Right At Your Door

Chapter Five

I've seen the world only to realize how silly of me, for you are my world.

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Christophe knew this probably wasn’t the best way to get Aimée’s attention. On the other hand, he feared he would never have another chance to do something this amusing to his best friend ever again. Christophe thus began counting in his head. 

The moment he hit three, he tipped the bucket.

“Merde!” was Aimée’s strangled cry as she crashed onto the wooden floor in a crumpled heap. She slapped her hand onto the sopping bed to propel herself up. Once on her feet, eyes blazing, Aimée bared her teeth at the boy who very much resembled a dying hyena at the moment.

“You should’ve seen your face!” Christophe cried, bent over half his height to clutch his midsection.

“You won’t want to see your face after I am finished with it!” Aimée shouted back, although she had to bite her tongue to stop from smiling at how happy Christophe looked. “My bed! It’s soaking wet!” she whined.

Christophe allowed his chuckles to fade, keeping the grin on his face. “Sorry,” he said, his elated expression revealing how he was far from it. “Strip the bed of the sheets and I’ll clean it up for you.” With that, he backed up out of the room to put the bucket away.

Aimee looked down at her dripping self with a cross between a scowl and a pout. Grumbling to herself in garbled French, she turned to peel the clinging heavy fabric off the mattress. Aimée was so focused on the task of reaching for the far corner, she failed to hear Christophe reenter the room.

Christophe had just barely turned from looking over his shoulder when he heard Aimée begin to sing. Snapping his head forward, his eyes widened at Aimée’s form, wriggling to the lovely tune of her voice while she worked. While he was surprised at how sweet she sounded, it was what he saw that captured his attention. His eyes fixated on the movements of her body and he wondered how he failed to previously notice the curves of her slim figure, accentuated by her wet blue tank top and matching shorts that seemed to cling to every inch of flesh the fabric could find.

He was suddenly very grateful and regretful that he poured the bucket on her.

The singing abruptly stopped once Aimée straightened up and Christophe was able to snap out of his trance. He looked anywhere but at Aimée, his hand finding the back of his neck to rub.

“So, will you help me now?”

Glancing at Aimée, who had turned around with soaked sheets in hand, Christophe sucked in a breath, the air whistling through his teeth.

His mind had definitely gone stupid; he somehow forgot that she was still completely soaked, from the back to the front. 

“Right,” Christophe coughed. Taking a hesitant step towards the bed, he was saved by the bell. Sighing in relief, Christophe said, “Hey Aimée, get the door, will you?”

Rolling her eyes, Aimée sauntered past Christophe, oblivious to the fact that he had to will his eyes not to follow the swish of her hips.

Once Aimée was downstairs, Christophe collapsed against the wall. He ran a hand through his brown bedhead, breathing out deeply.

Get a grip, he told himself sternly.

“Well ain’t this a lovely wake-up call?” Christophe heard someone call loudly. His eyes widening, he realized his mistake too late as he flew down the stairs, his feet barely making contact with the polished wood.

Christophe skidded to the front door, his worst nightmare proven to be true; his best friends were at the door. 

While Aimée watched him with concern, she was oblivious to the three boys standing behind her on the front porch, their eyes wide and amused by the very obvious, obscene gestures they made to each other.