18 ICE CREAM, ALCOHOL, & SEX
AIMEE
The heart-shaped charm is still swinging from the rear view mirror from the force of Finn shutting the door. It's eerily dark on this street. And now that I'm alone in this van, it's a bit eerie in here, too. Almost like I'm about to be kidnapped or something. Except that I’m the one sitting in a creepy van on the side of a dark road a block from a high school. Shit, I probably look like the kidnapper.
I'm not sure what happened. I’m not sure why we’re stopped here. I’m also not sure what I’m supposed to do. I guess I wait for him to come back? But I rarely do what I’m supposed to. Which is why I find myself unbuckling my seatbelt and opening my door.
Patience may be a virtue. But so is curiosity.
"Bear?" I call out to the twilight sky as I step down from the van.
He doesn't answer, so I walk around the van to the driver's side and that's where I find him. His back against the van. His head lowered to the ground. Muscular, strong, and silent.
I think I finally know why they call it a crush. Because right now, it feels like my heart and my lungs are being squeezed together. It's nearly impossible to breathe and I can hear each individual heartbeat in my chest. It truly does feel like I'm being crushed. But almost from the inside out.
"Hey," I say cooly as I approach.
He lifts his head and brushes a hand across his face. That's when I notice that his cheek is wet. The light from the gibbous moon betrays what he's trying to hide. Trails of remnant tears. The sight does something unexpected to me. It hits me in the chest and I feel like I've been sent tumbling to the ground like a bird shot from the sky. I usually do everything in my power to avoid sadness. But right now, I can't walk away. I'm falling helplessly from the sky and Finn's turmoil is the Earth pitching wildly below me.
"Get back in the van," he barks, looking down at his feet. But the bark is hollow. More wounded animal than dangerous.
"You ok?" I ask, taking a step towards him. Even as the words pass from my lips I realize how stupid they sound. Of course he's not ok. He's a grown man crying on the side of the road. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown man cry. And definitely not a man as grown as Finn. And I hate it. I find myself desperate to comfort him.
"I'm fucking fine," he grumbles, clearly embarrassed. I feel like it’s a bad time to remind him that I’m fine is the most frequently told lie in the English language. I draw closer. One step. Then another. Tentatively closing the distance.
He hears me coming and his body bristles. "Aimee." My name is a warning across his lips. But I’ve never been the kind of person who scares easily. And there’s something sad in his voice that tells me he might need something. Maybe just an ear. Maybe just a warm body to ward off the isolation of being sad. Unfortunately, I recognize all these things from recent experience.
I take a spot next to him, leaning up against the cold panel of his van, our shoulders touching. He sighs with obvious annoyance. I feel surrounded by a silence that is full of turmoil.
Finn shifts his broad shoulders. He sighs and rubs a hand across his jaw. "We were supposed to do this together," he finally says, his face rising to the sky. "But I'm here. Doing it all. And she’s missing it.”
Finn rubs the back of his head thoughtfully. Then he pulls back a curtain that he seems to keep drawn tightly. “All these milestones were supposed to be...I don't know. Nothing was supposed to be like this." He takes in a breath and chokes on it, like he's trying to stop more tears. I want to fight the demons clamoring for control in his head. But I don’t know how.
"I had everything, Aimee. I fucking had everything.” He holds his hands out, palms up. Empty. I know exactly how that feels. I feel empty, too.
I lean my head back against the van and study the worried crease between his eyebrows and the way his full lips are pinched together. Our emptiness is not the same. His comes from loss. And mine comes from being lost. Because I don’t know where my life is going. I don’t have anything permanent. I’m hit with a sickening wave of envy. Because in order to lose something, you have to have something meaningful in your life to lose.
It’s almost funny. He’s lived so much life. He’s, apparently, loved really deeply. And I’ve done none of that. I’ve just been chasing thrills. Having fun. Living life on the surface.
Still leaning against the van, I roll my body to face him. I want to keep rolling. Until our bodies collide. Until I can feel every inch of his body, coiled, strong, protective, against mine. “You talk like your life is over,” I say in a hushed tone. “But it’s not. There’s still plenty of time. You can have everything again.” I think I say these things because I want to believe them for myself. I want to believe I can have everything.
Finn shakes his head and there’s a sheen creeping back into his eyes, he looks down at his hands, picking at a callus on his palm. “Not really.” He slips a hand in his pocket and lowers his head to the ground.
“Why not?” I tilt my head and study his face.
“I’m not going to tell you that you don’t understand.” When his eyes snag on mine, they’re kind. “Because that sounds condescending. And because I don’t want you to understand. I hope you never do. I hope the world only gives you reasons to smile. And it must be doing that so far, because you’re always fucking smiling.”
Look at me. Fooling the world. Or at least this man.
“You never smile. Someone has to pull the weight around here,” I tease.
“Nothing wrong with not smiling when you don’t feel it,” he mutters. The words feel like a message straight from the universe. A message to me. A shiver travels down my spine, like the chilly finger of a ghost. I shift my eyes to my white sneakers and balance on the outside of my feet.
I’ve been trying to find my place. Trying to find what I want in life. And I haven’t been succeeding. It’s like trying to make lemonade out of lemons. But I don’t even like lemonade. I like orange juice.
I want to be wanted by someone. For more than just a thrill. I want to want someone. For more than just a thrill. But the world is just full of thrills. And they distract me at every turn. Like this large, imposing, hunk of muscle who’s peering into my messed-up soul right this very moment with enticing stormy eyes.
“Ok,” I finally say. I brave a look back at Finn and give him a teasing smile. “Enough moping. Let’s get ice cream.” Guess, it’s time for lemonade.
“Do I look like a man that can be fixed by ice cream, Aimee?”
“Ice cream fixes everything. And if you disagree, then you haven’t had Mudslide Mayhem.”
“Everything?”
“You’re right. Not everything. But that’s why there’s alcohol. And sex.”
“Well, fuck. Now I see why I’m such a miserable asshole.”
“No alcohol, sex, or ice cream?” I give him a shocked expression. “How are you even alive? We need to fix this right now.”
“Are you propositioning me?” Finn asks dryly. His expression is unreadable and I can’t tell if he’s possibly intrigued. Or maybe offended.
“Always.” I return his stony face with an easy smile. Finn bends a knee and rests the bottom of his foot against the panel of the van. He takes a deep breath.
“Sure,” he finally says.
“Wait? What?” I look at him with surprise.
“Aimee. I’m talking about the ice cream,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Oh, right.” My cheeks flush and I bite my bottom lip.
“We’ll pick some up on the way home.” He pushes off the van and turns to face me. “Can we, uh…” He pauses and rubs the back of his neck. “Can we pretend you didn’t just see me crying?”
“You saw me crying,” I point out. “Yesterday. So, I think that makes us even now.”
A breeze grazes by and prickles Finn's arms with goosebumps. The nipples on his hard chest pucker beneath his t-shirt. I can’t help but remember how he looks bare and sweaty. The dusting of hair plastered against his large chest. One thing is certain. My body is getting very accustomed to wanting this man. The heat, the burning, the need. It’s becoming as familiar to me as my own skin.
“We’re not even,” Finn says, his voice dipping low and dangerous. His imposing body moves closer. So close that my hand reflexively rises to his chest and I begin to smooth the fabric of his shirt across his left pec. His fingers graze down the side of my arm. He presses me flush against the van. I clench my thigh as something needy pulses between my legs.
“Aren’t we?” My words nearly vaporize as they leave my mouth.
“No. Not even fucking close.” His fingers coil around my wrist. His hand is strong, large, and there’s a faint brush of calluses against my skin. It makes me shiver.
“Aimee.” His voice is borderline predatory. My eyes widen with anticipation as he presses my wrist above my head, holding it firm against the cold surface of the vehicle behind me. I feel the full length of his body against mine. His knee between my legs. He’s strong. Steady. Deliberate.
His fingers tangle between mine. The intimacy causes my chest to flutter. His hands warm, the window cold. The contrast between the two, delicious.
When he touches me, he’s all torment and lust. It’s in the breath in the air between us. In the way his eyes are beading. In the pressure of his body against mine. The weight of his hips. My chest is thrumming. My breathing suddenly feels labored. He runs a finger up the column of my neck as he lowers his head to mine.
“You’ve kissed me twice now,” he whispers. He’s staring at my lips like they’re the last thing he might ever see. My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I think about the fullness of his mouth. “And I haven’t kissed you once. Does that sound even ?”
His gaze moves from my lips to my eyes. We exchange looks of hunger.
“No,” I pant, breathless from anticipation.
“It’s not,” he growls as his words land on my cheek.
“You should make it even,” I breathe. His hand cradles my neck, tipping my head up to his mouth. It forces my lips to part.
Finn pauses and then I feel my hand trembling. The vibration works down the full length of my arm. I quickly realize that it’s not me that’s trembling, but his hand intertwined with mine, pressed up against the hard surface at my back. Trembling and shaking.
Finn notices it, too. I sense that he’s about to pull away. Everything in me protests.
“It’s ok,” I say softly, trying to coax his body closer. Because we’re so close now. So close that it’s unbearable not to kiss him.
“Fuck,” he growls. He instantly pulls back, cradling his shaking hand. My own hand, empty now, falls to my side.
“Finn,” I call to him, but he’s already turned his back to me.
“Get in the van,” he commands. “Now.”