When The Rain Falls

6. A Lot of Nipples

6 A LOT OF NIPPLES

AIMEE

“Please?” Ruby hands me her bright pink phone.

"Can’t you just text him?" I ask, pushing the phone back towards her. Ruby, Julie, and I are at Brew City, a local coffee shop and brewery in town, waiting for our coffee orders to be called. We were originally going to go shopping for homecoming dresses, but the girls were invited to meet their friends at a trampoline park. Now Ruby needs her dad to sign some online waiver.

"If I text him, he'll insist on calling and asking for details. He's that kind of dad." Ruby sags her shoulders in frustration. I don't know what she means, but I take it that's not a good thing. Ruby shoves her phone back into my face. “He’s better when he talks to parents. Actually, now that I think about it, you should pretend to be Alicia. He probably won’t know the difference.”

I wince. Ruby is starting to warm up to me, but I can’t help but feel like I’m just being manipulated.

I take the phone from Ruby's hand. “I don’t think I should lie on my first day of Cool Aunt duty,” I say solemnly. “If I get demoted, then we can’t do fun things. Alicia might ground me or something.”

“I’m always grounded. We can be grounded together. Parents don’t get it. We like to be in our rooms. It’s not really a punishment.” Ruby rolls her eyes. And I swear, her facial expressions are so, so familiar.

I look down at the phone in my hand. It's already set up to call Dad, so I hit the green dial button. The call picks up after three rings. I hold the phone between us so everyone can hear and hit the speaker button.

"Hey, where are you? You didn't fold your laundry," comes an angry voice on the other end. It's deep and rumbly. Even though I know the voice is not meant for me, it sends a spike of chilly fear down my spine. Ruby closes her eyes and groans.

"And how exactly would you know that?” I ask. “Unless you’ve been taking inventory of my intimates.” Ruby covers her face and Julie stifles a laugh.

"Who are you?" The voice sounds colder, if that's even possible.

“Julie's aunt. I'm taking the girls to the trampoline park in Tacoma to meet their friends. We need you to sign Ruby's waiver,” I explain. “It's all online. Ruby will text you the link," I say quickly. I lean against the large window and prop myself against the windowsill that’s been warmed by the sunlight sneaking in from outside.

“Will you be there supervising?"

"No, I'm going to drop them off with some booze money and pick them up in the back alley later," I say sarcastically. Seriously, is there a single person on this godforsaken planet who believes I can do anything right?

“Are you insane?” I can’t tell if that was meant to be sarcastic. The tone was rather ambiguous.

“No, you’re right,” I tease. “You can’t trust teenagers to pick out good alcohol. I should probably help them.”

"Where's Alicia?" the voice asks, full of unspoken accusation. He's clearly not impressed by me. I’m not so impressed by him, either.

"At work. Why? Is that a problem?" I shoot back, propping a defiant hand on my hip. If he wants a problem. I can give him a problem. I excel at being a problem.

“How old are you?"

"Old enough for that to be a rude question,” I snap back. And then silence swallows up the conversation. It seems like he’s thinking a little too hard about what he should do next.

"Don't worry. I promise I'm not a serial killer," I offer helpfully.

There’s a long and steady sigh before the guy responds. "Only a serial killer would lead with that." There's something commanding in his voice. Something that I enjoy far too much. There's an awkward pause and I fill it with laughter. He's probably right. Serial killers probably deny being serial killers all the time.

"You want to run a background check on me or something?" I offer. Julie and Ruby give me the same confused look. I roll my eyes, point at the phone, and shake my head. Just so they know that he’s the problem here. Not me.

"Sure. Just need your name and social."

My mouth drops. And I slightly panic. If charges get dismissed, do they still show up on your background check? I should probably look into that whole Jeep theft thing.

"Please tell me you're joking." What the hell did I just get myself into?

"Alicia never mentioned having a sister. You could be anybody." Surprise, surprise. Alicia never mentioned having a reckless, troublesome sister.

"Welp, you caught me." I throw up my free hand. "The ruse is up. I'm really a Nigerian princess who wants to transfer one million dollars into your bank account. I just need your routing number, sir.”

"That was..." He pauses, as if searching for the right word. He finally settles on, "Unnecessary."

" You're being unnecessary," I tell him. “Unnecessarily difficult.”

Ruby is clutching her head and groaning again. I think when she asked me to talk to her dad, she saw this conversation going in a different direction. Oops.

“I have to ask questions,” he snaps. “Otherwise, I’d never know what’s going on.” Oh brother. I wish this guy were in front of me so I could straighten him out in person. I bet he’s a giant, snarling, hideous beast of a man. He’s probably got a giant beer belly and a big shiny dome head. That’s probably why he’s so angry at the world.

"I'm literally telling you what's going on." I scoff. “And you’re being a giant dick.” I clamp my hand over my mouth and peek at Julie. I’m fairly certain that was a no-no word.

"Do you know CPR?" he asks. Jesus.

"No. Do you know CPR?"

"How about firearms? Do you own a firearm?" he quips back at me.

"You can frisk me and find out," I tease him.

No, Aimee! Bad girl.

"How much longer are you going to interrogate me?" I ask. "Because I just want to take the girls to the trampoline park." Ruby's mouth falls open at my comment. I don’t think she’s going to ask me to talk to her dad again anytime soon.

"Fine," he finally says and Ruby breathes out a sigh of relief.

"Fine, what? Fine like we can go? Or fine like you're coming after me with a small army of scary suburban dads where it’s pretty much all settled except for where you're going to hide my body?"

"You can take her." He sounds almost defeated.

Aimee: 1

Ruby’s dad: 0

"See how easy that was?" I tsk. "I'll text you a link to the waiver."

I hear a click and the call ends abruptly.

"Holy hell," I say as I stare back at the phone. "Ruby, your dad's a piece of work."

"Yeah," she mutters. "Welcome to my life."

This guy is Alicia’s neighbor? Like, her across the street neighbor? I’m going to stay as far away from this jerk as possible.

Finn

“Viv, I’m running across the street to get Ruby. Dinner in ten,” I call up the stairs as I step into my shoes. Without waiting for an answer, I slip out the door and make the trek across the street.

Ruby and Julie are back from the trampoline park. When I heard a car pull into Alicia's driveway followed by painfully shrill voices, I texted Ruby to come home for dinner. I could have opened the door and yelled across the street, but I didn’t want to deal with Julie’s witch of an aunt again.

As usual, Ruby never answered. So here I am, doing it the old fashioned, neighborly way. I’m trying to forget the conversation I had with Alicia's sister. The one where I asked if she knew CPR. I didn’t like her attitude. I tried to knock her down a peg or two and I'd failed. She matched me snark for snark.

My long strides make quick work of the walk across the street. We live in a nice neighborhood. The houses are dated, but decently sized, and every house on the street sits on at least a third of an acre. It's the perfect combination of living in a community and having privacy.

When I knock on the door a tall man answers. Greg. A name brand polo shirt drapes his gangly frame. He's wearing pressed khakis. It looks like he's dressed for a game of golf, not lounging around the house.

"Hey, Finn,” he greets me eagerly. “Come in, I want you to try something.” He opens the door wide and waves me in.

"Is Ruby here? She isn't answering her phone."

"Oh yeah. Upstairs," he says dismissively. "But, come in first. You gotta tell me what you think of something."

"Vivian's waiting for me at home," I say, pretending to sound disappointed.

"It'll just take a minute," he promises. He ushers me in and I reluctantly follow. Persistent asshole.

We walk around a pile of delivery boxes stacked by the front door and through his living room. "Ignore the lawn. We have moles.” He gestures out the front window, drawing my attention to a pristine patch of green. I roll my eyes to his back. Humble brag.

Unlike the lawn, the kitchen is a mess. Baby bottles and cups litter every surface. There's an empty baby chair on the counter, full of clothes. Mail is stacked in what was once a neat pile, but is now a messy, toppled one. I feel myself getting twitchy with the need to straighten up the mail and stack dishes in the sink.

We stop in front of the dining table where there’s a circular plate with a rounded glass cover.

"What is it?" I ask, hands on hip. And why am I playing fucking show and tell with a grown man?

"It's a cocktail infuser,” he explains as he lifts the lid. He raises a glass filled with amber liquid. Smoke rises from the rim.

"Try it," he urges. I don’t bother to mention that I don’t drink. I don’t feel like explaining. I take the glass and bring it to my nose. It smells like...hickory? As I take a sip, Greg studies me. The drink is disgusting, but I don't flinch. I might have a mediocre lawn, but I have an excellent poker face.

"Interesting," is all I say.

My attention is drawn to someone new entering the kitchen. A woman with wavy hair, but all I see is her back. She's not Alicia and I don't recognize her. She opens the fridge and her entire head seems to disappear inside. She's wearing tiny cotton shorts. The seam of those shorts ride up her perfectly round ass and disappear somewhere I should not be thinking about. My gaze travels down her long, muscular legs. There's a thin, delicate tattoo wrapping around an upper thigh.

I’m fucking mesmerized. God. And this is just her backside. Imagine what her front looks like.

No. Finn. Do not do that.

"Greg, did you eat all the cake, you useless dildo?" she says as she turns around. Liquid immediately shoots from my mouth and my nose. I choke as liquid fire creeps up my nostrils. It’s the girl from the bar. The one in the black tank top. The one who fucking bit me.

When her gaze falls on me, her face changes from confusion to recognition. Then her eyes light up like they've been plugged into a goddamn socket. A sinful smirk curling the edge of her mouth.

"What cake?" Greg asks, attention focused on the contraption in front of him. He didn't even balk at her insult. What did she call him? A useless dildo? Fitting.

"Aimee this is Finn, Ruby's dad." Greg waves in my general direction as he piles more wood chips on the plate in front of him. Aimee's eyes widen, if that's even possible, with this new bit of information. "And that is Alicia's sister," he adds.

S he’s Julie’s witch aunt from hell?

"You?" she exclaims, her eyes widening. " You're Ruby's dad? The troll? The hideous beast of a man?" Her forehead wrinkles and it looks like she's thinking just a little too hard. Wait a second. What did she just call me? I don’t dwell on it too long because as she moves her mouth, all I can think about is her lips on mine. Warm, wet, soft, and rough. I resist the urge to touch my fingers to my lips.

Finally, she throws me an amused smile as she props herself on the door of the fridge. "Huh," she says, considering me. She's wearing a fitted t-shirt. It’s clear she’s cold from the open fridge, based upon the peaked nipples displayed across her chest. She should close the nipples. Fuck, I mean fridge. Does she realize how much energy she's wasting?

I force my eyes upward towards her face. And it’s a feat of gigantic proportions. Because I can’t remember the last time I saw nipples. Or at least the outline of them. And now all I can think about is what she looks like without a shirt on. Fuck.

But once my gaze falls on her face, I’m distracted all over again. I remember her being attractive. But goddamn. I don’t remember her looking like this. The glitz and glamor from the other night is gone. It’s fallen away to reveal a face that’s simple, but genuine. Understated, but radiant. She’s not wearing jewelry or makeup of any kind, and yet, I can’t look away. Not from the flirty curves of her lips. The delicate upturn in her nose. Or her ridiculously large brown eyes.

And the way she moves. It’s like watching a feather being carried away on the wind. Light and breezy, but with a subtle hint of seduction.

Goddammit. How long can you stare at someone before it starts to get creepy?

"Are you sure you're Ruby's dad? I don't hear the sound of helicopter blades," she snaps. I'm pretty sure that's a reference to being a helicopter parent. And I'm pretty sure I hate her more than I did before. Do I hate her? Or do I want to push her up against the wall and suck the peaks right off those delicate nipples. Fuck. My brain is malfunctioning.

"For the record, I'm not overprotective. I just like to have information," I tell her defensively.

"You’ve explained that,” she says. “Is that why you’re here? To frisk me for firearms?" She has a glint in her eyes that's suggestive. "Is that the kind of information you’re looking for? What I’ve got hidden beneath my clothes?” The air feels hot around me. Aimee's radiating energy, buzzing like a hive of bees. If she stings the way she bites, I don’t think I’d protest.

I open my mouth to answer, but I can’t think of anything to say. My mind is full of round, pebbled nipples.

Her eyes lock on mine. It's like she's daring me. But daring me to do what? All I can think about is the state of the milk in the nipples—fuck, not nipples, fridge —as the temperature slowly rises, along with Alicia's energy bill. The cool air wafting from the open door makes its way to me all the while it continues to do scandalous things to her front. The milk. In the fridge, I remind myself.

Milk. Milk. Whole milk. Two percent. Goat milk. Almond milk. Milk comes from nipples.

Goddammit.

"You shouldn't leave the door open like that," I say sternly, clutching my glass tightly against my chest. She needs to close the door and she needs to do it right now so that I stop thinking about nipples. She laughs as she pulls out a sparkling water and finally closes the door. But right when I feel like I can finally relax, she’s walking closer to me until we’re a table width apart. Her nearness sends me back to last night when she pressed her mouth against mine. I can't help feeling like a cornered animal. Cornered by feelings of desire and want that I most definitely should not be having right now. I glance down the hallway towards the front door. Just to make sure my exit isn't blocked.

"Aimee. Try this," Greg says, holding up a drink to her. "I finally got it right.'

"No thanks," she says, her eyes trained on me. Her scrutiny is intense. A finger lifts from the can in her palm and points at my face.

"So, what happened there?" The corner of her mouth curls mischievously. I rub the bite mark on my lip and frown at her. When she comes one step closer, my body twitches involuntarily.

I bring my voice to a low hum. "You know exactly what happened." I grip the glass like gripping it might be able to save me from my discomfort. She must notice my twitch. She tucks a hand under her elbow. And now, I’m kicking myself for not insisting on that background check.

"Relax, Papa bear," she says. "Why are you so tense? I don't bite ." If she grinned any wider, her head would split in two. My cheeks start to heat. Why am I embarrassed? She's the one who should be embarrassed. She's the one attacking innocent men on the mouth. But she's not ashamed at all. She's batting me around like a cat with a ball of yarn. I finally give in and rub my bottom lip.

“No, you just fall off bar tops,” I growl back at her. She snorts. I’ve never found a snort so attractive.

"Wait? Do you two know each other?" Greg looks up from his diffuser and glances between the two of us. He’s clearly not the brightest bulb in the box if he's just now figuring this out.

"I'm surprised you're standing today," I say to the menace standing in front of me. The menace with the enticing curl in her lips and the sassy sway in her hips. "You were pretty tanked last night."

"Oh." She waves me off with a dainty hand. "I wasn't that drunk." My ass. If she wasn't that drunk, she played drunk pretty damn well.

"Oh yeah?" I take another sip from my glass, forgetting that it tastes like garbage water. "So, tripping off bar tops. That's you being not that drunk ?"

Aimee's face scrunches in amusement as she laughs again. She sets her can on the counter and pops a hip against it. "Exactly. If I was tanked, then I wouldn't remember things. Like when you called me hot." Greg looks at me, his eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. I can feel my cheeks flush.

"Hot mess ," I clarify, for Aimee and Greg both. "I called you a hot mess. And that's exactly what you were." Aimee just laughs again.

“Aimee,” Greg says, “if you’re going to live here, you’re going to?—”

“Wait, live here?” I cut in. “ You ,” I point to her, “live here ?” I point to the ground. Fuck. I’m in so much fucking trouble.

“Yep,” Aimee says, completely satisfied with herself. "For now."

“For a little while,” Greg corrects.

“Alicia said I could stay as long as I want,” Aimee responds. “She said it would be good for me.” Aimee takes a sip of her sparkling water and makes a loud, satisfying slurp sound. I swear there’s a little devil dancing in her eyes.

"What about the hotel?" I ask her. Why would she stay in a hotel if she’s living here? That makes no sense.

“Slight detour,” she says, waving my question away. "And thanks for the critique of my backside. I’m adding squats to my strength training routine. You know, so I can have a real ass. Hopefully next time you won’t be so offended if I dance in your face.”

Goddammit. Now that she’s mentioned her ass, that’s all I can think about. The way her rounded backside moved in those jeans. The hint of a black thong peeking out through the dip in the band of her jeans. It was downright criminal. I couldn’t have moved from my barstool even if I had wanted to. Not without the lower half of my body being extremely ungentlemanly.

Not that I could have done anything about it. The second I got her alone, I’d have gone limp as fucking string cheese. My dick is kind of a dick.

"There won’t be a next time,” I say dumbly. Because I can’t say the things I’m actually thinking. Saying those things out loud would make even me blush.

I pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers and close my eyes. I let out a deep, focused breath and hand my glass to Greg. Because I can only control my sex-starved brain for so long.

"I've got to get Ruby," I mutter to no one in particular. “Assuming she's still in one piece." I flick my eyes to Aimee. She's still grinning, like right this very minute she's tallying the number of souls she's snatched for the devil today. How can someone grin so much?

I try to squeeze past Aimee, angling my shoulders to scoot past her without having to make contact. She doesn't give up any ground. She just stands there, one hand on her hip, taking up as much space as possible. It forces me to edge up against the wall to gain sufficient clearance. Although the only truly sufficient clearance would be calculated in miles. Aimee watches me with great amusement.

"Excuse me," I say as I successfully slip by, unscathed by contact.

Her lips part in a wide grin and she laughs. This laugh is wild and vibrant. Like the cheerful yet ear-splitting whistle of a dolphin. I’ve only met this woman twice and her laughter is already starting to worm its way into my brain.