Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
TAHEGIN ELLINGSWORTH
Hendrix’s face does change now. It’s minuscule, but his brows move slightly closer together, and his lips part the tiniest bit. “My what?” His voice is low. Gravelly. The kind I’d love to hear while in a bedroom—in a different situation, that is. “Wait, you think Micah and I are . . .”
My expression mirrors his but with more emotion. “Y’all aren’t?”
“Why would you think?—”
“Well, because your jersey?—”
“But I’m not even?—”
“You aren’t? But you kissed Aleks?—”
“To shut him up. It wasn’t— I’m not— I mean, I’m straight.”
I gape. Then have to clarify, just to be sure. “You’re straight.”
He nods.
“But you let me fall asleep cuddling you.”
One eyebrow ticks upward, the smallest of movements. “I thought it was a hug.”
Heat warms my cheeks, and I’m thankful my bronze skin hides the blush spreading across my face. Still, I nervously press cool fingers to my cheeks and grin sheepishly. “Uh . . . yeah. Well, that’s all it was. I was sick and didn’t mean to fall asleep, and then Kiss said— Hey, wait. Why have you been ignoring me this week?”
It’s his turn to blush, the rouge color blooming beneath his fair skin, clear as day. “Oh, Micah—he’s my, um, my Aleks, I guess. Anyway, he said since you’re gay?—”
“Bi,” I correct.
He nods. “Right. Micah said since you’re bi, me staying the night—in your bed—might have meant something, um, different to you. I wasn’t sure how to navigate that, so I thought I’d do what I do best.”
“Ignore me?”
His response is an almost soundless “Yeah.”
“So . . . why did you come up here with me? Weren’t you worried I’d try to have my wicked way with you?”
Hendrix snorts. “Not after Micah informed me of your type .”
That is not the response I expect to receive. “My type?”
“Your family is apparently very talkative.”
Mortified, I collapse backward on my bed with a loud groan, arms covering my face. “My parents did not tell your friend about my dating preferences.”
“Actually.” He smacks his teeth. I feel the bed dip beside me, but I don’t bother removing my arms, not even to pull my shirt down where it has ridden up my torso. “I think it was your sister who spilled the tea about Micah looking like one of your ex-boyfriends.”
“So, you’re taking dating advice from an eight-year-old deaf girl?”
“Eight-year-old girl who is deaf.”
I peek at him from beneath my arm. “That’s what I said.”
“Hmph.”
“No, no, no.” I prop myself up on my elbows and meet his enigmatic gaze. “Don’t do that shit where you don’t care enough to tell me what you’re thinking. I thought we were past this, Rix.” Leaning to the side, I nudge him with my shoulder and give him a crooked grin—the one I hate but that comes more naturally to me. “Say it.”
He sighs but nods in acceptance. “When it comes to someone and their disability, it is correct—and polite—to use people-first descriptions. The disability does not define the person, so why would we address the disability first?”
I take a second to go over his words and the different ways we both said what had seemed like the same thing. Is there . . . really a correct way to refer to my sister and her deafness? Why didn’t I know that before now? “She’s been my sister for nearly six years. How did I not know that?” I fall to my back once more, unable to hold myself up in light of this realization, and put my hands over my face. “ Fuck . I am a horrible brother. I haven’t even learned sign language yet. I— Hey!” I sit up—so fast my head rushes—and quickly pin Hendrix with desperate and pleading eyes. “Do you think Micah would teach me? Mom suggested it, and I . . . I need to learn. It would be easier with a teacher. I’ll pay him.”
Surprise flickers in his stormy gaze. “You don’t know ASL?”
I shake my head with shame. “I’ve been meaning to, but college was so overwhelming. Then I was drafted, and football took up so much time . . . It’s no excuse, hence my being a horrible brother. Do you think he would help me?”
“Oh, he would swipe up the chance immediately,” Hendrix snorts as if the idea amuses him. “But Micah only knows basic stuff, plus he’s busy with trying to kick-start his business.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I could teach you.”
I shoot him an incredulous look. “ You know sign language?”
He has the nerve to look indignant as his hands come up and move so assuredly I have no doubt he knows what he is doing.
I take a moment to stare at him, awestruck. “Holy shit, dude. What the hell did you just sign?”
“I said—” He repeats the gestures, slower, while interpreting them aloud. “ My name is Hendrix Avery. I have a bachelor’s degree in ASL. ” He grins— actually grins. “ I will be your teacher. ”
A bachelor’s in sign language? That’s a real thing? And my teammate—my newly made friend—went to college to study the very thing I need to learn in order to communicate with my sister. What are the odds . . .
Hendrix’s hands fall to his lap. “Micah was my roommate through college. We became friends—reluctantly on my part—and some nights, he would stay up late to help me practice some signs. That’s how he knows a few things. Enough to get by.”
“Wow, that’s—” I’m not even sure what I want to say, too shocked to form a solid sentence. “Will you teach me?”
His right hand raises and . . . knocks on air?
“What does that mean?”
“Seriously?” He gapes. “It means yes . It’s literally one of the first signs they teach you. We have a lot of work to do.”
“Can we start now?” Inspiration—and anticipation—has me amped up enough to lean over and lay a hand on Hendrix’s knee. It’s a harmless gesture, but I catch his slight flinch. I quickly pull my hand away. “Sorry, sorry.”
“No—” He catches my wrist and moves it back to his knee. It’s an . . . odd move since I wouldn’t have normally left my hand there for any amount of time, but I understand what he is trying to express. “I still need help getting used to contact, and you need an ASL teacher. So, we can help each other. Right?”
I nod eagerly. “Yes, and sorry for suggesting starting now. I know there’s a party going on downstairs, which is way more fun.”
Hendrix scrunches his nose in disgust, and it is honestly the cutest thing he has ever done. “I’d rather not be downstairs.”
“Oh.” I remember he came with someone to the party, even though that feels like hours ago. “Will Micah be okay by himself down there?”
He lets out a bark of laughter, and it’s so contagious that I give a half smile in return. “We left a flaming gay with multiple shirtless NFL players.”
A moment passes where we both stare at each other, and then together, we announce, “He’s fine.” That has us chuckling, Hendrix flashing a nice set of teeth I rarely get to see and—holy shit—a dimple .
Screw whatever Willow told Micah—she has only met one of my boyfriends, and he was a college fling—Hendrix is my type. I have thought so since the day I saw him at tryouts. Finding out he’s straight is a sad moment for all the gay and bisexual men of the world.
Still, the knowledge settles the question in my gut, and I know our friendship will always remain just that. Friendship.
Which means cuddling can be fair game.
“Okay, so we’re helping each other. Starting now?” I ask a little too excitedly and squeeze his knee.
Hendrix tips his chin, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like an I-don’t-care-to-answer nod but like a regular okay-let’s-do-it nod.
“We can work on contact while you teach me. I’m going to change into some comfy clothes. Do you want pajama pants or athletic shorts?” I slide off the bed and step inside my closet to dig through my dresser. I’m slipping on a pair of joggers when Hendrix says he’ll take a pair of lounge pants.
When I return to the bedroom, I toss a pair of simple black pajama pants his way. I’d guessed at his preferred type and am rewarded with a tiny smile for my efforts. Small victories.
Sharing locker rooms with guys is one thing. It’s a different headspace, it always smells, and the atmosphere is very public. It is nothing like now, as Hendrix shrugs out of his flannel and slips off his jeans. He’s wearing long boxer briefs, the kind that hug tight to the thighs, butt, and?—
I gulp, wide eyes darting quickly away. It seems Aleks was spot-on with his BDE assumption.
“All right. Where do you want me?” he asks, and God, that is exactly what I don’t need to hear at this moment.
“On the bed,” I tell him, turning toward it so my back is to him. Those words don’t help either, so I reach down and adjust myself into a more discreet position before he appears in my peripheral. “Sit up against the headboard and, uh, spread your legs.” Fuck me , that really doesn’t help my situation. Nor does the way Hendrix obeys my command without question, spreading those thick thighs of his wide with all the flexibility of a professional athlete. I take a heavy breath to calm myself. He’s straight. “Okay, I’m going to sit with my back to your chest, and you can show me the signs with our hands in front of us. Sound good?”
“Sure.” He spreads his legs wider, getting comfortable, getting ready . . . for me.
Goddamnit, Tahegin.
“If you have a laptop, bring it to the bed,” he tells me.
Do not think sinful thoughts, Tahegin. But, oh, the things we could do with a laptop in that bed with us . . .
I grab my computer from the desk in the corner, using it to cover my crotch as I walk to the bed and climb on. With my back to Hendrix’s front, it’s a little easier to hide my problem, and I am very glad I didn’t choose for this to be the other way around. If Hendrix was the one leaning back on me . . . Shit, he would feel every single vein of my cock pressed against him.
Clearing his throat, Hendrix reaches around me, wraps his arms across my middle, and pulls me in flush against him. “There,” he grunts. “Comfy?”
“Mhm.” My voice is way too high.
“Okay, grab your laptop,” he instructs, his legs folding in gently beside mine. “Set it up to record so you have study material.”
Setting the laptop on the bed, I open the camera application and adjust the angle so both Hendrix and I are in the frame, then press Play on the video. “Now what?”
Hendrix takes my hand, and I ignore the way my pulse stutters. “Now, you learn the alphabet.”
One by one, letter by letter, he shows me the correct signs. He uses his hand to manipulate mine, though I’m pretty sure that isn’t standard practice in a classroom. Still, I’m thankful for the extra help because between my blood still rushing south and my inability to keep my gaze off Hendrix’s face on the camera screen, I’m pretty sure I am not retaining a single thing from this session—probably can’t even copy a sign by myself if he held it up in front of me.
I know— I know —he said he is straight. Maybe it’s been too long since I’ve been with anyone, and that’s why I’m reacting the way I am. Yes, Aleks put the idea in my head, and yes, Hendrix is totally my type, but it is never going to happen. I need to get over this before my heart decides to make it a thing. Besides, dating a teammate is not a good idea. Been there, done that.
So, to the best of my ability, I ignore my raging hard-on and try to relax. I don’t realize how rigid I’m sitting until my back curves into the natural bow of Hendrix’s chest, abs, and hips. The movement has him adjusting as well, settling further down against the headboard, taking me with him until I’m half lying down on him.
His chin rests on my shoulder, his mouth taking up residence beside my ear. Confident, pale fingers work their way around my much darker hand, folding my middle and ring fingers down while pushing my other two up and my thumb out. Then, his low, rumbling voice murmurs in my ear again. “I love you.”
I startle, pulse skyrocketing. “What?”
Hot breath rushes over the side of my face and neck as he huffs, though I can’t tell if it’s from annoyance or amusement. “This is the sign for I love you . You . . . you really haven’t learned this one?” His hand stills on mine, and instead of watching me through the camera screen as he has been, he turns his head to face me now. We are too close. “Why haven’t you . . . I mean, it’s been years, Tahegin.”
Expecting to hear harsh judgment in his tone, I’m surprised when I can’t find any. He sounds curious and a bit like he’s suspicious there is a deeper reason for my procrastination.
I turn my hand in Hendrix’s, absently running the tips of my fingers across his trimmed nails and tracing the lines on his palm—anything to distract myself from the words bubbling up in my chest. “Would you believe me if I said I was nervous about not being perfect at something?”
“No” is his immediate response to my bitter question. He’s still facing me, and the word bounces off my cheek when he says it.
Honestly, I’m shocked, and the emotion is clear when I ask, “Really? Why? Two weeks ago, you would have?—”
“We weren’t friends two weeks ago. I thought I hated you.” Finally, he moves, his head falling back against the wall, but I have a feeling this conversation is far from over. He’s simply getting comfortable.
“And now you don’t?” I murmur, tracing the veins over the back of his hands with my finger. He has his arm draped over a bent knee, and the warmth of his leg against my side is soothing.
He hums contemplatively. “Jury’s still out.”
I chuckle, just for a second, then sober a moment before the truth spills out. “You know those personality tests they’d make us take in grade school? Some would tell you the best way to make friends or how to study and learn.”
“Always thought they were stupid.”
That brings an authentically crooked grin to my face. “Of course you did.”
“Let me guess, you’re a type B personality?” He sounds as if he might be smiling, too, and a glance at the computer screen confirms the tiniest quirk of his lips.
“Not always,” I whisper more to myself than him. “Anyway, one test we took—it seemed like the teachers gave it to us every year—told us how we learn and how best to teach us. I don’t know if my parents just forgot when they told me to learn sign language, but . . .” Pausing to swallow against the lump in my throat, I power through. “I’m an auditory learner. I have to hear it, repeat it, be told how to do it, discuss it, ask questions . . . And I— What if I can’t learn ASL? It’s literally the opposite of auditory learning. What if I try and try and try and fail and fail and fail?”
Hendrix sighs gently against the back of my neck. “Tahegin.” When I don’t respond, his hand begins to move, and I quickly interlace our fingers to not lose the comforting contact. Undeterred by my action, Hendrix brings his thumb and forefinger to my chin and turns my head nearly as far as it will go so we’re facing each other. Very close. “T.”
My eyes feel watery as I meet his stormy ones, but the look he’s giving me is far from what I expect to see. There is no pity in his gaze, nothing to indicate I’m being ridiculous. He actually appears to be sympathetic to the situation.
“I’m going to help you, okay?” he assures in a soft voice. His arms tighten around me, not restricting, just here . “And you’re going to help me, right?”
For some reason, I believe him when he says it. “Thank you, Rix.”
That earns me another lip twitch, but no more words are spoken on the matter. Instead, he goes back to showing me the alphabet signs—starting at the very beginning again—and this time, I realize he is being more verbal about it. He tells me which fingers are where and why they go there. Like, the sign for “I love you” is a combination of the letters I , L , and Y displayed all together at the same time.
And that is the most help anyone has ever given me when it comes to learning something new.
The brick in my chest that is always present when I think about my sister lightens just a little with every letter I memorize, and I begin to feel like I can do this. For Willow, and all thanks to Hendrix.