When The Rain Falls

3. Eau Du Troll-ette

3 EAU DU TROLL-ETTE

AIMEE

“Hey, Aimee,” Dan flags me down from his spot behind the bar. “Ready to dance?” He gestures to the bar top.

I fly towards Dan as quick as my heels will allow, dragging Tate behind me. This night has been a bust. But dancing on the bar is guaranteed to resurrect it.

“Here’s the thing,” Dan says. “I’ll give you three songs. Can’t have this turning into some Coyote Ugly bar.” I nod.

“I don’t know about this,” Tate says, eyeing the bar cautiously. I know what she’s thinking. She doesn’t want to embarrass herself. I don’t have the same qualms. I’m the impulsive, spontaneous one in the friendship. Which is probably what’s always getting me into trouble.

This isn’t the Seattle bar scene we’re used to. We’re city girls. But right now, we’re in the predominantly rural town of Point Evans. This is where I ran with my tail tucked between my legs after Alex evicted me. It’s quieter here, less crowded. The people seem less flashy, hence the gimmicky Hawaiian shirt theme night.

This also happens to be where my sister lives. Not a coincidence. I knew I’d have to be imposing on her hospitality sooner rather than later. This bar, Sparky’s, is one of the few in town. And it happens to be only two blocks from my hotel, so it works out perfectly. I chatted up Dan when we first got here. I let slip that I’ve always wanted to dance on a bar and he said he could make that happen when the big crowds died away.

“Come on, Tate. Just one song,” I urge her as I approach the bar. I glance down across the wooden bar top. It’s not a very big bar. And it’s empty except for one man seated at the very center. His large mass is hunched over a glass. His gaze is boring into the liquid as if he were trying to conjure Satan. If anything could do it, it would be his face. I’ve never seen anyone look so…murderous.

What a troll. He's totally ruining the vibe. Not to mention, his broad shoulders are taking up a lot of precious dancing space.

Dan sees me eyeing the stranger. He shrugs.

“Can you ask that guy to move?”

“Nope, sorry,” Dan replies. “What you’re looking at is a Category Five Brood. We don’t talk to Finn when he’s brooding. Especially not Category Five. Not if we want to keep our facial features, you know, on our face .”

I blow out a raspberry. I’m tipsy. And the warm buzz in my chest makes me feel bold. “He doesn’t scare me,” I finally say. He’s just a man. Made up of the same skin and bones as the rest of them. Control the dick, control the man. They really are that simple. Which, now that I think about it, may be why I’m so bored with it all. “He’s no match for my bottomless charm.” I wave away Dan’s skepticism. This is the same bottomless charm that earned me a new record of six free shots tonight. Which is completely different from my topless charm.

“Good luck with that ,” Dan says as he throws a white towel over his shoulder. His tone growing slightly ominous.

“What does that mean?”

“He’s notoriously uninterested in women. You'd have better luck charming a rock.”

I study the stranger and his muscular shoulders. I don’t mind strangers. Strangers are just friends who haven’t bought me a drink yet.

"Dan, the first thing you should know about me," I say, tossing my long hair over my shoulder, "is that I’m not afraid of a challenge." I give him a sly smile. "Especially a challenge with muscles." This is what my mouth says after consulting all six of my previous tequila shots.

I throw a glance back to Tate. She’s rolling her eyes. You can’t be my best friend for over five years and not know how stubborn I am, especially when I’m tipsy.

I walk two fingers seductively along the bar counter, drawing closer to the stranger with the shoulders. He has hair the color of rich earth. I notice he smells like fresh pines and clean linens. Some kind of manly eau de toilette. Or rather, eau de TROLL-ette .

“Heyyyy,” I say, making my tone as flirty as possible.

“Nope,” he responds curtly. He lifts a glass to his lips and stares at the far corner of the bar. The exaggerated scowl on his face almost makes me laugh.

“You don't even know what I was going to say,” I scold him, placing both hands on my hips.

This guy, Finn or whatever, slowly turns his head to me. His face radiates disdain. I can work with disdain. His eyes are light grey. Moody and vibrant. Like a storm cloud catching muted sunbeams. The rest of his face is all sharp lines and chiseled features. It’s the kind of face that has the power to make women’s panties wilt . Some women’s panties. Not mine. Nope. My panties are staying just the way they are.

Did you hear that, panties?

“I’ve seen you work this whole goddamn bar,” he finally mutters. His elbows are propped on the counter and when he swirls his glass, I see the muscles in his shoulder ripple. “And whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not going to work on me. I’m not buying you a drink.”

“What are you talking about?” I bristle and stand a little taller.

“Aimee,” Tate tugs on my elbow, “it’s fine.”

“Did Tyler put you up to this?” Finn asks. “Go back and tell Tyler I’m done with his bullshit.” With that, he sets his glass down loudly on the bar top. The bar top where I should be dancing right now.

“Who’s Tyler?” I ask. “Is he single?” Uggh. My drunk brain appears to have a one-track mind. It may not be a stable track. Or well maintained. But there is definitely just one.

“Perpetually.”

“I don’t think you can pin this one on Tyler,” Dan cuts in, wiping a glass with a dishtowel. “You attracted this one all on your own." He gestures to me. Gee, thanks, Dan. I thought we were allies here.

The man tightens his jaw and there’s a fiery power in his eyes. Like if I get too close, I might get burned. I’m not used to being refused. This is interesting .

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 shirt with buttons . I don’t remember the last time I was with a man who even owned a 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 him buddy , 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 holds me 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 decide not to 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. He is looking. 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.

The attention I’ve gathered from around the room shifts away from me. And thank goodness. Because now I’m just blinking back hard, unwanted tears. I’m not a crier. But I’ve been crying a lot lately. This tequila is really doing a number on me tonight. What kind of tequila did they give me? Truth-serum tequila ? Face-all-your-demons-at-once tequila?

I kick at the air in front of me and try to figure out where I go from here. My life is officially a train wreck. My job sucks. My best friend is slipping away. And my current residence is accessible by key card. I’m twenty-seven and I don’t even own a spatula.

Typically, this is where I’d find a guy to go home with. But that’s not what I want anymore.

“Where’s Mr. Backwards hat?”

Great. The troll . I forgot about him. I cross my arm and shoot him a dagger or two. If he would have just moved in the first place. I’d probably be dancing my heart out with Tate right now.

He’s focused on the drink in his hand, but his eyes keep flicking to me.

“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” I accuse.

“You kept dancing into my fucking line of sight,” he grumbles. “The grotesque image of your arms flailing in the air is burned into my retinas.”

I can’t help but smile at that.

“Mr. Backwards cap had to go. Have you ever had rug burn from someone dry humping your leg?”

The man’s lips quiver, but then they press together tightly.

He looks less imposing now. It crosses my mind that he might be having a hard night, too. Maybe I should try to be nicer to him.

“Dan says you're brooding,” I say quietly. Maybe talking about his problems will help me forget mine. “He warned me not to talk to you. What are you brooding about?”

He snorts. “Don’t you listen well,” he says dryly. I roll my eyes. So much for trying to be nice. When he doesn’t answer my question, I don’t push.

“Speaking of Dan, where is he? I could use a drink.” The man who started it all has suspiciously disappeared.

“Don’t you think six is plenty?”

“Excuse me? Have you been counting my drinks, sir?” I lean back on my hands and wait for his answer.

“You’ve been screaming shots all night. Hard not to,” he mumbles. I shoot a huff out my nose and ignore the way the muscles in his forearms dance as he tenses his hands around his glass. His muscles. They’re obnoxious.

“Screw off,” I tell him. Who am I kidding? Another drink isn’t going to salvage tonight. I hop off the bar, but I stumble. As my body pitches towards the ground, I put out my hands to catch my fall. But I don’t fall. Something stops me. It happens so quickly. My body wobbles, but then I’m finding my footing.

One glance down explains everything. I yank Finn’s hand from my arm and tip my chin stubbornly in the air. When heat begins to rise to my cheeks, I march towards the exit at the other end of the room.

“Hey, wait.” The deep voice of the stranger grumbles behind me. What does he want now ? Probably to describe to me what a real ass looks like and tell me more about what’s wrong with mine.

I turn just in time to watch Finn rise from his barstool. And when he stands, he stands . He oozes confidence. With his broad shoulders and large chest. His jeans fitting snugly around his thighs. His stormy grey eyes prominent on his hard, handsome face. He stands like a man who’s lived so much life that he’s worn a comfortable groove in it.

Too bad he’s such a dick.

“What?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“You planning to drive like that?” The condescension in his voice is what gets me the most. Like I’m a child and I need someone to look after me.

“It’s none of your business.” I spin again and continue walking.

“Goddammit,” I hear Finn grumble behind me.

I push open the door and find myself standing outside on a dimly lit sidewalk. The faint smell of saltwater hangs in the air. I rub my arms against the cold air and walk towards the large sign marking the entrance of my hotel.

“You’re in no position to drive.”

“Oh my God.” I spin to him once more. “I’m a big girl. Leave me alone.”

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.

“Hot mess ,” 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 to me . 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 be lucky if 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.”