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around.
     
    “Where’s Lannie?” I asked about his dog in a lame effort to show interest in something besides the tepid air blown at me by the fan. Adam was still talking to Nicky. It sounded like he was taking him to the bedroom. I was almost curious enough to sit up and look, but not quite.
     
    “Lannie didn’t want to move,” he said, coming back into the living room. He paused beside the couch and I cracked an eye to see him staring down at me. “So I left her there.” He was stripped to his boxers. Silk. Gray-on-gray stripes. Very, very short boxers. Tented by his dick. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the heat curled in my gut and the throb of my cock inside my less spectacular, but much cooler, cotton boxers. Guitar Hero was just as hot as stupid gray stripes.
     
    “Too hot,” I said, refusing to give in to the urge to look at him again. I wanted to bury my fingers in his curls and urge him to do naughty things to me with his mouth. My bottom lip jutted out. I was frowning, not pouting. “Way too hot.” If I looked at him I was finished. The idea of our sweaty bodies rubbing together and making the room hotter than ever made me want to cry. It made me want to say the hell with it and pull him down on top of me. I hated decisions. Adam took this one out of my hands. He was pushy like that. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. I opened my eyes, since glares are not very effective with them closed. The expression on his face aborted the glare before it ever got started. His eyes raked over my body, and when they met mine once more they were dark with the heat I thought I didn’t want, but found I had no will to resist.
     
    “Come with me,” he said, and he led me into the kitchen. I followed behind him, my fingers tangled with his and my eyes happy to stare at his wide shoulders, narrow hips and very nice ass. He might not have the body of a Greek god but it was good enough to keep my libido stirred up despite the ungodly heat. We came to a stop in front of the refrigerator. On the floor in front of the sink was a huge puddle of water. It took about five seconds for my OCD to kick in and I reached for the drawer with the kitchen towels. Adam laughed and grabbed my hand back. “Not yet,” he said. He reached for my shorts and slid them off my hips. They fell to my ankles and I stepped out of them. “Now lie down, on your stomach.” I looked at him and then down at the water glistening on the tile. It looked… cool, but the idea made me feel stupid and I balked.
     
    “Dude, what the fuck?” I asked, but typical of Adam, he didn’t offer an explanation. He prodded me.
     
    “Just do it,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared and left me standing naked in my kitchen, alone except for a puddle of water. I heard him lock the door and slide the chain. At least Z and boobs wouldn’t walk in on my kitchen wallow. I continued to stare at the water at my feet. A breeze wafted over my ankles and stirred the surface of the water. Adam had brought the fan and it hummed quietly, blowing air over the wet tile. He laid his hand on my shoulder and leaned close. His breath brushed my ear. “Now get down,” he said, and I found myself sinking first to my knees and then stretched out on my stomach in a thin layer of water that had gone from cool to cold with the added movement of the air from the fan. The chill sank into my pores; I sighed and laid my cheek in the water. I felt cool for the first time that day.
     
    Adam’s fancy gray-on-gray boxers dropped just at the edge of my line of sight and he knelt beside me on the tile. I couldn’t move enough to show interest. The cold water had dampened my earlier enthusiasm and things weren’t as insistent as they had been. I folded my hands under my head and lay there, letting the fan blow over my naked skin, the water giving enough relief that I was much cooler than I had been on the couch. Something icy touched my shoulder and I