Page 54 of When The Rain Falls

Finn shakes his head and there’s a sheen creeping back into his eyes, he looks down at his hands, picking at a callus on his palm. “Not really.” He slips a hand in his pocket and lowers his head to the ground.

“Why not?” I tilt my head and study his face.

“I’m not going to tell you that you don’t understand.” When his eyes snag on mine, they’re kind. “Because that sounds condescending. And because I don’t want you to understand. I hope you never do. I hope the world only gives you reasons to smile. And it must be doing that so far, because you’re always fucking smiling.”

Look at me. Fooling the world. Or at least this man.

“You never smile. Someone has to pull the weight around here,” I tease.

“Nothing wrong with not smiling when you don’t feel it,” he mutters. The words feel like a message straight from the universe. A message to me. A shiver travels down my spine, like the chilly finger of a ghost. I shift my eyes to my white sneakers and balance on the outside of my feet.

I’ve been trying to find my place. Trying to find what I want in life. And I haven’t been succeeding. It’s like trying to make lemonade out of lemons. But I don’t even like lemonade. I like orange juice.

I want to be wanted by someone. For more than just a thrill. I want to want someone. For more than just a thrill. But the world is just full of thrills. And they distract me at every turn. Like this large, imposing, hunk of muscle who’s peering into my messed-up soul right this very moment with enticing stormy eyes.

“Ok,” I finally say. I brave a look back at Finn and give him a teasing smile. “Enough moping. Let’s get ice cream.” Guess, it’s time for lemonade.

“Do I look like a man that can be fixed by ice cream, Aimee?”

“Ice cream fixes everything. And if you disagree, then you haven’t had Mudslide Mayhem.”

“Everything?”

“You’re right. Not everything. But that’s why there’s alcohol. And sex.”

“Well, fuck. Now I see why I’m such a miserable asshole.”

“No alcohol, sex, or ice cream?” I give him a shocked expression. “How are you even alive? We need to fix this right now.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Finn asks dryly. His expression is unreadable and I can’t tell if he’s possibly intrigued. Or maybe offended.

“Always.” I return his stony face with an easy smile. Finn bends a knee and rests the bottom of his foot against the panel of the van. He takes a deep breath.

“Sure,” he finally says.

“Wait? What?” I look at him with surprise.

“Aimee. I’m talking about the ice cream,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, right.” My cheeks flush and I bite my bottom lip.

“We’ll pick some up on the way home.” He pushes off the van and turns to face me. “Can we, uh…” He pauses and rubs the back of his neck. “Can we pretend you didn’t just see me crying?”

“You sawmecrying,” I point out. “Yesterday. So, I think that makes us even now.”

A breeze grazes by and prickles Finn's arms with goosebumps. The nipples on his hard chest pucker beneath his t-shirt. I can’t help but remember how he looks bare and sweaty. The dusting of hair plastered against his large chest. One thing is certain. My body is getting very accustomed to wanting this man. The heat, the burning, the need. It’s becoming as familiar to me as my own skin.

“We’re not even,” Finn says, his voice dipping low and dangerous. His imposing body moves closer. So close that my hand reflexively rises to his chest and I begin to smooth the fabric of his shirt across his left pec. His fingers graze down the side of my arm. He presses me flush against the van. I clench my thigh as something needy pulses between my legs.

“Aren’t we?” My words nearly vaporize as they leave my mouth.

“No. Not even fucking close.” His fingers coil around my wrist. His hand is strong, large, and there’s a faint brush of calluses against my skin. It makes me shiver.

“Aimee.” His voice is borderline predatory. My eyes widen with anticipation as he presses my wrist above my head, holding it firm against the cold surface of the vehicle behind me. I feel the full length of his body against mine. His knee between my legs. He’s strong. Steady. Deliberate.

His fingers tangle between mine. The intimacy causes my chest to flutter. His hands warm, the window cold. The contrast between the two, delicious.

When he touches me, he’s all torment and lust. It’s in the breath in the air between us. In the way his eyes are beading. In the pressure of his body against mine. The weight of his hips. My chest is thrumming. My breathing suddenly feels labored. He runs a finger up the column of my neck as he lowers his head to mine.

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