Page 6 of When The Rain Falls

He’s got a weathered, mature feel about him. Dark denim jeans that fit snugly on his hips. A silver watch. A real one, not like my running GPS watch or an Apple watch. A casual button-down shirt. As in a shirtwith buttons. I don’t remember the last time I was with a man who evenowneda shirt with buttons.The fabric of his shirt stretches across his frame in all the best ways. I can almost hear the threads screaming in protest from the strain of his biceps.

Speaking of biceps, I kind of want to squeeze one.

No Aimee! Bad girl.No sleeping with the troll.

“Look, buddy,” I say, gathering my most serious tone. When I call himbuddy, his lip twitches slightly. It’s annoyance—or possibly hatred.

“I’m not trying to proposition you. You’re the last person I’d want to buy me a drink. We just want to dance on the bar. And you’re right in the middle of it.”

“Aimee, it's fine. I’m actually ready to go.” Tate’s voice floats in from somewhere behind me.

“No, Tate.” I don’t let my eyes leave the stranger’s scowling face. His expression is hard and piercing. But when I look directly at him, his gaze drops to his glass and all the muscles in his face tighten in a frown. “We’ve waited all night for this and I’m not going to let some Mr. GQ, Grumpy Quarterly, with big, strong, bulging, muscular shoulders ruin everything.” God, why is he so hot?It’s just the tequila, I tell myself.

“Everything?” he mumbles into his glass as he takes a sip. “A bit dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?” I ask with a scoff. “You're the one just sitting there sulking. Bars aren't for sulking.”

“You're right,” he growls under his breath, “they're for fucking dancing on.” I should probably walk away. I don’t really want to dance on the bar this badly. But alcohol is searing through my bloodstream and this jerk just lit a match to it.

“You don't want to move?” I say, bringing my voice into a gentle tone. “Fine.”

“Fine.” He nods like that’s the end of it.

It’s not the end of it.

I plop my hand right on his shoulder and prepare to hoist myself onto the barstool next to him. The solid mass of his muscles shifts beneath my palm and causes my stomach to flutter. So, I quickly remove my hand from his shoulder and plunk it down onto the top of his head. As I push off from his head, I notice that his closely-cropped hair is soft. Why is his hair so soft? This is stupid.

“Goddamnit,” he mutters. I think he's going to swat me away. But instead, he wraps his large hand around my arm and holdsme steady as I clamor onto the bar top. He rubs his temple in frustration and takes a casual sip from his glass. Even his lips are stupid. Trolls should not have thick, plump lips.

“If you won’t move, we’ll just dance around you,” I threaten. “Come on, Tate,” I call out to her.

“I’ve seen what you do on the dance floor. And I wouldn’t call it dancing,” he mutters. What does that mean? I decidenotto dance around him. Instead, I clack my heels loudly against the bar in front of him. He jolts in surprise and then his eyes narrow into slits. I find the rhythm of the music playing over the speakers and sway my hips, dip my knees, and dance.

“Come on, Finn, you have to be an asshole all night?” Dan clucks scoldingly at him. “Go, Aimee. Get after it, girl,” Dan cheers me on. “Your three songs start now.”

There’s a whistle from somewhere in the room. A group of women in a booth clap. Dom must have said something funny because Tate’s hand is on his shoulder and she’s laughing with him. I feel several pairs of eyes on me. None of those eyes belong to Finn. For some reason, this annoys me. I turn so he can get a better view of my backside.

“Keep your damn ass out of my face,” Finn mutters. Heislooking. A smile teases my lips. I’m not dancing for him, I remind myself. But my chest heats and I feel a blush bloom across my cheeks.

“What, not an ass man?” I tease, dropping my ass lower. I’m aware that the movement tugs the hem of my jeans just below my thong line.

“I prefer a real ass,” he mumbles.

The nerve of this guy.

“Excuse me?” I stand and turn to him now. I pout my lips and lock my hands on my hips. I can’t help it; tequila makes my dignity fall off. “I have an amazing ass. I've been told repeatedly.”

“The same guys buying your drinks and trying to get into your pants?”

“Well, at least someone’s trying to get into my pants. At least I’m not sulking at a bar.”

“Aimee,” Tate calls out from below me. “Dom and I are heading out. Have fun! I'll check in with you tomorrow.” She waves to me as she takes Dom’s hand. “Don’t forget to call your sister.”

“Tate,” I call out to her. But she doesn’t turn around. I watch her leave with Dom. And the heat in my chest instantly chills with disappointment. My ride or die, is apparently dying. Suddenly, dancing on the bar has lost all its appeal. I let out a defeated sigh as I scramble down to sit on the bar top. My legs dangle over the edge and they feel like heavy weights threatening to pull me to the ground.

I can’t help but also feel a trickle of jealousy. She’s going home with someone. Someone who means something. And I’m going home to an empty hotel bed. I want someone of my own, too. But I’ve been sleeping around for so long I don’t know anything else. How can you tell the difference between a fling and forever?

And maybe it’s not just about having someone. Maybe it’s also about belonging somewhere. Somewhere permanent. Ever since college, I’ve been bouncing from place to place. Job to job. Nothing ever felt right. Well, except for my apartment with Tate. So, I kept moving on. Trying new things. I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore.

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