Page 34 of When The Rain Falls

"You only did two," she says, using every bit of her smart-ass mouth. "You can have this back," she dangles the shirt in front of me, "when you finish." I want to point out that it's my shirt. Mine. And she has no right to keep it from me. But I can't find a way of saying it that doesn't sound childish.

"I didthree," I argue. Which I guess isn’t a whole lot better.

"Keep going," she orders, still taunting me by flinging my shirt around.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're bossy?" I mutter at her, hands on my hips.

"I preferinspirational." She quirks a corner of her mouth. And I want to fuck the quirk right off her face. Bend her over and thrust right into her. Over and over as I spread her apart. Until her mouth is too busy moaning to quirk at me like that anymore.

Holy fuck.

Where did that come from?

Finn, goddammit. You asshole.I bring my mind back to reality. Which is Aimee twirling my shirt and demanding that I give her pullups.

Fuck it. If she wants pullups, I’ll give her pullups. I’ll give her a goddamn show. I pull my shoulders back and stroll back to the pullup bar. I pump out six more pullups. I make them slow and calculated as sweat beads along the surface of my skin and rolls down the contours of my body. The entire time, I feel Aimee's gaze roaming over me. It feels like she’s devouring me.

When I'm done, my arms and back are burning. And god-fucking-damn. That was worth it. Because when I jump down from the bar and turn to Aimee, her eyes are wide, her face is flushed, and she’s possibly panting.

“Try to keep your tongue in your mouth,” I tease as I swipe my shirt out of her dazed hands. Aimee blinks a couple times and brushes her hair over her shoulder.

“No tattoos?” she finally asks, trying to hide her obvious admiration. And I’m enjoying this far, far too much. “Would have been hotter with tattoos.”

"Maybe they're where you can't see them," I taunt. Fuck. Is this flirting? Why am I flirting? What's wrong with me? But I already know the answer to that. Aimee. I haven’t been right since I met her.

"Ooh. Promising." Her face falls to my joggers. "A big thigh tat? I mean, I personally prefer a nice chest tattoo. But a thigh tat could be sexy."

"I guess you’ll never know,” I say casually. “Sorry to disappoint." I have no tattoos. But I don’t mind if she thinks that I do.

"Oh, trust me. There's nothing disappointing happening here." Aimee beams her shit-eating grin into the entire fucking garage like some kind of spotlight as she gestures over my body. Which reminds me that I'm still gripping my shirt in my fist. I'm about to stuff an arm through a sleeve when an obnoxious beeping sound fills the room. The smoke alarm.

"Fuck." I slide past Aimee and run to the kitchen. Smoke is puffing from vents in the oven. When I open the oven door, I’m consumed by a pillar of smoke. I slide my hand into an oven mitt and pull out the dish. I burnt the top of the casserole. Again. My tired arms fumble and the hot dish sears me against my bare skin. I flinch instinctively and drop the dish. It clatters against the counter, sending hot marinara sauce splashing against my torso. I grab a paper towel and wipe it off.

"You missed a spot," Aimee says from behind me. She looks amused. "Right there." She indicates to a spot on my shoulder. I glare at her, but I wipe it.

"No," she says. "Here." She grabs the towel and steps up closer behind me. She swipes the skin across my shoulder. I can feel the palm of her hand. Warm and soft. When I shiver against her touch, she leans in closer. I feel her long hair falling across my back.I can’t like this, I tell myself. Iwon’tlike this. I have rules. To avoid a repeat of what happened with Nicole. And there are walls. Walls around my heart to protect what little I have left of myself.

"I got it," I tell her, turning around and snapping the towel from her hands. She shrugs and hops onto the counter. Her assis literally on the space where I prepare food. It's unsanitary. And fucking hot. She crosses her legs at the ankles and leans back on her wrists.

"Make yourself at home," I tell her sarcastically as I wipe down my shoulders again.

"Thanks. I will." She smiles playfully as she kicks her legs back and forth.

"Don't you have something better to do?" I ask her.

"Actually, no. I'm bored. That's why we brought Chase over."

"Who's Chase?"

A stomping sound booms from the floor above us. Then a chorus of giggles and screams. I raise an eyebrow and look at Aimee.

"Chase," she says, like the single word just explains everything. But I'm still confused. A flurry of feet come down the stairs. Aimee hops off the counter and jogs into the hallway, reaching down to scoop something up in her hands. Vivian appears at the bottom of the steps and watches Aimee. When Aimee turns around, she has something orange and furry in her arms.

Furry. There's something furry.

In.

My.

---