Page 8 of When The Rain Falls

He must have been following me pretty closely, because when I spin, my face bumps up against his chest. I pull back from the nook between his rounded pecs. But not before breathing in his scent. When I sniff, the fabric of his shirt is pulled into my nostrils.

Finn pulls me off his body and I try to ignore the goosebumps his touch leaves on my skin. “More like a hot mess.”

“You think I'm hot?” I tease.

“Hotmess,” he clarifies. “Hot. Like a dumpster fire.”

“For the record, I wasn’t working the room.” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain this to him. Whatever he thinks about me is probably true. I just don’t want it to be true. Not anymore. “Guys were coming up tome. I was being polite. A topic you could learn a few lessons about.”

“Maybe,” he admits. There’s a moment of awkward silence. I’m pretty sure this is the first thing he’s said to me that isn’t dripping in contempt.

“And I have an amazing ass,” I say, pushing my luck.

He snorts at that.

“And you’d beluckyif I asked you to buy me a drink.” My head is beginning to swirl now as all my drinking has finally caught up to me. “And I’m not driving,” I concede. “I’m staying across the street.”

His entire body slumps a little and he runs a hand through his hair. His beautiful earthy hair.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You could have led with that instead of wasting my time.”

“Oh, I’m a waste of time now?” I shoot back at him. “How about this, is this a waste of your time?”

I can’t explain what comes over me, but I find myself leaning forward. I go up on my tip toes and kiss him. I can tell he’s stunned by the way his lips remain frozen beneath mine. But that doesn’t take away from how warm, and wet, and tender they feel. I pull his bottom lip between mine and clamp down. Biting into the thickness of his lips sends a shooting heat straight between my legs.

“What the fuck?” he cries, freeing himself from my mouth. I scrape my teeth across my bottom lip, trying to relive how good he tasted.

“That’s for insulting my dancing.” I throw my head back in a drunk cackle as I march towards the hotel. “And my ass.”

4BURNING THINGS

FINN

I check my watch.Great. Fucking great. I'm late for my first law school class. I take the stairs two at a time and walk up to a room that is marked with the number 203. This is it. At least, I think this is it.

I peek in the window of the door. A tall, grey-haired man in a suit appears to be addressing a large classroom. Shit. I don't want to walk in and cause a scene. Through the window, I look for the closest empty seat. I find one about three rows from the back. I note that I'll have to climb over two people to get to it. Ok, I can do this. Deep breath. Now or never. I open the door as quietly as possible, closing it softly behind me. The professor stops talking mid-sentence and watches me. The whole class turns to see what he's looking at. Perfect. All eyes are on me.

"Sorry," I say.

"This is law school, not high school. No one's going to hold your hand. It's your dime if you're late," the professor barks out. Ok, dick. It's only my first class and I already know this whole law school thing is a shitty idea. I'd heard the rumors about dick-head professors who live for sending even the best and brightest students to their groveling knees. I just didn't think I'd be lucky enough to meet one on my first day.

I excuse myself as I walk behind the two students between me and my chosen seat. I slip into my chair, set my bag under the table, pull out my laptop, and power it on. The professor is in the middle of quizzing some unfortunate soul in the front row. But the student provides a quick response, using phrases I don't understand such as "operative nucleus of facts" and "ancillary jurisdiction." I take a moment to sweep my gaze around the room. My fellow students are strangers. A lot of them look older than me. All of them sound smarter. It feels like I've walked onto a field in the middle of a game where I don't know any of the rules. Yeah, this was definitely a mistake.

I pull out my textbook and realize I have no clue what page the class is on. I flip the pages absentmindedly, silently praying the book will magically open to the correct spot.

"Page 21," the student next to me whispers.

"Thanks," I whisper back. I find that page before turning to look at her. She is knock-out gorgeous. She has shiny, dark hair, warm, caramel eyes, and a delicate nose. I'm absolutely gone. Poof. I no longer exist as a separate entity. I exist solely in relation to her. She catches me looking at her and gives me a shy, bright smile.

My uncertainty and my doubt immediately fade away. I'm completely anchored to her presence. It's the only thing I notice. The only thing I care about. The only thing I think about. Fuck this law school shit, but I will absolutely attend this university for three whole years and pay the full price of admission to graduate if it means I get to share a class with her multiple times a week.

I notice the way her hair keeps slipping from its tucked position behind her ears and falls like a sleek curtain in front of her face. I'm mesmerized by the way her wrist flicks when she brushes her hair back into place. I'm obsessed with how her hands fly confidently over her laptop keys. I pay attention tothe fact she tucks her fingers into her sweatshirt sleeve between bouts of note-taking. She must be cold.

At one point, she turns to her blonde friend, points to her computer screen, and chuckles about something. That chuckle seeps into my soul. It reverberates in my head for the next forty-three minutes. I don't take a single note from the lecture. I couldn't tell you what the topic was. I don't even remember what class I'm in.

“What’s happened to your face, son?” my dad asks from behind some RV and trailer catalog. I reach a hand up to touch the mark on my bottom lip. That girl left a giant welt. I’ve been trying to hide it in the shade of a baseball cap, but it’s not working. I’ve also been trying to forget her long, wavy hair and tight jeans. And that mouth that’s always slightly parted as if an invitation.

She wassomething.

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