Hot

“Would you open the window, Paul?” Eugene said.

“It’s hotter outside than in this house,” he replied. “And stop your complaining. I can’t help it if the power’s out.”

“Power’s been gone three days since the hurricane, and it’s still ninety degrees in this house.”

“And it’s ninety-five degrees outside, Eugene.”

“I wish you’d let us go over to Richard’s house, Paul. He’s got power and an extra bedroom.”

Paul felt the familiar stirrings of resentment whenever Eugene mentioned Richard’s name – Richard, the fling who refused to go away; Richard, the friend who flirted shamelessly with Eugene even now, three years into their own relationship; Richard, the hot man with the hairy forearms, the square jaw, and the even, thin lips.

“Sure, he’s got power – power over you. If I’ve said this once, I’ll say it again – boundaries, Eugene. Have some boundaries.”

“We’re roasting in here, love. We’re roasting.”

He had a point. And then Paul thought about Richard being in the next bedroom with his forearms, chin, and lips. Lying in bed, perhaps … hot.

“Okay, let’s do it.”