by J. M. Snyder
I pull into my allotted parking space and cut off the engine, but before I can open the door to the cab, Kyle vaults over the terrace railing and trots over to my side of the truck. I turn the key far enough to roll down the window. Suddenly he’s right there, his tanned, smiling face inches from mine. “Hey,” I say with a grin. God, it’s good to see him again. I’m going to love living here.
“Hey yourself.” His gaze flickers past me into the cab. “This your buddy?”
Leaning back, I hook a thumb over at Rob. “Yeah. Rob and I go way back. We met in college. Freshman year we got assigned as roommates and I’ve been living with his fat ass ever since.”
Beside me, Rob says, “Hey! You never complained about my ass before.”
Kyle laughs and reaches into the cab, arm stretching in front of me to shake Rob’s. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle. I live—”
“Downstairs,” Rob answers. “I heard. Your place looks bigger than Danny’s?”
He’s fishing about Nadia, I know, trying to be slick about it, but Rob’s as subtle as a Mack truck. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I pull the key from the ignition and open the door, just enough to pop the lock and make Kyle take a step back. “Can we maybe talk after we unload the truck?” I ask. “It’s supposed to get real hot today, and I have to have this back by three.”
Kyle laughs. “It’s real hot already. They’re calling for a heat wave this weekend. It’s going to get over a hundred by the Fourth.”
“This is Virginia,” Rob says from inside the cab. “It’s nothing but a heat wave from April to November. We only have two seasons, cold as shit and hot as shit.”
Climbing down out of the cab, I roll my eyes and shake my head. Rob’s a little on the heavy side—he used to play football in high school, and what was once muscle has since turned to fat around his waist. He doesn’t suffer the heat in silence, as I’ve learned over the years. “Whatever you do,” I mutter to Kyle, “don’t mention the weather to him. You’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Gotcha,” Kyle says with a wink.
The quick gesture ignites my body in a way I would have never anticipated. My nerves tingle, my blood boils, my cock stiffens like a steel rod shoved down the front of my shorts. Suddenly my mouth is dry, and when I swallow, I hear an audible click between my ears. Oh God, oh Jesus, oh sweet Lord but I have it bad.
Coming around the front of the truck, Rob slaps the hood with an open palm, then leans on it heavily, props the other hand on his hip, and crosses one ankle over the other. “So, Kyle. Danny says you have a girlfriend.”
God. I want the ground to open up right about now and swallow me whole, please. I just want to disappear.
But Kyle takes it in stride. Maybe he gets asked this a lot, who knows? With a shake of his head, he laughs and says, “Nadia? Oh, no. We’re friends, yes. Roommates, yes. Nothing more. I have my own bedroom, she has hers, end of story.”
Apparently Rob isn’t quite finished yet. “So…you’re single? Dating? What’s the scoop?”
Kyle gives him a coy look, then smirks at me. “Why, you interested?”
A dull flush rises in Rob’s face, coloring his cheeks. “I’m not—hell, man! I don’t even know you! I’m just asking, jeez!”
He storms off, heading for the back of the truck. Seconds later, I hear the rear door roll up. The truck shakes as he jumps inside the cargo hold and starts rummaging around among my things in there.
When I glance at Kyle, he’s leaning back against the driver’s side door, watching me. “Did I strike a nerve?” he asks, his voice soft.
I laugh and shake my head. “Nah, he’s cool.”
“I mean, I was only kidding around.” Still talking softly. So intimately. Keeping it between us. Not that Rob could possibly overhear, what with all the noise he’s making inside the truck. Kyle adds, “I just don’t see it with him, you know? I mean, you like him, that’s great, but he doesn’t—how’s Nadia put it? Ping my gaydar.”
I’m not quite sure what he means, but I like the way he’s looking at me, square in the face, as if daring me to say something. My heart somersaults in my chest. Is he asking me a question about Rob? About me? I don’t know, and my mouth is too dry to answer, my mind draws a blank. All the blood in my body has dropped to the sudden ache below my belt. Yes yes please, I think. I take a step closer to him, shrinking the distance between us. On its own, my hand reaches out for his arm, the skin so tempting, so tanned beneath his white T-shirt…
The truck shakes behind him and suddenly Rob is there, bulldozing his way into our moment. “Maybe we should pull up on the grass,” he says. “Get a little closer to the stairs. Oh, wait. Am I interrupting something?”
Too late.
* * * *
With Kyle’s help, we get the truck unloaded in record time. Everything I own sits in boxes on the living room floor of my new apartment, which looked large and roomy before we started filling it up. I’d like to say it looks packed to the gills now, but that’s simply not true. Unfortunately I haven’t accumulated enough to fill up the one room I stayed in at Rob’s, let alone an entire place of my own. The futon looks lost all by itself in the bedroom, the bookcases are dwarfed by the empty walls surrounding them, and the TV cowers in one corner as if it’s trying to hide like a frightened animal. The stand for it is buried under the boxes; it’ll take me all weekend to dig it out.
When the truck is empty, Rob leans against the kitchen bar and wipes sweat from his brow, pushing his hair up into spikes off his forehead in the process. He eyes the boxes stacked in the center of the living room and shakes his head. “Wow. Is that it?” he asks.
Yeah, sure, rub it in.
“Don’t you have any furniture, or anything?” Kyle asks.
I shrug. “I need to buy some, I guess. What do you guys think, like a sofa, or something?”
“Sofas are expensive.” Rob pushes off the bar and rounds it, heading for the fridge, which is empty. But he stands in front of it anyway with the door wide open, letting the cold air wash over him. “God, that feels good. No drinks or nothing?”
“You came with me,” I point out. “Did you see any in the truck?”
He shuts the fridge and leans back against the wall. “I just helped you move. The man code states you owe me beer.”
I glance at the digital clock on the microwave. It’s almost noon. “How about lunch?” I suggest. “My treat. There’s a sub shop not far from here, in the same shopping center as Big Lots. We can grab a bite to eat and then see what kind of price they might have on cheap furniture. Maybe I can get another futon, how’s that sound?”
With a nod, Kyle says, “That’ll work. A dining room set, too, maybe a couple of chairs for the balcony, and a pair of those blackout curtains we told you about.”
“Yeah,” Rob adds, “it’s pretty hot in here.”
“We just need to turn down the air.” Kyle heads over to the thermostat.
Leaning both elbows onto the bar, I prop my chin in my hands and look at Rob. “Lunch sound okay to you?”
He shrugs. “If you’re buying, hell, you know I can eat. Where’s this place at?”
“Just down the street.” I’ve never eaten at Jerry’s Subs before, but I’ve seen it at the intersection of Parham and Brook, and it looks like much the same fare we serve at the diner. I only noticed it because of the Big Lots, which I wanted to stop at before I moved but I haven’t had a chance. Plus I couldn’t have bought anything, anyway—I didn’t have the room at Rob’s, and nothing would’ve fit in my little car.
But I have the rental truck until three. We can get lunch, decorate my new pad on the cheap, and not only will I be able to bring everything back without having to tie it to the roof of my Civic, I’ll also have help carrying it all upstairs. I’ll probably have to buy them both beers when we’re done, but it’ll be worth the cost of a few brewskies.
Only Rob apparently has other plans, because he checks his phone. “Long as we’re not out all day,” he says with
a grimace.
I’d know that look anywhere—Lara’s texted him, probably telling him to hurry up. “What’s she want?”
Pocketing the phone, he says, “Me, home, soon.”
“What’s she think you’re doing?” I ask. “She knows you’re over here helping me move in. God, it isn’t like we’re at a strip club or anything.”
Rob laughs as Kyle wanders back over to where we are. “Did someone say strip club?” Kyle asks.
“Rein it in, pretty boy.” Rob pushes off the wall and leads the way down the hallway to the door. “I’m just thinking about lunch right now. We ready to eat, or what?”
As we pass the thermostat, I give it a cursory glance. “How do you read this thing?”
Kyle taps the small thermometer. “It’s set to seventy, but it says it’s almost eighty in here. I guess leaving the door open while we were running in and out didn’t help. It should come down again while we’re out.”
“What if it doesn’t?” I hadn’t really noticed it before, but it is a little hot in here.
Then Rob opens the apartment door and heat from outside blasts into the foyer. Actually, no—it’s hot out there. In here it feels like an ice cave in comparison.
“If it doesn’t,” Rob says, heading outside, “you call maintenance.”
I frown over my shoulder at Kyle. “But it’s the weekend.”
“They have someone on call,” Kyle assures me. “I have the number if you need it.”
As I’m locking the door behind us, Rob leans over me, body heat and sweat coming off him in waves; standing so close to him raises my temperature, too. Kyle’s already heading down the steps. “If you want to get with him,” Rob says, keeping his voice low so he won’t be overheard, “I’d go down and ask for that number later whether or not your A/C’s up and running.”
“It’ll probably be fine when we get back,” I tell him.
Rob shrugs. “I’m just saying, is all. Do it before his roommate comes home, if you know what I mean.”
I think I do.
* * * *
The three of us fit easily into the cab of the truck, with Rob on the end and Kyle in the middle. His shoulder bumps against mine every time I turn the steering wheel, sending shivers of delight shooting through me, and our knees touch whenever I move my foot off the brake. I keep my eyes on the road and studiously ignore Rob, who’s smirking all the way over there on the far side of the cab. I almost can’t wait to drop him off at the townhouse again. I appreciate his help, but I’m all too ready to get on with being on my own.
Well, on my own with Kyle, that is.
At noon on a Saturday, the sub shop is crowded but the food cooks up quickly, and there’s no shortage of seats inside. Everyone wants to eat out on the patio under the large umbrellas, for some reason, but it’s too damn hot and Rob would have a fit if I suggested it, anyway, so we stay in and eat where it’s air conditioned. The cool interior and icy soda feels great after the morning workout we’ve had. I think the first thing I’ll do after turning in the truck is come back to my new apartment and take a nap. I can unpack later. Right now I just want to fall out. God, I’m tired.
I glance at Kyle and wonder if he’d be up to joining me, but I’m not brave enough to ask. We barely know each other, and I don’t want to ruin my chances with him. At least, not yet. I’m pretty sure he’s interested in me—what happened outside before we started unloading the truck? Where was that going before Rob interrupted us? I don’t know, but I want to find out, and I’m not going to say or do anything to jeopardize things between us. I’ll thank him for helping me move, invite him to dinner once I’m all unpacked, then see where things lead. There’s time enough to find out. It isn’t like I don’t know where he lives, right?
After we eat, we head over to Big Lots, just a short walk away. They have a fairly small furniture section, so it doesn’t take us long to look over their offerings. I pick out the exact same futon I bought for my bedroom a few years earlier to use as a sofa in the living room, and find an inexpensive dining room set that will fit into the little nook beside my tiny kitchen, too. Kyle helps me pick out the right size curtains for the living room, then suggests things I haven’t even thought of yet, like a shower curtain and rugs for the bathroom, lamps, surge protectors, stuff like that. By the time we leave the store, my cart is overflowing and I’ve spent most of my savings on decorating my new place.
But it’s my place, and I can’t wait to see it all decked out. “You’ll have to have us over when you get everything unpacked,” Rob says while we’re unloading the truck a second time. My new furniture is boxed up, which makes it easy to carry upstairs.
“You and Kyle can come over anytime,” I tell him.
He shoots me a strange look. “I meant me and Lara.”
I know what he meant, but instead of answering, I busy myself with unlocking the apartment door. A blast of cool air hits me in the face as I step inside. “Feels like the A/C’s running alright,” I say, pushing the door open wide.
Kyle enters behind me, frowning, and heads straight for the thermostat. “I don’t know. It hasn’t dropped much, only about two degrees.”
Out in the hall, Rob grunts as he takes on the full weight of the futon mattress himself. “A little help here would be nice. You’re letting all the cool air out.”
“I don’t think so,” Kyle murmurs, but he grabs the end of the mattress and helps Rob haul it inside.
Because the boxes take up most of the space in the living room, we lay the rolled-up mattress on the floor beneath the kitchen bar, then lean the furniture boxes up against the opposite wall. By now it’s getting late; I have to get the truck back soon or pay for another day, and Lara’s moved from texting Rob to calling him. His phone rings as I’m locking up, so he hurries down the stairs to answer.
Kyle lingers at the door with me. “You might want to give maintenance a call anyway,” he says as I jiggle the handle. “They don’t come out after dark unless it’s a real emergency.”
“I’d think no air on a day like this would count, wouldn’t you?” I ask.
With a shrug, he admits, “You’d think so, but not necessarily. Outside temps have to be over eighty-five for them to make a weekend call for A/C repairs. Since things cool off after the sun goes down, they claim the temperature drops so they don’t have to come out.” He shakes his head and gives me a rueful smirk. “Personally I think it’s just lazy, pushing it off on the tech on call the next day instead. It’s still early, though. If you call now, the guy can’t say it’s too late to come out.”
I pull out my iPhone and check the built-in weather app—the temperature is in the upper nineties. “Well, it’s sure over eighty-five. Let me take Rob home and return the truck first. If my air’s still not real cool when I get back, I’ll come over and get the emergency number from you then, how’s that sound?”
“Great.” Kyle flashes me a quick grin. “You probably just need some more Freon. That happens to us once or twice a year. I can help you put the futon or table and chairs together later, if you want me to?”
Is he kidding? Of course I do.
* * * *
When I return, by myself this time, and in my own car, with a few final things in the back seat that Lara found around the townhouse and put out on the stoop as if to finally get rid of me once and for all, I find that the apartment is still as hot as it was before. The thermostat’s indoor temperature reads seventy-eight, even though the air conditioner is set at seventy. I try turning it down lower, but nothing happens—all I hear is a steady whoosh from the registers, but when I hold my hand in front of one of them, nothing but warm air blows out.
Damn.
Sweat dampens the hair curling on the nape of my neck. It trickles behind my ears and around my temples, and pools under my arms. I try fanning myself with the collar of my shirt, but that doesn’t do much. I head for the fridge, where there’s bottled water I picked up at Big Lots, but it isn’t very cold yet and doesn’t co
ol off my forehead or cheeks when pressed against my skin.
God. This sucks.
I take a moment to find the blackout curtains and hang them up, thinking that might help, but all they do is make the entire living room pitch black. It goes from sunny afternoon to dark of night in ten minutes flat. I stumble through the sudden obstacle course of boxes and bags full of everything I own, tripping over things, bumping my toes and knees as I try to find my way across the room. At one point I ram my elbow into the wall and cry out in pain, cradling my arm against my chest. “Fuck!”
Frustrated, I stomp on the floor. Note to self: plug in a lamp before hanging up curtains that are labeled blackout for a reason. Holy hell. I can’t see shit.
I turn around, heading back for the curtains to pull them open, at least to let in some light, when I hear a knock on the apartment door. I manage to catch a corner of the curtain and a shaft of sunlight so bright it’s almost colorless shoots across the room, illuminating a path through the mess. I sidestep the boxes that fell when I knocked into them earlier and hurry to answer the door.
The knock comes again, insistent this time, urgent.
“Coming!” I holler. The hallway is dark but clear, so it’s a straight path to the door. When I unlock it and open it wide, the light from outside almost blinds me.
Kyle stands in the doorway, head tilted to one side, fist raised to knock a third time. “Hey there.” His mouth slides into that easy grin of his, the one I know I’m going to dream about tonight. “I thought you were coming over to get the maintenance number. Is your air still not working?”
With a shake of my head, I step out into the hall and pull the door shut. “I just got back. I wanted to hang the curtains to see if that made any difference.”
“And?” Kyle asks. “Did I hear you fall, or something?”
“Dumbass here forgot to turn on a light first.” I laugh as I lock the door behind me. “Let me tell you, they really do mean blackout. Do you mind if I call maintenance from your place? It’s hot as hell up here.”