Page 25 of Kiss-Fist (Deaf Hearts #1)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ROBBIE

I was far too mean when I found out that Thom had planned some kind of double date without consulting me or even checking to see if anyone else on the damn date knew sign. Even now I was furious at his thoughtlessness, but I also knew he didn’t deserve how harsh I was.

I was already flustered at him showing up at my place of work looking edible, not to mention I’d just come out of another meeting with the dean and the vice president to discuss interpreting needs for the next fiscal year, and I was once again feeling expendable.

Like a damn gimmick rather than a man with a fucking Ph.D. and years of expertise in my field.

Thom was just being himself, but in that moment, it had been too sharp and I was too tender to think straight. My anger was overwhelming and in that moment, I let it take control. My regret was almost as powerful now as my fury had been in my office.

The tears in his eyes were my undoing. I can’t believe I’d been so awful. I can’t believe I was the man who put that look on his face. The devastation, the heartbreak? I never wanted that to be me, and I wanted to fix it.

Fuck, he’s so precious. He’s the last man in the world I expected to fall for, but here I am, practically head over heels. I can’t get enough of him, and it’s in this moment I know I’m willing to compromise on things I never have before. For him. Only for him.

Because he’s entirely worth it.

I’m not ready for the afternoon to end. I want to show him that this between us can still be good.

My damn near feral need for his body had me inviting him into my car, which compromised more of my values.

We risked getting arrested and I risked getting fired for giving into the thing I wanted so desperately.

I’m more than thankful he stopped me when he did. Both times. Despite ripping him a new one earlier, he protected me. He always seems to be protecting me.

I want to kiss him until I can’t breathe, and we can do that, once we get back to my place.

It’s not in the best state—filled with moving boxes and rooms half-packed—but I don’t think he’ll care.

It’s obvious from the way he clung to me, he wants this as much as I do. He doesn’t want this to be over.

We drive in silence, my hands on the steering wheel so I don’t reach over and touch him. If I do that, we may never make it to my place. It’s becoming a problem when he’s around. I want to plaster myself to him and wait until someone peels me away .

Luckily within minutes, I pull up to my lackluster apartment and I can feel the tension radiating off of him.

I’m acutely aware that we haven’t talked about us.

I haven’t apologized properly yet for what I said in the note, and I know he’s afraid this is over.

Just like I’m afraid he’s going to decide he doesn’t want to be with a man who has a temper like I do.

Something needs to give. I need to find a way to communicate everything I’m feeling, and I think I have an idea. I just need to get him inside.

‘Home,’ I tell him.

He nods, repeating the sign and then adding the word, ‘Nice.’

He’s a liar, and it makes me laugh because he’s so damn sweet about it. The sound vibrates in the back of my throat, and Thom grins at me before it’s wiped off his face, and he looks nervous all over again, like I might suddenly change my mind and send him packing.

God, this is all my fault , I think as I shut off the car and open the door. I destroyed his gorgeous confidence by being a dick.

Even if what I said was true, he didn’t do any of this to hurt me.

I don’t think his intentions will ever not be pure.

He wanted to share this new thing we have with his brother—the only family he’s ever talked about—and I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t think about the nuances of why he might have agreed without talking to me first.

I want him to be more understanding of what I need, but I have to give him the same in return. It’s the least he deserves .

I step out and see him following me toward the stairs that lead to my apartment. Fuck, I can’t remember if I cleaned up the kitchen before I left. But in truth, I can’t remember anything past an hour ago when he was moaning against the door of my office.

I open my apartment door and step through, flipping on a light. Thom is right behind me, still damp from the storm, a large hickey sitting on the base of his neck.

It makes my cock perk up.

I did that.

Me . I marked him in a way that will last for weeks to come.

I shove my hands in my pockets to keep myself away from him, to not reach out and demolish that body with my tongue. My hands. My cock.

Not yet , I think. I need to apologize again, then to explain why I feel the way I do.

My idea from the car has merit. It’s something I’ve used in the past, something I never thought I’d use with a man I was fucking, but it is what it is until he becomes fluent.

I have a virtual interpreter service on my laptop and if I call now, they can voice it for me. But before I make the call, I need to know something first.

I need some kind of promise that he really is going to stick to this and learn I can’t live like this forever. Being brutally honest with myself, I can admit I’m not the most patient man. I’m fussy and particular, and I don’t like change.

But for the right thing—for the right man—I will do anything I can to keep him. I just need to know he’s willing to give me the same in return.

Turning to face him fully, I take several steps forward, and he takes several back. I see the way his body gently shifts when he hits the wall. He can’t take his eyes off me, still so unsure about what to do, and I hate that.

I hate that look on his face. I miss the man who took me in his sorry excuse for an office like there was nothing else in the world he wanted but me, and in that moment, nothing would stand in his way.

Licking my lips, I lift my hand and press two fingers to his neck, to the place I marked him. When I push down, his lips part on what I assume is a gasp, and his eyes flutter closed for a beat.

As much as my dick wants it though, I can’t get distracted. I tap his shoulder and wait for him to look at me again. ‘I need to know.’ I keep my signs slow, closer to Signed English than ASL.

He mouths along, then nods for me to go on.

‘You will learn everything? Not stop?’

His face shifts. I’m not as versed in his expressions as I want to be, but I think it’s relief. I want it to be relief. He presses his hand to his heart, then tentatively lifts a finger to his lips first, then drops a flat hand to touch the top of his other in a closed fist.

‘I promise. I’m learning. I’m not going to stop. I will never stop. Always learning. For you.’

Something unknots in my chest. This isn’t the first time he’s made it known that he’s doing this for me, but this is the first time I believe that he’s not going to quit as soon as he has the bare basics memorized. He’s not going to give up and put the burden on me.

He understands he can learn to sign, whereas I will never, ever be able to learn how to hear.

I want to kiss him. Instead, I take a step back and beckon him forward. ‘Get dry.’

He shakes his head. ‘Sorry, don’t understand that sign.’

I spell it, and he mouths the letters and frowns, then mouths them again.

It’s easy to forget that he struggles with this because he’s dyslexic.

It must be incredibly severe, and god, that meant the effort he put in to read everything I’ve been writing to him must have been as bad as it would have been for me to lipread all of it.

I feel a tiny pulse of guilt, though the truth is, there’s nothing we could have done about that. Between us is an opaque wall and while it’s getting clearer by the day, it’s going to take time. And work.

And that was something I hadn’t planned on. My dating life was terrible, but I always envisioned myself settling down with a nice Deaf man. A picket fence, maybe? A fish or two?

Thom was not supposed to be that person, but here he is, and I want no one else but him.

Reaching a hand out, I wait for him to take it, and then I tug him through the living room and hope he’s ignoring all the half-packed moving boxes shoved up against the walls.

My apartment bathroom is too small for two grown men, so I perch him at the end of my bed and quickly hunt for a couple of clean towels. It’s only now that I’m profoundly aware of what a goddamn mess I am. Sometimes my outsides really do reflect my insides.

He takes the towel I hand him and shoots me a grateful smile.

I turn before I can succumb to the temptation to pin him to my bed.

Instead, I root around in my drawers for something acceptable for him to wear.

He’s a goddamn redwood compared to me, but I have some clothes left over from a couple of old hookups, and one of them was close to Thom’s size.

I hand him sweats and a T-shirt, and he frowns, though he still signs, ‘Thank you.’

I nod stiffly, then turn around to strip out of my soaked shirt and slacks. I’m struggling into a sweater when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

‘Bathroom?’ he signs.

I jut my chin at the door, and he shoots me a thumbs-up before walking in.

The room dims a little as the door shuts, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

I’m falling for him, and it’s killing me because that’s the easy part.

It’s the rest—what comes after—that’s leaving me swimming in an ocean of doubt.

I know plenty of people get through shit like this. Not just hearing and Deaf. I’ve seen people left and right falling for others who only have basic comprehension of their language.

Hell, one of the professors in my department met his wife when he was backpacking through Greece. He swore she knew fifteen phrases in English, and he was working out of a Greek-English dictionary, but they’ve been married eighteen years now and have four kids .

It can work. It can .