Alternating Current (Brannon Boys)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Kyle

I was going to boil alive.

I’d had a good run, truly, making it to the perky age of twenty-three with shockingly little cynicism and far too many shoes. However, today I’d hit my limit.

I groaned as I pulled my arm from my forehead, which was sticky. Everything was sticky. I was pretty sure my AC was broken, which of course happened during the worst heat wave to hit the Philly area in an age. Probably a thousand years.

A pitiful meow came from the opposite corner of my one-bedroom apartment, right in West Chester proper, not far from where I’d graduated college last year.

Meowella Deville, my gray-and-white tabby, was turning into a puddle on the floor. I needed to do something--if not for me, then for her. With her fur coat, she had to be roasting.

I dragged myself off the futon and walked to the fridge. The second I pulled the freezer door open, I wanted to climb in. Instead, I grabbed a few ice cubes. I shoved one into my mouth and plunked the rest into her little stainless steel water bowl. She peeled herself up off the carpet and trotted over to look at her new treat. The cube in my mouth dissolved at once, already a distant memory in this pervasive heat.

Okay, if I didn’t get the AC repaired, Meowella and I were definitely going to perish. If I could pull on my big boy slacks and show up for my marketing job every day, I could contact the maintenance guy.

College seemed like just yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time. In reality, it had only been six months since I started my job and moved into my new apartment. So very adulty of me, even though I was still anything but.

I tugged my phone out of my pocket and slumped onto the couch again, the fabric sticking to my skin.

Maintenance was in my contacts list, even though I hadn’t needed to contact them yet. I wasn’t completely inept—very savvy with duct-taping broken things—but air conditioners were out of my wheelhouse.

Me: Hey, my AC is broken. Can you come take a look?

Meowella was slurping away at her ice, which had almost dissolved. Maybe I should go out tonight. Preferably somewhere with AC and hot guys to buy me drinks. Except that would require a drive to the city because West Chester had a deficit in gay bars.

I hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, and it was becoming a problem. I didn’t care if I fucked or got filled, but I needed some human contact. Though ideally not in my hellhole of an apartment variety.

Will Suck Dick for AC. If I posted that on Grindr, I’d get some takers. Options if the apartment maintenance didn’t pull through.

My phone buzzed.

Maintenance: Can you take a picture?

I blinked, then blinked again. Weird fucking request from a maintenance guy, but maybe he needed to identify the tenant?

I flipped the camera into selfie mode and swept a few of my strands from sticking to my forehead. Definitely not my best shot, being all sweaty and gross, but not my worst either. Before I could overthink things, I took the pic and sent it over.

The dot, dot, dot of the maintenance guy started. Then stopped. Then started again. Was he composing a how-to novel on fixing ACs? My mind felt blurry with how horribly hot it was. Dislike. I let out a loud groan that echoed through the apartment. Meowella passed me a glare but didn’t stir.

Maintenance: A picture of the AC unit. Text me your apartment number, and I’ll be right there.

Embarrassment shot through me, making me impossibly hotter. Well, that made more sense. I blamed the heat wave. I shot off a text with my apartment number. I chewed on my lower lip. In for a penny or whatever. Not like I could make an ass out of myself further.

Me: Save me, Repair Daddy!

Here was to hoping he was hot.