Page 86 of When The Rain Falls

When I toss my head back to him, I swear I can see the ghost of a smile on his face.

29MAKING SOMETHING POP

AIMEE

When Finn answers the door,he's wearing an apron over a white crew neck. His gaze rolls up and down my body, clearly devouring my booty shorts and fitted t-shirt. I adjust the large box in my hands by hiking it up with my knee.

"Fucking hell. What are you wearing?” He grabs the box from me, which only gives him a better view. It’s impossible to miss the fluster on his face as his cheeks flush a bright red.

Oops. Did I leave the house without a bra? How did that happen?

When I look down, I notice the chilly night air is puckering my nipples to attention. And I clearly have his.

I shrug casually and give him an innocent grin. And that grin is lying. I came over to drop off the box of soccer snacks. And I knew exactly what I was doing.

I plan to torment him as much as possible. Because if you can’t get even,get petty.

“Aimee, it’s fucking cold outside,” he scolds as he opens the door wider and ushers me in with a hand at the small of my back. God. His touch. His simple, small touch. He's my drug and I suddenly feel like I’m getting a hit. Too bad I’m more likely to overdose on his rejection than an orgasm.

"I brought a sweater,” I point out defensively. “It’s in the box.” I learned my lesson from my date with Jack. Always have a sweater.

“Next time, put the sweateron,” he commands. “You’ll poke an eye out prancing around the neighborhood with your nipples out like that.” I wonder if he’s thinking about the other night. The way he brought them into his mouth and sucked so tenderly. I know I am.

“Don’t be silly. The only way they’d poke anyone’s eye out is if someone got too close,” I sass him. “And if that was the case, they’d probably deserve it.” I bite my lip and push back my shoulders just enough for the fabric across my chest to tighten.

“Fucking Christ,” he mutters. And I can tell it’s a task of epic proportions for him to keep his eyes on my face right now. “You and your nipples. Assaulting the whole goddamn neighborhood.” He gives me one of his stern glares. I’m guessing the glare is a tool to keep his eyes focused on one place.

I quirk an eyebrow at him. Because he’s trying to look intimidating, but it’s really hard to take him seriously when he’s got an apron on. I lean in to inspect the pattern on the apron, bringing my offensive nipples only closer. “Are those tiny red hearts?” I ask.

“For God’s sake. Leave the apron out of this,” he mumbles as he sets the box on his hip.

“I think what you meant to say when you opened the door wasthank you,” I correct him.

He looks down at the box, suddenly looking a little shy. “Right. Yeah, thanks.”

The box is overflowing with white lunch bags decorated with ribbon and hand drawn sketches of soccer balls. I was supposed to drop it by earlier in the day, but Alicia wasn’t able to go grocery shopping with me until after she got off work. I decidenot to tell Finn about the cake and the reason why it took me so long to deliver the box.

“You drew all these?” he asks, gesturing to the sketches on the bags. “They look good.” The compliment drops from his mouth like a tiny crumb of praise. Internally, I gobble it up. Externally, I just shrug. They look like a graphic designer loathes everything about her job, was wallowing in rejection from the hot neighbor across the street, and needed something to fixate on as a distraction. That’s what they look like.

When he turns and walks down the hall, I follow, nearly tripping to catch up to his long strides. When the hallway opens into the kitchen, Finn pulls his apron over his head and drops it on the counter. He smooths out his hair. The gesture makes me want to run my fingers through the smooth strands.

Ok, fine.Andsit on his face as I tug it.

Oblivious to the side quest my brain just took, Finn places the box on the counter. He takes one out and turns it over. Then he places it back in the box. Our eyes find each other. He studies me for a moment. Like he’s not sure what to do with me now that I’m here. In his kitchen.

Shit. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to come all the way in. Why did I follow him here? I can’t remember. I’m just a lost puppy following a guy with a bone. Or boner. I could give him one of those.

Finn shifts on his feet. I scratch a spot on my neck. I should say something. Or I should just leave. Yeah, I should leave.

“Well, I guess—" I start.

“I have something for you,” Finn cuts me off quickly. He looks unsure. Like he didn’t really know if he wanted to say that. But now that he has, he’s committed to whatever is about to happen next. He walks to his pantry and disappears for a moment. I hear rummaging around in something before he popsback out clutching a bottle of wine. He sets it on the counter between us, label facing away from me.

"I saw this and I thought of you.” His voice trails off before he continues, “It’s not exactly middle shelf. There were an even number of shelves. And I didn't know the protocol." I picture him standing in the middle of the wine aisle, counting out the shelves just to find the middle. And he did that for me. I can’t imagine he was thinking of Laurel then.

"Well," I tell him, gesturing to the bottle. "Let's see it."

He slowly spins the bottle, revealing a label that readsWise Guy Hippo. There's a picture of a hippo with a top hat, monocle, and a mustache. I run my fingers over the label, admiring the graphic and the typography. The design is great. Simple, cute. Just like something I'd have picked out.

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