Page 1 of Kiss-Fist (Deaf Hearts #1)

CHAPTER ONE

ROBBIE

There’s nothing like a single email threatening to destroy your entire life. And that was how my Wednesday started.

Granted, I might be a little dramatic, considering the email was about the shithole apartment I was renting and how they were going condo.

It was an offer to me to put in a bid to buy my place, as though I wanted to invest in a third-floor dump with seventeen-year-old carpet, a bathroom faucet that only works every other weekend, and stained linoleum decorating the kitchen floor.

Buying the apartment wouldn’t grant me access to a renovation like they were doing to the rest of the complex. I’d have to buy as is, and maybe the price would be cheaper, but it would be worth it.

Or so they’re trying to tell me.

Honestly, where I live is in a shit part of town with a long commute to work and no freeway access for miles. That means dealing with the slow-as-fuck traffic lights and the ancient town residents who think going fifteen under the speed limit is too fast.

The way my blood pressure rises each morning, I think I may need medication to counteract it. I don’t think what the complex offered me covered the cost of my rising health insurance.

Honestly, the decision would be easy if I were an easier man. But I’m not. I’m an uptight, set-in-his-ways college professor heading toward middle age.

And I’m also Deaf.

That wouldn’t matter in this situation, but there are little pockets of our city that have a higher Deaf population.

And fuck would it be nice to have neighbors who might know my language instead of watching them shout at me as though that’s suddenly going to cure me of my profound, from birth, lack of hearing.

Most of my Deaf friends and family all live on the east side—which, consequently, is where I work. So maybe this is a blessing?

Maybe this is a great reason to move?

But god damn it, I hate change. And more than hating change, I hate moving. The boxes, the culling of long-accumulated stuff, organizing and deciding what stays and what goes?

I’d rather paper cut myself with cardboard than deal with that.

Which is why I suffered with rot and mold and incompetent maintenance staff for the better part of a decade. Because I can be content when I’m forced to.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the bathroom light flicker off just as the door opens, and he steps out.

Rome.

I’ve known him just about forever. Or, at least, most of my professional adult life. We met one night at the only bar in town that caters to the Deaf community. It was my second week on the job at the community college, and I was on the verge of quitting.

Then he slid up next to me at the bar, gave me his sign name, and asked me if I wanted him to suck my dick. Rome was hot—thick black hair, lips that looked like he could deliver on his promises, dark, narrow eyes, a jawline that could cut glass.

It was an easy yes. He slipped me his number after, and somewhere between meeting up to defile a night club bathroom stall and now, we became friends with the occasional benefit.

We’re not exactly a match though. He rarely sleeps over—only when he’s too drunk or too exhausted to drive home. Our personalities clash, and the only thing we really see eye to eye on is the fact that we’d rather touch an exposed electrical wire with our bare hands than date a hearing person.

And I know that sounds awful, but I’ve tried it in the past, and it always ends in disaster. It’s a nice, comforting topic to bitch about over several glasses of wine, like a warm-up before I pin him to the bed and rearrange his insides with my dick.

Or he does to me. I’m not picky.

Rome is not the person I feel like seeing right now though. I’m late for a meeting at work, and now I have to deal with this fuck-ass apartment complex making my life even more difficult.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, his big-knuckled hand tapping his chin.

‘Nothing.’

He stares at me and rolls his eyes. ‘Liar.’

I’m not going to tell him. I just point at his pants, and as he grabs them, I realize I’m getting kind of tired of this. The sex is still good, but it’s not fulfilling the way it used to be back when I was a fresh graduate, finally out from under the weight of my dissertation.

I want something…more. Something steady. Something permanent. Something that doesn’t feel temporary the way this apartment now does.

‘I need to leave.’

‘I can lock up,’ Rome tells me, grabbing his keys from the nightstand.

I don’t know why it bothers me that he has a key to my place. I gave it to him last time I went out of town and needed help watering my plants. ‘I’ll take it back now.’

He doesn’t look offended, which is maybe the reason I feel like this has run its course. He twists the key off the loop and sets it down beside my phone. ‘Text me later?’

‘I’m going to be busy for a while.’ This comes across like a cop-out, but it’s not not true. Not only do I have classes weighing down on me to the point I want to cry, but now I have to look for a new place to live.

All this change is going to put me in an early grave.

Rome cocks his head to the side, tapping a y hand shape in the air—a sign that can be interpreted as ‘oh I see.’ His lips make their little ‘peh-peh’ motion as he signs it. ‘If you change your mind, you know my number.’

I’m not going to tell him that won’t happen.

Fuck only knows when I’ll need a good distraction again.

Like I said, this isn’t really doing it for me anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not old.

And I’m certainly not dead. I’m not even retirement age.

My dick still works, and it still needs attention some days.

But as much as I hate to even put this out there in the universe, I might need something else. Something deeper.

Fuck, that sounds so disgusting. No. I’m not dealing with this right now. I quickly usher him toward the door, and he doesn’t go in for a kiss, thank god. Hell, I don’t even get a lingering Deaf goodbye. He just strolls out, shooting a wave over his shoulder without looking back.

His little black sports car is waiting for him in one of the guest spots, and he gets in.

I swear I can feel the rumble of the engine in my chest as he starts and revs it the way he always does.

I close the door quickly before he can look back and see that I’m still watching him, and I sag against the wall until I remember that shit !

I’m fucking late!

Glancing at the delivery and drop-off circle on campus, I see the Deaf Chef food truck with its colorful logo and bright awning. I’m entirely unsurprised to see the man I was looking for lounging against the side with a smug grin on his face.

Rhett signs something to the guy in the window, then laughs and shrugs and tries to look demure but fails. Looking demure is absolutely not him. At all.

He’s annoyingly in your face and loud. Demure? Fuck off.

I snort and move forward.

As I do, I see Mellie lean out and wave his hand, blushing a little. I should be more disturbed by this weird role-play shit they’re engaging in, but I can’t be. Not when a sudden move is looming over me. Cardboard and bubble wrap and…oh god. Movers .

And that’s right before the realization that I’m over this whole no-strings hookup thing.

Which means what? Did Rome and I break up? Was that a thing between friends with benefits? Did I need to give him time before moving on to just friends?

I’m such a disaster. I have no idea how any of this stuff works.

I make sure my feet stomp a little harder as I approach, and Rhett turns his head. When he sees me, he rolls his eyes and waves his hand to Mellie at the window. ‘He’s here.’ He points his finger twice at me to emphasize.

He winks at me and then signs, ‘Asshole.’

I kick a rock at him, and it bounces off his shoe.

I’d like to think my presence fills people with dread, but sadly, it doesn’t. I’ve been working at a community college for too long. Working with students, not against them, is the only way I can ensure their success, and being dreadful and scary doesn’t help .

But it would be nice if I could still be more than just a soft, wet sponge when it comes to my friends.

‘Why do you look like you need to take a shit?’ Rhett asks, and I purse my lips before loosening them.

‘Because I’m looking at you.’

He grins at me and pushes off the food truck, not intimidated by me at all. Damn it.

We’ve been friends for too long for him to be bothered by my moods—not that he ever was, the dick—and I’ve known Mellie since residential school when we were both knee-high and snot-nosed, so yeah. He’s seen me at my best, but he’s also seen me at my worst.

And my worst is…not great.

Mellie leans out the window again, his strawberry blond hair glinting in the sun as he shoots me a boyish smile. He has a single half dimple in his left cheek, and his eyeteeth touch his bottom lip when he grins. It shouldn’t look good, but he wears it well.

‘True-biz, why do you look like someone smeared dog shit on your front doorstep?’

Rhett’s eyes twinkle in excitement. ‘Did someone do that? Was it here? A student?’

I wave him off. Rhett’s a little too quick to jump to conclusions about the students. He loves a good conspiracy theory. The college we work for is not as bad as a four-year university, where you’ll have frat boys who think pranks are the height of entertainment.

But there are a lot of older people trying to start over in life here or single parents trying to better their lives, but at the same time, we also have some fresh-from-high-school kids who are still learning how to adult. So I suppose his assumption isn’t without merit.

Especially since he interprets when I’m teaching some of these kids how to get past their high school class clown phases.

‘Nothing happened.’ Well. Something happened. A couple of somethings.

Rhett gives me his annoying eyebrow.

‘I think Rome and I broke up.’

Mellie leans out of the window. ‘Were you two dating?’

‘No, but I don’t know what to call it. We decided it was over.’ Well, I decided it was over, but that’s semantics.

He frowns. ‘Why?’

I shrug. ‘It was getting old.’

Rhett’s lips part, and his face does that thing that tells me he’s scoffing. ‘Good. That guy’s a dick.’

I want to argue, but it’s true. Rome is kind of a dick. It was why the sex was so fun. ‘Anyway.’ My fingers brush each other through the sign. ‘I guess it’s over.’

Mellie looks concerned. ‘Did he do something? I will beat his ass.’

I wave him off. ‘No, and I can take care of him myself.’

‘With those arms?’ Mellie signs something that looks a lot like ‘limp noodle’ as he points.

I hold up two fingers and tap the first one to indicate that I’m making a list. ‘First: Fuck you. Second: Fuck you.’

He bursts into laughter. ‘Come with me to the gym, and you’ll never need me to fight your fights again.’

‘I don’t need you anyway. And this isn’t really about him!’ My shoulders sag. ‘I got a terrible email this morning. ’

Rhett looks worried. ‘Is it about work? Let me see it.’

‘No, but it’s still bad.’ Pulling out my phone, I tilt it toward him to let them read it because I don’t have the energy to explain everything. I’m trying to save what little I have left for lectures this afternoon. The department meeting this morning was draining enough as it was.

Rhett holds the phone at an angle so he and Mellie can both read it, and then he looks at me with those sad puppy dog eyes that make me want to smack him.

That was the same look he’d given me when I came back from my doctor’s appointment and was told that I had far less muscle mass than I was supposed to at my age.

“You’re half-dead, and your skin is flappy.” That’s not verbatim what the doctor had told me, but it sure felt like it was.

Dickface.

But maybe Mellie has a point about the whole gym thing.

When I told Rhett what the doctor implied, he acted like I was falling apart and has been up my ass about going with him ever since. It’s…an idea. A terrible one, if I’m honest, but it’s something I’m considering.

And I’m really only considering it because a Deaf friend of ours works at the gym Rhett and Mellie use, which means I won’t have to type on an iPad to communicate, which I hate.

It doesn’t help that Mellie’s been shoving gym coupons for a free month of personal training under my office door. I highly suspect they’re fake ones, and I’m almost a hundred percent sure he made them using clip art because who even uses paper coupons anymore ?

But maybe going could help me work out some of this frustration, especially if I’m not going to take it out on Rome’s asshole anymore.

Rhett’s chest expands and deflates with his sigh. ‘I’m sorry this is happening.’

Mellie waves at me. ‘Are you going to buy?’

The expression on my face tells them everything they need to know because they both laugh. They’ve seen my place. They know it’s a hellhole. ‘I need to start looking for a house, I guess.’

‘I know a good Realtor,’ Rhett offers, and then his hands falter. ‘Never mind.’

‘Hearing?’

He shrugs, then nods. Rhett almost always exists inside our Deaf community bubble, but not always. And sometimes it’s a weird reminder that he doesn’t have to think twice about where he goes or who he hires. ‘Yeah. He’s good though. Found me an amazing deal on my place.’

I do love a deal because while I’m financially stable, that doesn’t mean anything more than my bills are paid on time, and I can usually buy name-brand stuff at the supermarket. It does not mean I have thousands of dollars in my bank account to drop on a down payment.

And I cannot afford a massive mortgage.

In this economy, I’m looking at a fixer-upper at best, and I’m not great with my hands. Unless you count hand jobs. Then I’m very good. But that’s not going to renovate a house for me.

Fuck. Me. This probably means I do need to go to the gym. If I have to do more than jerk someone off in my free time, then I’m going to need at least some upper-arm strength.

God, imagine me using a hammer and whatever else comes with DIY’ing a home.

A saw?

A screwdriver?

I’m so fucked.

But I’m not going to panic, damn it. I am, however, going to swallow my pride like a full glass of vodka and lemonade.

It may go down like a goddamn boulder, but as I turn to my friends, I heave a breath and lift my hands.

‘So. This gym. What are their hours again? And who do I talk to for those free sessions?’