The summer's sweltering heat was burning her alive. At least it felt that way. Callie tossed and turned, sweat dampening her pillow. She hurled the blankets from her overheated body.
It was the hottest night of the summer -- a summer which in itself was a record breaker in New York City, and to make matters worse, a blackout had just taken out the entire east coast. No air conditioning was available to ease her torment, not even her dingy old fan would offer her relief tonight.
That week had already been a terrible week, between guy problems, work problems and life problems -- this just made it feel more fitting. Maybe this is hell? she thought.
Groaning in frustration, she flipped onto her back, silently willing sleep to rescue her. Suddenly, a noise startled her.
"Callie?" A male voice.
Eyes fluttered open. "Whose there?"
"It's me." A face materialized from the shadows.
It was dark, late at night, and she was brimming with frustration. That was never good.
He approached the bed. Now was a good time to tell him to leave, she told herself. However, the words refused to form at her lips.
Mindlessly, she led his hand down her neck, under the thin, sweat-soaked cotton sheet and along her chest, over her belly and across her thighs.
"Please," Callie whimpered. She was so hot. His presense made her hotter.
Mercifully, He knew what she needed.
