Page 22 of When The Rain Falls

"Babe, how am I going to put my babies in you if I can't get this fucking dress off?”

Laurel’s laugh fills the room. It's like a warm, vibrant brook flowing around me.

Suds run down my face and body as I rinse the shampoo out of my hair. I stand under the shower head and let the hot water pelt against my skin. It's Sunday morning and I'm in the middle of my Sunday morning ritual. Wake up, shower, jerk off, coffee. And, when I feel like shaking things up, I’ll even have coffeebeforemy shower.

Is it pathetic that I have a jerk-off schedule? At this point, it’s basically just routine maintenance. Unclogging the pipes. Turning over the engine to make sure the battery doesn’t die. Might as well place one of those stickers on my head telling me how many miles to go before I need to check the oil.

Is it pathetic that jerking off has become another chore? That every time I take my dick in my hand, I have the tiniest fear that it won’t work?

I don’t know why things went so wrong with Nicole three years ago. I don’t know why I couldn’t stay hard enough to finish the job. Maybe because I keep talking about sex like it’s a job? It was never that way with Laurel. And I guess part of me doesn’t want to create new memories with someone else. I’m sure it’s anxiety. Anxiety over the fact that no matter who I touch, it won’t beher.

Must be anxiety. It works just fine for me. So far. The problem only rears up when I’m with someone. Technically, the problem only reared up with Nicole. And if it is anxiety, the fact that she left me over it sure doesn’t help. When Nicole walked away from me, she took whatever confidence I had left. Which wasn’t a lot to begin with.

And this is why I built a wall. A wall around my heart. A wall around myself. A wall to keep my broken pieces in and to keep women out.

And thenAimee.That frustrating menace who lives across the street. She and her perky tits are probably prancing about the neighborhood as we speak. Seducing men like Medusa and turning them to stone. Or just biting them on the fucking mouth.

Goddamn.

I’m not going to let her tear down everything I worked so hard to build. Not the temptress of a neighbor next door. Who even knows how old the fuck she is? Nope. Nothing good can come from that.

I sigh as I run my hands through my hair to make sure I got all the lather out. I’m supposed to be jerking off, not having an existential crisis in the goddamn shower. What the fuck is wrong with me?

When I rub my eyes, they immediately sting from shampoo. I tilt my head back and open my eyes to the streams of water pouring from the shower head. Get it together, Finn. It's been nine years. You can't keep having a mental breakdown every year on her birthday.

Just fucking jerk off already.

There’s something soothing in the rushing sound of water as it hits the window of a vehicle. There’s also something satisfying in watching soapy bubbles cascade down the side of my van in thick sheets. Washing my van is downright meditative. It’s the highlight of my weekend. God. I’m fucking pathetic.

And I might drive a piece of shit, but it's acleanpiece of shit.

"Hey." A cheerful voice slices into my meditative state like a knife through flesh. Much the same way the image of two peaked nipples slices into my brain.

Goddammit.

I don't need to look. I already know who it is. The obnoxious glee in her voice gives it away. Another dead giveaway is the way my mind automatically associates her voice with nipples. God, here I go. Thinking about nipples again. I’m going to need to find a way to live next to this person without turning into a high school horn dog.

I decide not to respond. If I ignore her, she might go away and find a more interesting victim to pick on. The chances are slim. But they exist.

The sound of tiny, little wheels rolling on pavement is what piques my interest next. It sounds like it’s getting closer. It's a familiar sound, but I can't place it.

Don't look. It's a trap.

The rolling sound stops suddenly. Maybe it's a suitcase? Maybe she's leaving? I send another spray of water against the van. The suds are gathering in the driveway now, waves of water and bubbles collecting into a stream and flowing towards the storm drain. I'm using environmentally friendly car wash soap, as required in our HOA rules.

"I said,hey." The voice is louder now. Fuck. Can’t she tell I’m trying to ignore her? Without turning my head, I cast a glance in her direction. She's wearing tiny, cut off jean shorts that perfectly showcase her long, muscular legs, andfuck. That damn tattoo, wrapping around her upper thigh. I wonder how many of my hands it would take to do the same? Two and a half maybe? Three?

Zero. Because I won’t be touching her.

She’s wearing a tiny, white t-shirt. Someone really needs to take this girl shopping for clothes that fit. And you'd thinkthatwould be the centerstage of her outfit. The way the smooth cotton fabric of her shirt stretches taught across her chest. Showcasing the small, but full swell of her breasts. But nope. The centerstage of this entire ensemble is the pair of goddamnrollerbladesstrapped to her feet. What kind of adult strolls around the neighborhood on rollerblades? She's not even wearing knee pads. Or a helmet. What a fucking delicious morsel. I mean, moron. A fuckingmoron.

Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, the heel of one pair of rollerblades digging into the ground to keep her from rolling away.

"What do you want?" I growl, casting the hose from side to side across the van.

Her mouth curves into her signature shit-eating grin.

"Nothing," she says in a voice that communicates the exact opposite. She rolls forward on one leg, her quad muscles tightening. I try not to, but I can’t help it. I watch her roll closer. Until she approaches the lip of my driveway. Goddammit. I need to stop this.

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