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Heat Wave

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It was 89 degrees outside at nine-thirty PM in Humboldt county. What was the world coming to? Thank god it was a Tuesday because I didn’t think I could force my sweaty ass into those tight, leather pants. I would have died in the middle of a session and then well…let’s just say I don’t dip into necrophilia. No, instead of working, I was sprawled out on the cool, hardwood floor waiting for Jared to finish on his computer so that I could make him pour ice all over my body. Hm...or maybe some frozen yogurt…and then he could eat it off of me. Good Lord! Too hot to be thinking like that.

            I glared viciously at the couch where Jared sat, typing away on his laptop, focused completely on the screen. He was so comfortable, not even sweating. Right then, it was decided. I hate him. I hate his stupid high body heat—kid’s a freaking furnace. I hate his stupid tolerance of extreme climates. Stupid, just-out-of-Texas son of a bitch could be sitting in the middle of the Sahara and feel fine. Asshole.

            “I hate you,” I muttered at him.

            With a quick glance in my direction, he smirked snidely. “You love me.”

            “I loathe you. How can you just sit there, surrounded by cushions, and not sweat at all? I bet there’s more sweat on my balls than on your entire body.”

            “Way to blow your chance for me going anywhere near your sweaty-ass nuts tonight.” He went quiet for a moment, reading something, and then started to snicker a little bit before his fingers glided across the keyboard.

            “What are you doing?”

            All he did was flash me a winning smile and return to his laptop. It felt like a blow-off…and not the awesome kind. As if he didn’t notice me suffering down here, under the coffee table. I kind of wanted to punch him in the face. Well, not the face, I like his face too much. Maybe if I punched him in the foot. Then again, who punches people in the foot? That’s not really a widely practiced form of retaliation, is it? For a moment I entertained the idea of punching him in the groin, but like his cock too much. Yeah, no punching Jared tonight.

            Instead, I rolled myself out from under the coffee table and pushed up onto the couch next to him to read over his shoulder. “Are you still taking to Fancy Pants?”

            Jared laughed quietly and nudged me with his elbow. “His name isn’t Fancy Pants. It’s Lee.”

            “Whatever, if you’re cheating on me over the internet I wanna know. Gotta figure out how I can be a part of this.”

            “No virtual threesomes,” he told me sternly, “besides, the guy’s straight. Just broke up with bitch-girlfriend number three.”

            “Oh that’s too bad.” I didn’t really care about Jared’s UK pen pal or his non-existent sex life; right now I cared about how fucking hot it was, and how fucking hot Jared was, and how despite the heat my head felt pretty good laying on his shoulder. “Is he hot?” I asked, just to irk Jared.

            Of course, nothing really irked Jared, I don’t know why I try anymore. He just chuckled and typed “jen’s trying to cuddle me” into the dialog box of his IM window. “I don’t know, we agreed not to exchange photos. Should I ask him?”

            That’s right, Lee had no face. My theory on this was that he was a woman that was stalking Jared for his sexy ass. Hell, if I were a straight woman, I probably would too. “Yeah, sure.”

            In the box, pottsnpants said: “lol go be gay on your own time, youre supposed to me consoling me.” I huffed a laugh at the same time Jared did, but he started typing anyway. “Jen wants to know if you’re hot.”

            Not surprisingly, pottsnpants took a little bit longer to respond this time. I tended to have that effect on people in normal conversation, but who know I could do it across thousands of miles and an ocean. After a significant pause, he replied. “hell yeah. im like brad pitt, cept i better.”

            “yeah right,” Jared replied.

            “it’s true, cant understand what more julie could have wanted.”

            By this point, Jared’s crazy-high body heat was starting to get to me and I was wishing that he hadn’t broken the freaking air conditioning. “It’s Fall,” he’d shrugged it off, “it can only get colder.” Son of a bitch. With no doubt that I was wearing the expression that Jared lovingly called “grumpykins,” I smacked Jared’s hands away from the keyboard and deleted what he was writing.

            “Hi, this is Jen,” I typed quickly, “Jared has to go now so that he can do naughty things to me to take my mind off this heatwave. Sorry.”

            Before Jared so much as muttered a protest, I hit enter and closed his laptop. “Okay,” I said, “make with the distracting.”

            “You ass,” but he was grinning, so I knew he wasn’t all that mad at me. It was hot and I needed my baby to make me feel better. The British dude with the relationship problems could wait. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll make your orgasm so hard you pass out—shouldn’t be too hard with how hot it is—and then I’ll go back to giving Lee a virtual hand job to make him feel better about himself, yeah?”

            “I knew you were cheating on me with the Brit.”

            “What can I say? It’s the accent.”

            Idiot. But whatever, I could forgive his sarcasm and snarky remarks when he pushed his computer to the side and pressed me back down to the cool, hardwood floor and rolled over on top of me. Yeah, I could do nicely with that. And when he ground down on me, sending new, scalding waves of ardor through my whole body…heat wave be damned, I could do this all night.