As a girl with no actual appeal towards the phrase "down and dirty," I do find myself attracted to men who are in fact, down and dirty. Of course, I take it in the literal sense which then translates to "sweat and hard work," or at least that's my own definition of it. But let's get one thing clear; any female who says a man covered in sweat isn't attractive probably hasn't come out of the closet yet, and that is a well-known fact.

Another fact that should be expressed is my depressing state of mind. I've now entered a new realm of depression, and after a week of beating myself up about it, I've finally come up with a name for this next-level agony. I call it the "It's Complicated" phase. A key part of my life is when more than half of my responses are "it's complicated." For example;

What happened to your family? It's complicated.

Are you in a love/hate relationship with Paxson? It's complicated.

Does Paxson like you? It's complicated.

Did you eat the last piece of chocolate cake? It's complicated.

Do you have this newfound obsession where you stare at Paxson while he mows the lawn and washes his car? That's definitely not complicated. You bet I do!

So though my mind crashes into my skull every waking moment, I've decided I need a little break from all the complications and enter a world of calm. To do this, I get up at precisely 10 am every Sunday, sneak my way into the garage, then stare as Paxson drips in sweat under the flaming sun. That is one hell of a way to relax! I, of course, provide him water, snacks, and moral support; but most importantly, I provide myself a seat, some lemonade, and sunglass to "watch without being watched" the view of a hard-working man.

The mower cuts off into hypersleep and Paxson wipes his arm on his forehead, rubbing the sweat all over his face, even though the action is supposed to do the opposite. I'm highly convinced he does this on purpose for my entertainment. The gleaming droplets on his face and arms have the phrase "down and dirty" written all over them as they kiss his skin.

After collecting enough air to stand, I swipe the dry towel and cool water bottle from the table next to me and reveal myself to the sun. I bring them to Paxson. He flashes an appreciative grin, one that wrinkles a little on the corners, and my cheeks redden.

He rips the cap off the bottle and chugs it down. "Thank you, Flower," he says to me after wiping down his face with the maroon-colored towel. "You always keep me company and treat me well when I'm out here. Now I have just one more thing to do."

Paxson nods his head towards his car and I choke down a giggle. "You're going to wash your car again? I mean, I'm sure your car appreciates the attention, but it's already clean." I adjust my glasses to look at him without the lens, and he swats me with his towel.

I screech and Paxson chuckles. Though the sweat on him is wonderful to admire, I don't want to touch it!

"Yeah I am, but this time you're going to assist me," he says, placing the water bottle and towel on the back of his truck.

"Woah, what?" I stutter. I'm just about to formally conduct a well-thought, bullet-proof claim as to why I shouldn't help when suddenly I'm face to face with a chest: his chest. Paxon rubs the towel over his exposed body and I thank the Lord my sunglasses are tinted.

"Oh gosh, that shirt was way too damp to keep on. I'm going to stow away the lawn equipment and get ready to wash my baby," Paxson pats his truck and walks to the garage.

I continue to stand there, mouth slightly ajar and conducting the most shocking groan ever. I think I might just sink and drown and die right here on the concrete.

"Prim, you okay? You're standing over there like a statue. Need some water?" The amusement in his voice is evident, and I swear he can probably hear the beating of my heart.

I reluctantly turn to face my deepest darkest fear. The arch of his back is godly and his skin is copper-gold. The dampest of his hair is a mess and his shorts hang low on his waist. Paxson's body isn't the typical "guy-who-has-super-hot-body-for-no-reason" kind of cliche, but he's ripped enough to have a shadowed outline of muscle made from hard labor due to his job. If it wasn't for him loading heavy equipment and helping with construction, his lean body would not be so prominent. Not like Paxson needs any of that to be attractive. He'll always have this effect on me, looks or not, but this is the first time I've seen him bare-chested. Not even when swimming does he have his shirt off, but God, I wish he'd have it off more often! He's not doing this on purpose, right?

He starts to toss sponges, soap, towels, and other tools used to bathe his car into a large bucket. When his face is turned back to me, his flashy grin blinds me even with my sunglasses on.

"Well don't just stand there, Flower. Go fetch the hose, please," he says, and like a robot, I'm following his commands. I trail to the side of the house where shards of grass poke at my feet. I manage to reach the wound-up hose without stepping on any vicious ant hills. I start unwinding it to then drag it back to the front of the house.

Paxson's black truck is parked on the far right of the driveway as it waits to be squeaky clean. This truck is being pampered by the hottest guy on the planet, and it doesn't even know how lucky it is!

"Okay," I announce and drop the hose on the floor. "I helped!" I wipe my hands together in an attempt to rid of the invisible germs that hug my skin.

Paxson chuckles and the sound vibrates my soul like a symphony. He leans his back against the front of the car, arms crossed, and pouts at me with his angelic eyes.

"You're ridiculous. Please, won't you stay and help me? I get lonely washing my car all by myself."

I moan in defeat and my hands fly to my hips. "Okay, okay! I'll help you. But only because you said please." I point, but he isn't paying attention to my serious tone. Paxson's smile already stretches across his face and tugs at my heartstrings.

He pelts a sponge at me and it bounces into my hands.

"Great catch! Now I'm going to spray my baby down with water, and you'll dunk the sponge in the bucket and get cleaning. Sound like a plan?" the hose now fits in his hands.

I shrug casually, and before I can get a word out of my mouth, a wave of water crashes on me like a tsunami. The beating lasts for maybe three seconds, but it's enough to soak me to the bone. The pelting ceases and the water droplets dive down on the burning cement, instantly drinking it all up. I'm speechless, and Paxson snorts into a fit of laughter.

"What the hell!" I screech, more out of surprise than the action.

"W-what?! You looked like you were scolding hot! I did you a favor," Paxson's mischievous smile faces his car. The water sprays his "baby" and my sunglasses rest on my head.

Finding the bucket of soapy water, I mumble, "Last time I checked, the plan involved getting your baby clean, not me."

"That's exactly what I did." Paxson's voice freezes my actions and I try to keep my blush in control. I play with the sponge in my hand that's still dipped in the bucket until my body completes its mental freak-out.

Paxson casually hums some unknown tune as I splatter the sponge and its soapy juice onto the car. The foam spreads rapidly with each stroke. Paxson joins the help and sets the hose down to start on the wheels.

The humming doesn't end, and my curiosity strengthens.

"What exactly are you mumbling over there?" I'm now at the back of the car while Paxson takes the front wheel to the left. I catch him licking his lips and biting back a smile, a usual quirk when the answer is something embarrassing.

"Well, I was watching this Bollywood movie a few days ago-"

"Woah, okay pause. You still watch those silly movies?" I'm confused but not totally surprised that Paxson's fetish for Bollywood movies is still intact.

"Yes, and for your information, they are not silly, they are cultural and very nice to watch. Not to mention the contagious tunes." His eyes and hands work skillfully wiping his car, but I know his smile is just for me.

"I'm not convinced," I imply while scrubbing the mirrors. Paxson moves to the back wheel.

"How about I try to convince you? Like, say, tonight?" The uplifting shift of his voice brings the flush back into my cheeks.

"And how would you do that?" I try not to sound so flirty, but the question rolls off my tongue without further inspection.

"You, me, seven o'clock, and the living room TV as we watch my favorite Bollywood movie." I can't see his face that's covered by the truck, but I can sense the excitement and hope that electrifies the air.

"Hmm, that does sound tempting. But what's in it for me?" I stop my washing and Paxson's face comes into view. He's parallel to me, him at one wheel and me at the other, but the desire to be close lingers in the air and sneaks its way into my already burning chest.

"We got a tub of cookies 'n cream ice cream that has your name written all over it." He winks and I burst into laughter.

"Okay, you got me. I'm in. But can we hurry and finish this, 'cause I'm super cold and uncomfortable in these damp clothes."

"Oh, that does suck, huh? Good thing I know how to help you." Paxson's eyes rest on my face, his brows are raised as if he's about to give me a tip to staying warm.

"Okay, so what do I do?" The yellow ball of soap is squishy in my hands as I fiddle with it.

"First, you close your eyes."

I grin like an idiot and do as he says. "Now what?"

"Now this!"

And yet again water slaps my body, only this time it goes from my head down to my toes.

That son of a gun poured the bucket on me!

His laughter is crisp and heavy. My eyes enlarge as I see my tank top stuck to my body and my short pants sliding up my legs.

"Oh, that's it!" I scurry to the hose that lies a few feet away from me and sprays him right in the chest.

"Payback, mister!" I stick my tongue out and Paxson shakes his shaggy hair.

"Don't think you're getting away that easy," he warns and suddenly I'm being chased around the car screaming like a little girl.

I dodge where he goes and counter his moves, but Paxson is much quicker, and when he does catch me I can't contain my giggles any longer. The hose falls into his grasp and he holds it up to my face. His chest is pressed against my back and one of his arms cocoons me to him. I definitely could get used to this.

"Any last words before I annihilate you?" Paxson's breath tickles my cheek, and I try to look up at him. My eyes just land on his when he sprays us both, but the hose doesn't bind us with water. Instead, it sprinkles us like misty air.

"You really thought I'd spray you right in the face with that kind of pressure?" Paxson waves the hose like rain and I rest my head on him.

"No, you're too nice. I thought you were going to squirt yourself to be selfless." I smile at the idea. The mist dots my moist skin and I soak in the warmth of Paxson's embrace.

"You know me too well," the words slip out his mouth and trail my body but nothing happens. No spark or envy, as if I'm repelling them to be true.

I don't say a word. There's nothing to say. Paxson frees me of his hold and rinses his car from the soap bubbles. I keep my head down and the conversation dies after that. I find myself pondering why I'm not thrilled to hear him confess this. It is a comment worth blushing over, but all that's left inside me is a boiling pot of annoyance.

It takes me the rest of the time washing the car to understand why.

The reality is, it's not what he said that has me stuck in the mud, it's the fact that he claims terms of endearment, yet never follows through with it. You can tell a girl she's the best thing in the world, but if you're not willing to prove it, all that talk is nothing more than an empty promise, a cheap dollar bill; all for show and worth nothing. But I guess even he has the right to the "it's complicated" phrase since after all, our relationship is fragile.

I let the rest of the car wash experience be silent and productive. It's not until we're cleaning up that Paxson speaks again.

"So, are we still on for tonight?" Those hazel eyes gleam and I force myself to look away.

"Yeah, we're still on. Promise."

For the rest of the day, I'm a wreck in my room, pacing back and forth with heavy feet. I want to say something to Paxson, to confront him about everything so far. It would be the perfect moment. His mom will be upstairs sleeping for her early shift tomorrow, the siblings will be upstairs doing God knows what, and Paxson's crazy uncle always works overtime on Sundays.

Since Priscilla's party a week ago, Paxson and I have entered a new form of friendship, and it's one that I can't afford to lose, though I'm not sure what it means exactly. This is why it's so important to me to figure it all out. I desperately want closure and truth. Does he really want me? Or is he caught up in the moment? And when I say "want me" what I really mean is "does he want to pick back up where we left off?"

The sheer thought of being with him again is the definition of heaven. After everything that's happened in the course of a year, I would've never in a million years guessed that he'd want me again. I longed to rewind time and live in his arms one last time, to savor those passionate eyes and sneaky kisses on the cheek. Now that the chance to have those moments back into my life has arrived, I can hardly contain myself.

But as I repetitively pace my room for reassurance, a memory comes to mind and travels to some advice my mother said to me what feels like forever ago. She had just caught me crying in my room. I told her it was because of Fabien's moving when honestly it was about Paxson's breakup with me. Still, her tender hand caressed the covers I hid under and her whisper echoed through my ears.

"You can let a man build you up, but still manage enough strength to hold yourself together once he leaves. That way the man knows you loved him, and that you also loved yourself."

Lo and behold, my mother was right, and admitting to that now stabs my chest and reopens a wound I've become a master at hiding. I don't want to think about her and the family I had before, so I don't. That way I'll never be depressed about it. That way no one can see how unstable I really am.

Why is it people's words become more valuable once they're dead?

A knock on my door has me jump in surprise and flinch at the noise.

"Prim, you ready for the movie?" Paxson's muffled voice shakes me awake, and on impulse, I open the door.

"Yeah, let's see how good these things are."

I gather the tub of ice cream and a nice fluffy blanket before the movie starts. Paxson is casually resting one arm on the edge of the couch while the other is raised on the top of it over my head. He crosses his left leg over the other and bops his head to the sound of the intro music.

As for me, my entire focus is centered on scooping ice cream in my mouth. I have my legs curled up on the couch and only my hands and head are in sight. If I'm going to watch a movie, I'm going to do it right!

"So, what even is the name of this movie?" I say in between bites of cold and sweet joy.

"The name is Taal, and it's a masterpiece made in the 90s," Paxson answers without taking his attention off the screen. It's very odd for someone like him to be so attached to these sorts of movies, especially the romance type, but I do find it rather cute that he takes interest in the culture of Indian movies, I just won't ever say it out loud.

By the middle of the movie, I'm stuffed with ice cream. I set the box down on the floor and snuggle deeper into the blanket. Paxson has barely moved or said a word. Sometimes he'll mention when a good part is coming or some spoiler about a character. If it was anyone else, they'd be upset to know, but honestly, I could care less. I let him speak his mind and say what he wants. I simply admire his dedication to the movie.

At a certain part of the movie, Paxson sighs and lets his hand drop from the top of the couch. Warmth and sparks charge my hand and I look down to find that his hand fell on mine. He immediately pulls away.

"I'm sorry."

I blink at the screen, speechless. The heat of his body radiates toward me, and my mind screams for his comfort and aches for his touch again. Though the playfulness and jokes of today had much more action and contact, this moment carries more emotion and depth within. The layers of unspoken words and unfinished meanings pile between us, and I find it harder to swallow.

From the corner of my eye, I peek to see Paxson's eyebrows crease together. His Adam's apple quivers, and there's a heaviness in his chest that rises and falls to the beat of his heart.

Was this "movie date" really to watch the movie, or to be with me? Or the opposite. Maybe it was to see how he can handle being near me and if he can learn to control and get over my presence. My head drifts downward and my eyes water.

No, don't you dare get all sappy, you stupid girl! Get a grip, Prim!

"Your hand," Paxson's words crack. His head dips low to catch sight of my hand still paralyzed from his touch.

"It was cold," he finishes a beat after.

"I'm cold-blooded." I snap, waiting for him to agree with my statement. He called me cold-blooded once when we fought, and I've come to the conclusion that he was right.

His lips mesh together, eyes still locked on my hand. "You know what they say," Paxson's hand slowly gravitates towards mine and I catch my breath.

"Cold hands," his fingers trace my palm and I shiver. "Warm heart." And our hands interlock.

The instant confrontation of grace and cheer erupts inside me. A melody of all the stars and light melts into one. The intensity yet gifted relief of my hand in his has my heart bursting with life. All the scars fade, all the pain subsides, and what's left is the girl I was before. Except for this time she's more aware and active of the present, and living in the now. This Prim wants to cherish what she has at the moment, and let time worry about the future.

Maybe I won't need to talk to him after the movie, maybe this is all that I need. And maybe, just maybe, he really wants to wait out the storm, to be patient until the time is right. The Ice Queen may be out of the picture, but the countless amount of problems still block our way of being together, if that's what he wants. It's what I want, it's what I crave.

One thing's certain though; with my hand holding his, we could fight off every obstacle, crush all the hate, survive every tragedy, and carry the world with our bare hands. We're unstoppable.

So when Paxson squeezes my hand tighter and allows my head to find solace on his shoulder, I know he feels it too, and is willing to get through all of the issues we may face together.

That one pulse of energy says more than a thousand words.

Thank you to my continuing readers and new buddies who have joined! I cannot express my gratitude enough!