When The Rain Falls

19. A Special Kind of Moron

19 A SPECIAL KIND OF MORON

AIMEE

If you’ve never seen a man take out his sexual frustration on a stack of dishes, you are missing out on the eighth wonder of the world. Finn’s broad shoulders are hunched over the sink. The shirt across his back ripples and cascades with constant movement. It’s like watching a waterfall. A waterfall of muscle. I set two ice-cream bowls in the sink and admire the thick veins dance across the back of his hands and up his arms. His biceps bulging ever so slightly.

His arms end in a pair of yellow gloves. And those gloves are scrubbing like there’s no tomorrow.

“Did those dishes do you dirty or something?” I ask playfully as I set another ice cream bowl in the sink.

Finn grunts, unamused.

“I’m starting to be afraid for them.”

He’s been quiet since we got back in the van. The ride home was quiet. No. Quiet is an understatement. It was silent. So silent that the only sound was the quiet hum of the van engine. He silently stopped at the store where we picked out ice cream. I pulled a carton of mint chocolate chip off the shelf and he silently nodded. Then he silently walked behind me as we made our way back through the parking lot.

When we got home, Vivian and I ate ice cream while we watched a baking cook-off show. Finn proceeded to clean the microwave and wipe down the counters. I’m starting to understand why his house is so clean.

The man needs to get laid.

A flood of light shatters its way into the living room and then disappears. Vivian sits bolt upright. Finn glances at me. I see confusion hit him square in the face.

"One, two, three…" I start to count out the seconds. When I get to five, a loud crackle fills the room.

"Thunder!" Vivian squeals.

Rain begins to pound heavily against the window. Sideways and angry.

Finn glances to the couch. The couch that is missing three couch cushions. It dawns on both of us at the same time. I feel my eyes widen at the exact moment that I see his do the same.

“Fuck!” he yells, dropping a dish into the sink, pulling off his gloves, and striding down the hallway. I follow after him.

Finn slips on his shoes and marches quickly to the driveway. I don’t even bother with shoes and just tromp outside barefoot. Thick sheets of water are falling from the sky, obstructing our view. The street glimmers as it falls in front of the one streetlight in our cul-de-sac. Rain is beating against every surface and falling into a steady stream in the street outside the house. It’s raining so hard that it almost doesn't look real. It almost looks like perfectly orchestrated, movie-set rain.

I make out Finn’s figure, although the heavy rain makes it difficult. He’s trying to collect all three couch cushions between his arms and his chest. He keeps dropping them, one at a time, and muttering under his breath. And for some reason, I find it absolutely hysterical. He’s running around like a busy body, getting absolutely nowhere. And meanwhile the rain is just pounding away, completely oblivious to this man and his pointless mission. I guess I should help.

I head in his direction, but the second my feet hit the cool, wet stream already forming on the concrete, a jolt of joy trickles its way through me. I wiggle my toes, reveling in the feel of the water rushing past my skin. I tilt my head up at the sky and close my eyes against the pressure of the falling droplets. I’m already soaked. And the chill forces me to drag in a sharp inhale. I squeal with delight as my heart all but soars out of my chest.

Finn throws all three cushions onto the driveway in frustration and swears.

“This is your fucking cat’s fault,” he scolds.

I grab Finn’s arm and pull him into the street.

“Aimee, what the fuck are you doing?” he asks, digging his heels in.

“Dance, bear.” I take his hands and try to tug him a little farther.

“Goddammit. Help me get the cushions inside.”

“They’re already soaked. Forget them and dance with me.”

“Come on. This is batshit crazy.”

I grab his arm and twirl under it. "Don't think. Just do it."

"What’s that? The Nike slogan for criminals?" he mumbles, but he doesn’t yank my hand away. I hold it aloft as I spin and twirl. “This is complete and utter bullshit, Aimee. Get inside. Now.”

I tip my head at the sky and laugh, extending both of our arms before twisting into him and crashing into his strong, solid frame.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” he mumbles.

“What’s a little cold? Look, I already caught a bear.” I try to spin Finn, but he stands stock still, like a wall of bricks. And I realize that’s one of the things I like about him. His quiet strength. Even if he makes for a shitty dance partner.

Finn

It takes a special kind of moron to prance into a rainstorm on purpose. And somehow, I appear to have attracted a special kind of moron.

She just keeps twirling. In the fucking rain. Not a care in the fucking world. Clearly, she’s not the one who does the laundry at her house.

It barely took a minute for me to become completely soaked. Now we're both soaked. And the cushions are soaked. Correction: they’re trashed. I’m going to have to buy a whole new couch now. All because of her stupid cat.

The street is dark. A street lamp four houses down shines eerily onto the water that’s quickly filling the street. The sky rumbles ferociously as it unleashes never-ending sheets of rain. Everything is gloomy and miserable. And yet here she is, shrieking with glee and brimming with unbridled joy. Like it's the middle of goddamn summer and she's enjoying a day at the beach. Everything around us is dim and bleak. Everything except her.

She's absolutely fucking insane. I should be pissed right now. Pissed that she isn’t helping me drag these cushions in the house. Pissed that she isn’t coming inside like I asked her to. And for God's sake, I should not be enjoying this.

There's a flash of lightning and the whole sky ignites with an electric glow. The glow spotlights the side of her face, revealing her wide, easy smile. And just as quickly, it goes dark again. Even though I can no longer see it, I swear I can feel her smile. I feel it all the way to my toes. And for one second, things are different.

As Aimee dances, I see happiness existing alongside grief. I see brightness shining in the dark. I see something warm in a world that is cold. I see someone who laughs at thunder. Someone who watches rain falling in miserable, gloomy sheets from the sky and it makes her want to dance.

She’s laughter in a bottle. She’s drenched, and cold, and her hair is a goddamn mess. And she’s absolutely happy about it. And I want to preserve her this way forever. Protect her from all the ways the world might try to hurt her.

The lightning is followed by a loud clap of thunder. It startles us both as it rumbles through the belly of the clouds above. I’m hit with a powerful punch of desire. A desire to jump in with her. Into the deep end of joy. The laughter. It’s strong enough that I forget that there are things that are supposed to be holding me back.

But in order to jump, you have to let go. And I haven’t been able to let go in years. The idea of letting go terrifies me. Because what if I don’t like what’s on the other side of letting go? What if it’s just Nicole all over again? What if I can’t finish what I start? What if it ruins me? Or what’s left of me?

These are the same demons that crept into my brain earlier this evening. When I was about to kiss her. When my trembling hand stopped me. And when I quickly pulled away.

Aimee spins into my arm, sending droplets of water from her long locks out across the falling rain. Then she presses against me. Our hands twine together. Her free hand resting on my chest. She sways us gently, our bodies finding a rhythm beneath the pounding sheets of falling rain. The drops have plastered her hair to her face and she looks a bit like a wild, wet animal. But one with flushed cheeks and a dainty, red-tipped nose. She raises her face to mine and there’s a twinkle of joy in her eyes. Like she’s just won some kind of game and she’s entirely too pleased with herself. I want to roll my eyes, but her hand slides across my side and takes purchase on my lower back. Aimee’s humming something. And the gentle purr seems so out of place in the rainstorm. But it also seems flawless.

Jump.

I sinch my arms around her waist like a drawstring. I tuck her against me until not even the thinnest air can sneak its way between us. She laughs into my chest as delight works its way through her body.

Jump.

I drop a hand down the curve of her ass. Cupping her at the roundest part of her backside. Aimee jerks her head up again and gasps. It’s a pleased gasp. Needy and hot.

Fucking jump, Finn.

And then I take her mouth in mine, closing around her lips. Covering another gasp. Swallowing it whole. I didn’t realize how cold I was until our lips met. Until she warmed me from the inside out.

Then her hands are in my hair, pulling, and tugging, and pinning me against her. Our bodies mold together. One of her legs hook around mine. I gather up a fist of her long locks and roughly cup them to the nape of her neck.

The kiss is everything. Full. Tender. Soft. Sharp. It’s a kiss born from a hundred moments of dormant desire.