Wood Sap

According to the weatherman who looked like a dilapidated porn star, it was the hottest day in Littlefork, Minnesota since 1962. Charlie didn’t need a weatherman to tell her that. The back of her white tank top was wet and fused with the bohemian area rug Mason had gotten her for last Christmas. That told her enough. The heat and buzz from the TV turned out to be too hot for Charlie to handle, so she turned poor Mr. Weatherman back to black. As the pixels silenced near her ears, large footsteps started to travel down the all-natural wood staircase,

“Guess what? The weatherman says it’s the hottest it’s been since 1962,” Charlie said slowly, heat rising from her lips. As she got up, the rug rode up with her, and she got a lovely view of Mason, wearing all-American white briefs from the very bottom of his dresser, and not much else. Mason rubbed his eyes and smirked as he spotted the silly rug stuck to his girlfriend’s back. “And you didn’t fix the air conditioner.”

Mason’s smirk left his face, “Don’t start,”

“How many times have I asked, one hundred? No—one thousand times?”

“You’ve been asking since December. But we didn’t need it in December.” Mason swaggered over to the freezer, stuck his head in for a little too long, then closed it before the blonde angel to his left said anything. He grabbed two popsicles and lazily joined Charlie on the Moroccan carpet. He passed her one; it was cherry red, the dye almost bleeding through the white plastic wrapper.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Charlie said in Mason’s voice, mocking him. “It doesn’t get hot in Littlefork.”

“You done?” Mason’s mouth twitched in amusement. “You're talking is gonna heat up the room.”

“No…” Charlie locks eyes with Mason, “Thank you for the popsicle.”

“You’re welcome.”

While Mason was sleeping, Charlie swiftly gave up a productive morning after feeling the sun pierce the lazy summer air. She cracked all the windows open, grabbed all the fans from the wooden storage unit outside that Mason had built, and refused to sit on the leather couch Charlie thought would make the wooden cabin seem ‘rustic.’ She took everything to be away from Mason and his heaving body, but now, as cherry ice dripped a little on her cool face, she couldn’t help but follow the drops of sweat that slid down the bulk of his abs.

“Ow, fuck!” Charlie lifted herself in a flurry, the fastest she had moved this entire morning. She rushed to the bathroom, and her eyes swelled up like an old tomato.

“Did you get popsicle in your eye, doll?” Mason’s question was answered when a small, sticky drop kissed his cheek. He touched it with his free hand and smelled the wood stain he had put on the cabin three years ago. He got up and grabbed Charlie’s now-melted popsicle from the carpet before following her into the bathroom.

“No…” Charlie finally breathed. The cool eye droplet flushed her eye, but tears and a thin trail of snot began rolling down the right side of her face. “Something sticky and wet got into my eye.”

“Wasn’t me,” Mason smirked. He dropped the popsicle sticks in the trash before following Charlie, like an old dog, to the bathroom door.

“Eww.”

“You weren’t disgusted last night—”

“You're talking is gonna heat up the room,” Charlie mocked. Mason pressed his large shoulder against the bathroom doorjamb, effectively trapping Charlie in the room. He smiled as Charlie sniffled into a tissue, wiping her cheek and lips. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her sweat-soaked top, and he still felt proud for taking it off in one swoop last night. She also had beads of sweat dripping down her back and drenching the rim of her huge white undies. Some of her straight blonde hair and threads from the Moroccan carpet were stuck to her back, and Charlie smiled as she caught Mason looking at her backside. His jaw always clenched slightly when he wanted something. “Looking for something?”

“Uh-no…nothing,” Mason blushed as he broke free from his appraisal of Charlie’s bottom. He felt the sap between his fingers before lifting his hand toward the bathroom sink that Charlie was occupying. “It’s wood sap—the wet, sticky thing. It’s probably coming from the attic.”

“The wood’s sweating?”

“Yup, thankfully it’s just like sugar and water. We’ll have to clean it, so it doesn’t attract bugs,” Mason said, the cool water instantly soothing his fingers. He flung a little water onto Charlie’s neck, and she hummed in relief. “But there is one problem.”

“Oh god no, what? We just built this place; we don’t need anymore—”

“The house just can’t handle our heat,” Mason smirked as Charlie’s concerned face began to melt away. So much so, he didn’t notice Charlie’s hands fill with water. She flung the puddle at his hairy chest and laughed, spreading her hot, lovely breath across the bathroom. As Mason staggered back from the cool blow, she turned off the water and rushed out of the bathroom. Mason grabbed her arm and stuck her back to his sweaty, hairy abdomen, and Charlie laughed more as he trapped her in the heat blanket of his body.

Charlie could still smell his cologne from last night, back when there was A/C and unsoaked cotton clothes. He let out the same groan as last night, and his nose and lips brushed kisses onto the back of her head and neck. Although the sweat between them felt like burning molasses, they were both too distracted to care. Charlie’s breath caught in her throat, and she stopped trying to break free when she caught sight of the wooden wall next to them and the sweet, sticky droplets of the attic starting to drip downstairs. Mason followed her eyes and saw the same sight. He sighed, the syrupy problem instantly settled the heat rising from his underwear,

“I’ll call the A/C guy.”