Chapter 15 #2
‘Because when you left the way you did, that was…’ I try to remember what a good sign for shitty would be, but I’m a little frazzled by my courage to actually ask that question at all. I settle for, ‘Mean.’
He winces. ‘Sorry.’
I wait, but…I think that’s all I’m going to get. I reach for the pen again, and he makes a loud, irritated noise and smacks my hand away from the paper.
‘It’s complicated.’ He slows the car as a strip mall comes into view. I’ve never been here before. I expected him to take me to one of the Deaf-owned spots in town, but maybe he’s ashamed to be seen with me in front of people he knows.
That makes my stomach churn. I want to mark him negative a billion for that, but I’m going to wait and see if that’s actually true. Maybe I’m catastrophizing. Maybe he’s taking me to a nice little hole-in-the-wall with amazing home-cooked food.
He pulls into a spot and doesn’t wait for me to get out as he opens his door and slams it behind him. I’m about to be really irritated, but then he wrenches my door open and stands off to the side.
He gets half a point for that. He glowers at me, and I send him a wink. Well. He’s broken even now.
When we make it to the small café, he holds the door open again, and I give him another half a point for his effort.
The eye roll he gives me makes me want to take it away, but I decide to be nice.
Inside, the place smells like Italian herbs, and red-checkered, vinyl tablecloths assault my eyes the moment we walk in.
The hostess looks like she died five years ago and is being puppetted around by a necromancer. She smiles cigarette-yellow teeth at us.
“Table for two?”
I look over at Rome, and he grimaces. ‘Speak for me, please?’
I can do that. “Yes. Somewhere with decent lighting if you have it.”
She looks like she has no idea what I’m saying, but she takes us to the brightest table in the dimly lit restaurant. It’s a little corner spot with two rickety chairs and a single unlit candle next to an old bottle of even older powdered parmesan cheese.
What is this place?
Rome starts to sit, then freezes and huffs before walking around and pulling my chair out. He gets a full point for that.
He’s quite the grumpy gentleman when he wants to be. It’s so fucking endearing. I love it, but it’s also doing dangerous things to my heart.
I take a seat and set the notebook off to the side as Rome takes a seat opposite me. Our feet bump under the table, and my heart flutters in my chest. Funny how we’ve sucked each other off, but the simple act of footsie has me blushing.
‘So, how do you know about this place?’ I ask, and Rome peers around.
‘Saw it online. Got good reviews.’
‘Not Deaf-friendly,’ I say, and he sighs.
‘Yeah, but you’re hearing, so I thought you’d like it.’
I cock my head at him and open that notebook. His gaze flicks down to it, and I give him a +1 for that.
‘For-for?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘Admitting I’m hearing and you’re still on a date with me.’
He scowls at me, and I lock our ankles together under the table, loving the contact. His cheeks flush as menus are placed in front of us, and I glance down at it. Everything is in Italian, and I have no idea what most of it is.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the server asks, his Italian accent thick.
I lift my hands and my eyebrows and ask, ‘Drink?’
Rome glances down at the menu and then back up at me. ‘Wine?’
I nod.
‘What kind do you recommend?’ Rome asks, and I immediately go into interpreter mode.
Not that I’m trained in any of this, but I’ve been around Deaf people for the last three years and have had plenty of casual practice.
I really want Rome to have the best access to communication that he can have on our date. Even with my limited skills.
If he were grading me, I’d want an A+.
“What kind of wine do you recommend?” I ask, and the server rattles off a few choices, my fingers struggling to keep up and most likely butchering the names, but I manage well enough, and Rome understands.
We decide on an expensive red, and when the server walks off, he meets my gaze. ‘Since when have you gotten so good at interpreting?’
‘Since I’ve been practicing with friends.’
His tongue peeks out, wetting his lips. ‘You’re good at it.’
‘Are you just saying that so you can get a positive mark in my book?’
He glances at it and rolls his eyes, making me grin. ‘You want an appetizer?’ he asks instead of answering me.
I glance down at it and then wrinkle my nose. ‘I don’t know what most of this is. Hold.’
I snap a picture on my phone, send it onto the internet for translation, and then show it to him.
‘What about this one?’ He points at the menu.
‘The Frittelle di Fiori di Zucca?’ I ask, my fingers trailing off at the end, as he obviously got the point.
‘Yes.’
‘Sounds delicious. But it’s zucchini. Does it remind you of Michael? Of what we were doing when he hit you with one?’ I meet his gaze, and his cheeks turn an even darker red.
‘Fuck you,’ he mouths, and I smile widely as he shifts in his seat.
The server comes back, uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring it lavishly into our glasses.
I stare at it, dripping down the inside of the glass.
That means it’s good, right? If it sticks to the glass, it means it has a higher alcohol content.
I try to think back to the Deaf Wine and Sign class I took with Robbie and Thom last year.
All I remember is tasting too much of it and stumbling out afterward.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Rome asks.
“The wine,’ I reply and then pick up my glass, swirling it around and taking a sip.
He stares at it, watching my throat as I swallow. My cock perks up slightly at the sight of him watching me.
‘Taste. It’s good,’ I tell him.
He does what I say, putting the glass to his lips and taking a small sip. ‘Tastes the same as cheap wine.’
I let out a laugh, the table across from us looking our way. ‘Well, next date, I’ll make sure you have some boxed wine for your sophisticated French palate.’
‘That’s saying I want to go on another date with you,’ Rome retorts, and I kick at him slightly under the table before making a mark in my notebook.
It’s not a favorable one, and he sees it.
He purses his lips, and it takes everything within me not to lean forward and kiss him. But no, I can’t do that. Not when he hasn’t scored enough points to earn it.
Thankfully, the server appears to take our orders. I haven’t really had a lot of time to look at the menu or the translation of it, so I settle on the first thing that appeals, and Rome gets something that I think might be a Tuscan dish. To be honest, none of it matters.
I’m just happy to be here with him.
To see him actually trying means something important. I’m too scared to put a name to what that is, but I feel it in my chest.
The server clears his throat, giving Rome the same anxious look I’ve seen on hearing people’s faces when I’m out with my Deaf friends, but he doesn’t act like an ass. “Anything else?”
I glance at Rome to interpret the question, and he lifts his hands. ‘Not now, but please, leave the bottle.’
Rome’s gaze dips to my lips as they move as I speak aloud what he requested.
As the server walks off, I twist the glass stem between my fingers, swirling the wine around once more. I’m still holding his gaze as I take another long drink, and he holds my eye contact.
Silence drags on, and I wait for him to give me something else.
It’s clear he expects me to keep the conversation going, so I lift my hand to make another negative mark, but he stops me with a hand laid on top of mine.
‘Stop it.’
‘No.’ I pause and then run my thumb across the side of his hand. ‘You need to work for what you want.’
He stares intently at me. ‘I don’t work hard to get laid. I can go out and get any guy at a club anytime I want.’
I don’t doubt that’s true. He’s fucking gorgeous, but it still hurts to see those signs on his hands. I pull away from his grasp and move to the notebook, slashing a gigantic -1 on the paper. I really want him to see that he’s near zero again.
I need him to show me he can actually give a shit about something other than my skills with my dick and tongue. That’s all I fucking want.
He huffs, then says, ‘Want to talk more about Paris?’
I swallow heavily. ‘I want to talk more about the night you left.’
Rome bites his lip, and his gaze darts off to the side for a second.
He sighs again. I enjoy the little unthinking noises he makes, but I don’t draw attention to it.
Denver explained once that some people have a weird fetish for the Deaf accent, and I know that Rome has had a bad experience with a hearing ex.
So did he do that? Did he make him feel like a thing? An object? Does he think I’ll be the same?
Rome meets my eyes again. ‘I have a rule.’
I nod.
‘No hearing men.’
My stomach twists. He doesn’t need to reiterate that. I’ve known it from the beginning, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to drive that point home to hurt me.
Part of me wants to mark him down for that out of spite, but that’s not fair. He’s allowed to have preferences. Before I can say anything, the server returns and drops the appetizer on the table and then leaves before either of us can ask for anything else.
If I could grade the server, I’d give him a big, glaring F.
Instead, I focus on the food. I drag a few pieces of zucchini onto my small plate, and Rome does the same. Silence is heavy between us as he takes a bite, and then he swipes his fingers on his pants.
‘Hearing people don’t understand,’ he tells me, his words slightly abrupt. ‘Not me, not what it’s like to be Deaf. Always prioritize hearing, speech, sound. Act like I can’t do anything for myself.’
‘I did that?’ I ask him.
He blinks for a second, and then his jaw goes tight, and he shakes his head no. ‘But you didn’t know my language.’
‘I do now. I worked hard.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m here tonight.’