Page 55 of When The Rain Falls

“You’ve kissed me twice now,” he whispers. He’s staring at my lips like they’re the last thing he might ever see. My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I think about the fullness of his mouth. “And I haven’t kissed you once. Does that soundeven?”

His gaze moves from my lips to my eyes. We exchange looks of hunger.

“No,” I pant, breathless from anticipation.

“It’s not,” he growls as his words land on my cheek.

“You should make it even,” I breathe. His hand cradles my neck, tipping my head up to his mouth. It forces my lips to part.

Finn pauses and then I feel my hand trembling. The vibration works down the full length of my arm. I quickly realize that it’s not me that’s trembling, but his hand intertwined with mine, pressed up against the hard surface at my back. Trembling and shaking.

Finn notices it, too. I sense that he’s about to pull away. Everything in me protests.

“It’s ok,” I say softly, trying to coax his body closer. Because we’re so close now. So close that it’s unbearable not to kiss him.

“Fuck,” he growls. He instantly pulls back, cradling his shaking hand. My own hand, empty now, falls to my side.

“Finn,” I call to him, but he’s already turned his back to me.

“Get in the van,” he commands. “Now.”

19A SPECIAL KIND OF MORON

AIMEE

If you’ve never seena man take out his sexual frustration on a stack of dishes, you are missing out on the eighth wonder of the world. Finn’s broad shoulders are hunched over the sink. The shirt across his back ripples and cascades with constant movement. It’s like watching a waterfall. A waterfall of muscle. I set two ice-cream bowls in the sink and admire the thick veins dance across the back of his hands and up his arms. His biceps bulging ever so slightly.

His arms end in a pair of yellow gloves. And those gloves are scrubbing like there’s no tomorrow.

“Did those dishes do you dirty or something?” I ask playfully as I set another ice cream bowl in the sink.

Finn grunts, unamused.

“I’m starting to be afraid for them.”

He’s been quiet since we got back in the van. The ride home was quiet. No. Quiet is an understatement. It was silent. So silent that the only sound was the quiet hum of the van engine. He silently stopped at the store where we picked out ice cream. I pulled a carton of mint chocolate chip off the shelf and he silently nodded. Then he silently walked behind me as we made our way back through the parking lot.

When we got home, Vivian and I ate ice cream while we watched a baking cook-off show. Finn proceeded to clean the microwave and wipe down the counters. I’m starting to understand why his house is so clean.

The man needs to get laid.

A flood of light shatters its way into the living room and then disappears. Vivian sits bolt upright. Finn glances at me. I see confusion hit him square in the face.

"One, two, three…" I start to count out the seconds. When I get to five, a loud crackle fills the room.

"Thunder!" Vivian squeals.

Rain begins to pound heavily against the window. Sideways and angry.

Finn glances to the couch. The couch that is missing three couch cushions. It dawns on both of us at the same time. I feel my eyes widen at the exact moment that I see his do the same.

“Fuck!” he yells, dropping a dish into the sink, pulling off his gloves, and striding down the hallway. I follow after him.

Finn slips on his shoes and marches quickly to the driveway. I don’t even bother with shoes and just tromp outside barefoot. Thick sheets of water are falling from the sky, obstructing our view. The street glimmers as it falls in front of the one streetlight in our cul-de-sac. Rain is beating against every surface and falling into a steady stream in the street outside the house. It’s raining so hard that it almost doesn't look real. It almost looks like perfectly orchestrated, movie-set rain.

I make out Finn’s figure, although the heavy rain makes it difficult. He’s trying to collect all three couch cushions between his arms and his chest. He keeps dropping them, one at a time, and muttering under his breath. And for some reason, I find it absolutely hysterical. He’s running around like a busy body, getting absolutely nowhere. And meanwhile the rain isjust pounding away, completely oblivious to this man and his pointless mission. I guess I should help.

I head in his direction, but the second my feet hit the cool, wet stream already forming on the concrete, a jolt of joy trickles its way through me. I wiggle my toes, reveling in the feel of the water rushing past my skin. I tilt my head up at the sky and close my eyes against the pressure of the falling droplets. I’m already soaked. And the chill forces me to drag in a sharp inhale. I squeal with delight as my heart all but soars out of my chest.

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