Chapter 15 #3
I kind of expect him to say thank you, but he doesn’t. It’s fair, of course. He can never learn to hear, but I can do this, and not just for him, but for the new people Robbie and Thom have brought into my life.
Rome traces his fingertips on the table for a second. ‘Do I get an A for that?’
I scoff. ‘No. You need to work harder to be a teacher’s pet.’
He glowers at me, then flips me off, so I give him another -1.
“Dick,” he says aloud.
It’s so unexpected I burst into laughter, and I can’t ignore the little pleased look he has on his face.
The moment settles, and then he brings his fingers to his chin and tips them down. ‘Thank you.’
‘Why?’
‘You never ask me to speak.’
Oh. It never really occurred to me to do that, but I’m not sure how to say that without it sounding like I’m patting myself on the back, so I just smile at him and hope he understands that I want to meet him more than halfway in this. Because he deserves it.
The food comes before the moment can get more awkward, and we make more small talk as we eat.
Italian is easy now that I’ve gotten better at one-handed signing.
Although, one time, Thom invited me over for a barbeque with ribs and roasted corn, and I discovered that conversation like that got messy.
And kind of gross.
I twirl fettuccine noodles around my fork and take a massive bite, watching Rome as he cuts his chicken into neurotic, bite-sized pieces, then scoops them up and dumps them on his salad.
‘What?’ he demands as I watch.
My lips twitch. ‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t judge me.’ He stuffs a huge bite into his mouth and chews obnoxiously.
I put the notebook on my lap, and when he tries to take a peek, I shake my head at him.
‘No more cheating,’ I tell him.
I don’t want him to see how he’s doing for the rest of the date.
He gives me an exasperated look but refills my wine with a little flourish, and he smiles when I give him a Deaf clap.
‘You learn that in Paris?’
He snorts and eases back. ‘No. In Paris, we drink right from the bottle. Eat baguette right out of the paper bag on the street.’ He describes it with his hands, his expressions so on point it’s hard to keep my composure. I feel soft all over.
Happy.
‘Did you like it there?’
He considers this for a moment, then shrugs. ‘It’s beautiful. Some people were fun. Nice,’ he clarifies. ‘But no one felt like home.’
God, I know that feeling. I’d tried to leave this little town more than once when I was younger, but I’ve never felt settled. It always felt like I was meant to be here. Like something—someone—was waiting for me.
I don’t want to believe it’s Rome because I’m not foolish, but god, what if it is?
I swallow a mouthful of wine and dig into my eggplant. The conversation stalls, but the silence is more comfortable this time. Halfway through the meal, I feel a tap on my foot and realize it’s him. When I smile, he doesn’t move his feet away.
Another +1 in the book.
We decide to skip dessert, both of us too full to bother, and he pays the bill, which earns him his final mark of the night. I close the notepad and tuck it into my back pocket, and as we’re heading out, he leans closer to me.
He doesn’t take my hand as much as I wish he would, but when we sway into each other, he doesn’t pull back.
It’s soft. Tender in ways I wasn’t expecting from him. It’s tempting me to break my rule about fucking him again because my want for his body has been simmering just under my skin all night.
But if I want this to go right—if I want to make this something more than it has been—we have to change things.
He gets the passenger-side door for me, and I smile as I get in, settling in my seat as we make the drive back home. It’s as quiet as the end of dinner, and it allows me to watch him instead of watching out for red lights and slowing cars, but I don’t mind.
It’s easy like this.
A line of tension only starts to grow between us when we reach my place. He pulls into the guest spot near my condo and puts the car in park, but he doesn’t turn it off.
He’s definitely getting a fucking demerit if he’s going to drop me at the curb like a sack of rotten potatoes. But he doesn’t. He gets out, walks to my door, then offers me a hand, his palm turned up.
I smile, thinking he might pull me in for a hug, but just before I lean into his chest, I feel his hand slip into my back pocket, snatching the notepad.
“Hey!” I shout, unthinking.
He lets out a crow of triumph and hops three steps back before flipping the cover open and reading his results. The next sound he makes is one of outrage. ‘C minus? That’s all?’
‘You’re lucky it wasn’t a D. You got a lot of negative points,’ I tell him.
He pulls a face. ‘Grade me on a curve.’
I burst into laughter. ‘You’ve been friends with Robbie for too long.’
At that, he sobers a little and nods. ‘Maybe, yes.’
There’s something there—something still a little sore, I think. I’m not going to tap on that bruise though. Instead, I step closer, snatch the book back from him, and shove it back into my pocket.
‘Try harder next time.’
His brows fly up. ‘Next time. You want another date?’
I feel a sudden wave of insecurity. ‘If you don’t—’
‘I do,’ he signs quickly, then curls his fingers around my wrists and tugs my hands down. He looks at my lips as he releases one hand to ask, ‘Do I get anything for a C minus?’
I tap my lips in thought and he scoffs. ‘C minus means…’ My fingers flutter in between us, and his eyes lock on them, then back on my eyes as he waits. His impatience is tangible. Like a heavy fog in the air I can almost taste. ‘Kiss.’
He groans in irritation, but he takes my cheeks between his palms, pulling me in toward him. But I stop him, holding up a finger, knocking it back and forth, and shaking my head no.
‘What? What’s wrong?’ he demands.
I draw his hands down to my hips and squeeze for him to stay there. He does, beautifully obedient. Then I take his chin between my fingers in a light pinch and draw him in.
Closer. Closer—and slower.
His eyes close, and I feel him suck in a breath.
Going up slightly onto my toes to close the tiny height gap between us, I lick my lips…then press them to the center of his forehead before stepping back.
His eyes fly open, and he looks dazed.
‘That,’ I tell him.
His eyes widen further as he comes back to himself. ‘That! Serious?’
I shrug and repeat, ‘Try harder next time.’
He growls loudly, then shoves away from me and stalks back to the car. I start to feel a tiny pulse of regret, but before it can consume me, he’s suddenly back, taking me by the waist and backing me up against the door.
His lips hover over mine—a hairsbreadth away. I can feel his exhale—smell the spices on it. He noses along my cheek, my jawline, over my chin, and then he pulls back.
‘Prepare yourself for next time,’ he signs in between us.
Then, before I can blink, he shoves me back toward the sidewalk, gets in his car, and pulls out of the spot.
I’m unable to move as I watch the lights on his car disappear into the fading darkness, and a single tremor rushes through my body. Next time, he promised.
And I think he’s actually going to keep it.