Page 33 of When The Rain Falls

“Uh, thank you,” I say, feeling my cheeks blush.

“Do you ride?” he asks. Do I ride? Yes, I ride. Boy, do I ride…

No, Aimee! Bad girl.

“You know, motorcycles,” he adds.

“Oh, motorcycles.” Duh, Aimee. Motorcycles. God, what’s wrong with me? But I know exactly what’s wrong with me. Days and days of pent up sexual frustration, that’s what. Sexual frustration from having to live across the street from the world’s sexiest troll. And that troll likes to vacuum shirtless in front ofhis living room window. I swear the universe is doing this on purpose.

“No,” I answer him. “I’ve never actually been on a bike.”

“Want me to change that? I have my bike out front. I could take you for a spin sometime.” The line moves and we all shuffle closer to the register. “I’m Jack, by the way.” Jack thrusts his hand out and I shake it. He has a strong grip. I imagine he’d be good at pulling hair.

No, Aimee. Bad girl!

Maybe this is it. Maybe this is my chance to meet someone. Likereallymeet someone. Like, go on a date and hold hands and share French fries. I don’t really know what couples do. But I’m pretty sure they hold hands and share French fries. I glance at the girls, both of whom give me encouraging looks. Also, it’s a motorcycle ride. You can’t turn down a motorcycle ride. That’s downright rude.

“I’m Aimee,” I say. “And sure. I mean, that sounds like fun.”

“Well, Aimee, how about this. I give you my number and you call when you feel like a ride.” The corner of his mouth lifts playfully and I suddenly get the feeling we’re talking about more than one kind of ride. Sure, maybe I’m looking for something real, but that doesn’t mean we can’t also do those things. I mean, you have to make sure you’re sexually compatible, right?

I’m turning over a new leaf, right? So that means I’m starting over. That means a fresh slate. I can sleep withoneguy.

I just can’t sleep withfive.According to Tessa.

I pull out my phone and Jack gives me his number. We chat in line for a while longer and then we say our goodbyes. Finally, Jack gives me a wink and turns and walks away.

“Hey, Jack,” I yell out to him as he pauses and turns. “You’re not a landlord, are you?”

11SOMETHING FURRY

FINN

The musclesin every part of my body are burning as I grip the barbell tightly, put a slight bend in my knees, and squat. I grunt as I shoot back up. I heave the bar onto the rack and enjoy the clanging sound it makes as it comes to rest. I wipe sweat from my brow and take a breather.

This workout is my evening routine. My solace. My safe space and escape from the world. After I bring Vivian home from soccer and on nights when I don't have to work late, I run my body through a series of pullups, rows, and squats until it can't take any more.

It's chilly in the garage, but I'm already sweating buckets. Realizing I still have one more set to go, I pull off my shirt, use it to wipe my forehead, and toss it to the corner onto a stack of firewood.

I hear the front door open, followed by footsteps stomping in the entryway. Ruby must be home after spending the afternoon at Julie's. I think Aimee took them shopping for homecoming dresses. I saythinkbecause she never responded to any of my texts, which is something I'll have to chat with her about.

"Dinner in fifteen," I shout through the open garage door. No one answers. Typical.

I jump up to grip the bar and pull my chest up. I do it again and again, counting out my reps.One. Two. Three.Until I feel a presence in the open door frame.

Still dangling from the bar, I turn my head to see the outline of a feminine body. It's her. Fucking her. Aimee. What the fuck is she doing in my house? Her weight shifts as she leans against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of her chest casually. She's openly staring at me, her gaze a mix between gawking and amusement. I feel her eyes scan my bare torso, like little finger tips trailing down my body.

I drop to the ground and try to brush the sweat off my body. When I take a step towards her, I try to act casual. Like I’m not half naked.

"Hey.” I reach for my shirt, but she beats me to it. She snatches it just out of reach before I can even brush the fabric.

"You don't need this." She dangles my shirt from a finger. Her face full of mischief.

"Give me the shirt," I order in my most scary dad voice. Which, turns out, is not very scary when you’re half naked and dripping in sweat.

"No. I don't think I will," she says calmly. "Please, don't let me interrupt. Go on and finish your set." She gestures to the squat rack with one hand as she twirls my shirt around the pointer finger of her other.

"I just finished," I lie. I reach out for the shirt, but she pulls it away from me. Aimee's playing games with me. And I don't think I like this one.

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