Page 8 of Kiss-Fist (Deaf Hearts #1)

Leaf grimaces. “Wow. What an asshole.”

“I’m just kidding. I’m the boss. So is my brother. I just took this because I don’t really use an office.”

Leaf stares at me, and I grin.

“You’re the asshole, then?”

“Sometimes.”

He lets out a small laugh as he looks around the room.

I wave my hand absently at the wall where I hung up a few coloring sheets from the kids who come and stay in the daycare we offer for working parents.

“Aww. Kids?” he asks.

“Not mine, thank fuck.” I shuffle around for the iPad and eventually find it under a pile of—thankfully clean—jockstraps.

I have a sudden rush of heat because they remind me of Robbie.

Which is a weird thing to say, but it’s true.

He’d been hard when he worked with me the first session, and the jockstrap in the second one was obvious.

I don’t think he knew I’d noticed.

God, him and that fucking lower-lip pout I just wanted to bite…

I shake myself out of it before I get hard, which would be mortifying because I’m wearing freaking Lycra. “Before I get started, what are your shoulder and arm injuries from? This’ll help me determine how long our sessions should be at the beginning. Those weren’t the chickens’ fault, right?”

“Oh, no. Uh…they’re from repetitive movements.”

“Like a dancer? Or typing, or…”

“I’m an—I mean, I was an interpreter. ”

I stare. I’d heard that word before. My ADHD meds are wearing off though, and my thoughts are running around my brain like little gremlins on crack. Shit! Right! “Rhett!” I blurt aloud.

Leaf blinks at me. “ Uh ?”

“Sorry. God. One of our newer clients is an interpreter. That’s the Deaf thing, right?” I sign ABC, and I get the same stare Rhett had given me when we first met.

“The Deaf thing,” Leaf repeats dryly.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be a dick. We have a Deaf trainer here and a few Deaf clients. We try to be accommodating, but I do kind of suck at sign.”

That’s only because I’ve never actually sat down to learn.

I was in exceptional ed classes growing up because my ADHD was entirely out of control, and my dyslexia made it damn near impossible for me to figure out reading or writing.

But I have an ear for languages, and I have a feeling I probably have an eye for them too.

And now that I have Robbie as a client, I’m moving ASL higher up on my learning list.

“Okay,” Leaf says slowly and warily. “But…you’re not going to ask me to interpret, right? Because when I said I was semi-retired, what I really meant was I am retired.”

Whew, there’s a story there, I can tell. But he seems uncomfortable, so I’m not about to make it worse. Apart from liking the guy and also secretly hoping for an invite to his farm and a way to see Michael, I want this place to feel safe for him the way it is for everyone else.

“Not at all. I just want you to know you’ll be at home here. It’s like a big family. Except for fucking Kyle. ”

Leaf’s mouth twitches. “Cool. Then how about Thursdays?”

I could do Thursdays. I tap him in for his first forty-five-minute session. “Also, let me give you my number in case anything comes up. And if you feel like sending me chicken pics also, please do.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’ll do it.”

I fold my hands under my chin and bat my eyes at him. “Chicken pics?”

He finally cracks, gives me a genuine smile, which turns into a laugh, and I realize then I’ve got him. A new best friend! Now all I need is to fill the boyfriend gap in my life, and I’ll be all set.

My mind flicks to Robbie, and I put that in a nice little box, seal it, and tuck it away in my mind.

No way am I going there. I really can’t.

Not only would it be inappropriate, but he’s Deaf, and I don’t even know ASL…

though I think I could learn it pretty easily.

It’s a visual language, and from what I remember, I can pick up signs quickly. They just seem to click.

But, no. No way.

That would be way too complicated, and despite him being so fucking cute, we’re just too different.

So I won’t look up his number and text him, and he won’t text me, and I’ll move on with life.

Really. I will.

I, in fact, do not move on with life. Robbie shows up two days later for an appointment he booked with me, looking sexy and mussed.

His hair is a little messy, and his shirt is on backward.

He looks a bit like how I feel when I’m having a bad brain day, which is kind of nice that he’s not always entirely put together.

But I also happen to know that he’s way out of my league now. I asked around after he left and found out he’s a doctor. Like, a guy with an actual PhD, and he teaches at the college not too far from the gym.

No way would a dude like him want to date someone like me.

Someone who can barely read and write, who almost didn’t graduate high school or college, and who is mostly a gym bro.

Someone who lives with a thousand alarms set on his phone and a bunch of Post-it reminders taped around the house to remember to take out the trash and to finish one chore before starting another.

Still, I can’t help but want him. I wave at him and watch as his cheeks turn a pretty pink. Damn, he’s so fucking cute. Straight up edible . He looks away shyly and then runs a hand across his chest, realizing as he goes that it’s on backward. He sighs loudly.

It’s an adorable sound. I like the little clicks and huffs he makes. He probably doesn’t even know he’s making them, which makes them better because they’re absolutely genuine.

He holds out his phone, something written on it, and I’m slightly disappointed I don’t get to stick my hand in his pocket again.

God, I really shouldn’t want to put my hand in his pocket.

Squinting at the screen, it takes me three tries to make the words make sense.

But I do get it, and I think it has everything to do with the fact that he types in short, simple words.

It’s almost like Deaf texting is perfect for my dyslexic brain.

Robbie: I feel better. Want try again?

I nod and then grab onto his hand, eager to get this started. I’ve never been more excited to work. I decide to have him go on the treadmill again because he looked like a floundering fish on the elliptical.

And as funny as that was, I don’t want him to leave and never return.

When he sees where I’m leading him though, he slows down, but I pull him forward with a gentle tug on his wrist.

He huffs again, and his lips click, and I feel a flutter in my chest.

I wonder if he makes those cute sounds when he’s sucking cock. Or maybe if he’s bent over and getting dicked down.

My dick chubs up slightly, and thank the lords I thought to wear looser shorts today. I knew we had a workout appointment and didn’t want to have this happen. He cannot know I’m so hot for him.

I want to keep the mystery alive, you know?

I point to the treadmill, and he shakes his head. Quickly, I rummage around in my mind for the words I’ve been practicing the past two days and sign, ‘You need help? ’

He stares at my hands and then flicks his gaze up to my eyes. ‘No.’

I grin at that, loving how his fingers move. They’re sexy hands. I want to suck on each finger.

But I don’t. That would be weird and probably against the gym rules, if not the law.

Instead, I point to the treadmill again, and he sighs, stepping up and letting me brush against him while I get the machine moving. His legs start to move, little taps of his feet accelerating as I slowly turn up the speed.

His hands move to the bars, and he holds on, his gaze moving to me and then back to the numbers. ‘Too fast,’ he signs with one hand.

I shake my head and chuckle. ‘No. You fine.’

He stares at me and then shakes his head. He looks slightly impressed that I know so much sign in such a short time. I’m impressed myself, but I also have a great motivation. He’s my motivation. Zev would be proud.

Or maybe pissed off that it wasn’t him who inspired me. Whatever, at least I’m doing it.

I watch him move, his body hunching forward, and I can’t help but slip in behind him, standing on the unmoving edges of the machine. I reach out and thrust his hips forward with my hands, making him stand up straighter.

He lets out a surprised gasp, and I feel my fingers tighten on him. He didn’t expect that.

I didn’t either. I don’t usually touch clients so much. But it’s hard not to when we can’t communicate fluidly and also because, well…I want to.

And it seems he wants me to as well.

He doesn’t move away or tell me to stop. Instead, he seems to lean back slightly. As much as he can while moving on a treadmill, anyway.

After a few minutes of torture, I hop down and meet his surprised gaze.

‘Don’t—’ I bend forward and mime walking.

He nods and squares his shoulders, straightening his back almost comically.

I reach forward and turn up the speed, making him give me another cute huff, and I grin at him, giving him a thumbs-up. He glowers, and I have to dig my toes into my shoes to stop myself from hopping up and kissing him right then.

I will not do that.

That would be unprofessional. I’d have to fire myself.

I manage to restrain my urges. I just stand there and watch him walk briskly on the treadmill for ten minutes, my eyes sliding down to his bouncing cock a few times because I can’t help myself. Then, after I’m sure he’s gone on long enough, I turn the machine off, letting him fall against me.

Maybe this is the other reason I wanted him to do this. I like catching him. I’m low-key obsessed with how he feels in my arms.

He pushes away from me after a long, drawn-out second and signs an apology, but I brush it off. He can press against me anytime he wants. Really. I wouldn’t mind it.

I nod toward the weights, and he groans.

It makes something inside of me combust. That sound is detrimental. It really should be illegal. He should not be allowed to make those sounds in public .

Only in private.

As I thrust into his ass.

My fingers wrap around his warm wrist, and I tug him forward. When we get to the weights, I pick out the four-pound one again and hand it to him. He growls, and I grin even wider.

Fuck, he’s so cute. Like really. He has no right to be this delicious.

He shakes his head and points to a bigger weight.

I arch an eyebrow and then sign, ‘No.’

But he insists. He wants to impress me, but he doesn’t need to do that. I’m already impressed. He’s the hottest guy I’ve seen in a while. And he’s smart. I can tell. He just looks like a genius, and that kind of turns me on.

I have a thing for people with big brains. Maybe because I don’t feel like I have that, so I enjoy it in my partners. I like to learn from them, like to listen as they speak.

I want to learn ASL faster so I can have mind-blowing conversations with him.

He points to the larger weight again, and I give in, deciding he should try it just so he knows it’s probably not a good idea.

I go for the ten-pounder and hand it to him. His arm flops to his side, and he purses his lips, trying to lift it like I show him. I make sure to grab a large weight for myself so my muscles bulge, wanting him to look at me and drool.

He does too, his eyes flicking to my arms and back to the weight in his hand. He’s trying like hell to lift it again and again, doing a bicep curl, but after three, he sighs and shakes his head. A bead of sweat is forming on his temple, and I resist the urge to reach out and rub it away.

I won’t do that. I won’t let him know I see how tired he is. He has to be embarrassed, but more than that, he’s a little stubborn. He doesn’t want to admit he was wrong. So I let it go and hand him the weight that I originally picked for him.

He sighs and puts it in his other hand and then follows my movements again.

This time, he’s more successful, and I raise my hands in the Deaf clap Zev showed me how to do when he first started working at the gym.

He stares at me as he sets the weights down. And then begins signing quickly. I have no idea what he’s saying, but I really wanna know. It’s fast, and the only word I catch is hot. I think. Maybe not.

I just stand there and watch.

I have no idea how to respond, so I don’t. He blinks at me, his cheeks turning pink before he signs sorry and then something else I can’t understand. He meets my stare after a second, his shoulders falling slightly, and turns on his heel, rushing off.

I should go after him.

The decent thing to do would be to stop him and make sure everything’s okay, but the moment was so charged between us that I don’t. I can’t. I crossed a few tiny lines, touching him the way I had, and I’m afraid if I make him stop, he’ll tell me it’s over.

And I’m not ready for that.

So like a total turd, I stand completely still, and I let him go.