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It was a record breaking heat wave in New York as a whole but Queens felt like it was getting the brunt of it. At least that's how you dramatized it. You hadn't gone further than the small market on the corner because it was just too hot but you’d argue tooth and nail that no other borough in the state was this hot. You quickly found out that the old hardwood floor in your apartment that kept your feet mind numbingly freezing during winter kept your skin cool during summer.
That’s where your sweet boyfriend Peter finds you sprawled out like a starfish in as few clothes as possible, smack dab in the middle of the living room.
“I bought paletas.” He sounds almost too chipper coming inside from the heat. You almost moan as your mouth begins to water.
“Please tell me you bought-”
“Lime? Yep,” he smiles and you sigh in relief. He reaches into the brown paper bag and pulls out a half melted ice cream bar. You don't even care. It's still mostly edible.
You take the sweet treat from his hand and sit up with a groan, careful to not drop any of the syrupy goodness on the flooring. Ants were the last thing you needed to worry about.
It's cool and sweet and tangy and exactly what you need to help cool you down. Peter takes the spot next to you with his own ice cream. Strawberry. Soft and sweet just like him.
You watch with a tenderness in your chest as he leans back on one hand and eats his sweet, red syrup pooling at the corner of his lips. Your mouth waters again. He leans against you and the moment is ruined.
Hot sticky skin meets your own and you grimace.
“No,” you whine as you move away from him. Peter looks at you like you just insulted his entire bloodline, mouth hanging open with big wet eyes.
“Oh, so you hate me?” He asks. You know he's teasing, he pulls this move constantly. But you're too hot to play along right now.
“No, Pete, it's just too hot.” You whine again, head lolling back dramatically. You're on the verge of throwing a tantrum like a petulant child.
“Oh, oh! You hate me! You hate Peter!” He gasps dramatically like he's in a one man play. He's putting Shakespeare to shame.
“I do not!” You let yourself laugh before taking another bite of your melting ice cream. “You're so annoying sometimes,” you tease him quietly.
Peter gasps. Guffaws. His hand is on his chest and there are fake tears in his eyes.
“Just say you hate me. C'mon, say it. It'll hurt less than not wanting to cuddle with me. Why don't you kick me while you're at it.” He shakes his head.
“You want me to kick Miette?” You ask, causing Peter to laugh at the reference.
“Mhm,” Peter's voice is muffled by the sweet in his mouth. “Might as well.” He smirks. He leans into you again, this time to kiss you.
His lips are cold against your own, strawberry mixing with lime. You eyes shut at the soft kiss and you smile against his lips.
“Still too hot to cuddle.” You say as he pulls away.