat?”

  Jenson leaned on his elbows at the edge of the table. “It matters, and it doesn’t. For some, like Andy over there, it’s what he lives for. Without it, he’d have nothing, be nothing, in his mind. That’s his reality. For me, I just enjoy reaching the top. I like the top,” he said and gave me a sly wink.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Why do I feel you’re talking about something else all of a sudden?”

  “Because I am. Bransworth and I broke up last week.”

  All I could do was stare at Jenson for a few seconds while I willed my heart to start beating again.

  “Breathe, Whitehall,” he said with a small smile.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “What…what happened?” I asked, trying to appear concerned and sympathetic about the demise of his relationship. Inside, I was dancing like Tom Cruise in Risky Business.

  Jenson laughed out loud. “Don’t even try it, Stace. I know you’ve been jealous this whole time.”

  I sputtered and blushed, not sure how to react to his accurate summation of my feelings for him. Stalling for time, I drank some water.