Page 83 of Quiet Beautiful Things

I furrow my brow and hold out my hands, palms up.

“You saidride mustache,” she signs, slowly fingerspelling the last words. I can see the blush overtake her face even in the dim light. Then she proceeds to show me the difference between ride and drive, and then home and mustache.

I see where I went wrong. But can you blame me? I’m hornier than a three-peckered Billy goat. In the state I’m in, it would be difficult to speak my first language let alone sign.

NowI’mthe one laughing. I wink and sign, “Happy to grow a mustache.” I have to fingerspellgrowbecause I have no idea how to sign it.

She shows me of course, and damn, my erection is what’s growing now as we stand here and talk about this. “Leave now,” I sign, then take her hand and pull her behind me to the door.

A short while later, having driven faster than usual back to her place because of the situation in my pants, I pull into her lot, park, then turn off the car. But despite what happened a few minutes ago, I don’t get out. I don’t want to presume anything no matter how much I want to follow her upstairs, strip off her clothes, and have a repeat of three weeks ago.

Three weeks of knowing what it’s like to be with her and not being able to has been pure torture.

Three weeks of dreaming, fantasizing, and masturbating. A whole lot of masturbating.

Three weeks of being incapable of getting this silent beauty out of my head.

I sit back, look at her, and stretch an arm across her headrest.Ask me.

Dr. Stone is intelligent. She’s driven. She’s always taking the upper hand. Except when it comes to me. When it comes to me, or more specifically, sex, she’s as shy as grapevines in winter. Sometimes I wonder, though, is it really shyness, or is it something else? She once said she had dated a lot of guys, but never really had relationships. It makes me wonder if she’s just shy with me, or is it all men? Or am I mistaking shyness for apprehension? It must really do a number on a person to find out they’re unwanted by another human.

Maybe what I perceive as shyness is really armor. Walls she’s erected to keep from getting close to anyone.

I stare into eyes that I know are blue even though it’s dark and I can’t see them clearly. I stare into them knowing I want to break down those walls. Remove that armor.

“Good job tonight,” she signs by the light of a streetlamp.

I hold out my hands and bow my head in pride even though I know my signing is still very rudimentary.

She’s waiting for me to ask her.Ask me.

She chews her lip, a sure sign of nervousness. If I’ve learned anything from Ellie, it’s how to pick up on non-verbal cues. I’m glued to my seat watching her teeth work her lower lip, the twitch in my pants proof of how much I’m enjoying the show.

She huffs out a breath and I try not to smile.

“Did you have fun?” she asks.

“Always fun with you,” I sign. Or at least I think I do. I’m a bit unsure of the word always.Ask me.

She swallows, glances out her window, and then back. “You want to”—she hesitates—“ask me something?”

I throw her signs right back at her. “You want to askmesomething?”

It’s funny how I’ve learned to put emphasis on a single word merely by changing my expression. Yeah—she’s a good teacher.

Another audible huff.

Why her uncomfortable awkwardness makes me even hornier, I have no clue.Fucking ask me.

I’m about to give in to this standoff when she bites her lip once more and signs, “Come up?”

“Show menever,” I fingerspell the last word, not knowing the sign.

She looks taken aback for a moment, then goes in full-on teacher mode and shows me the sign, doing a half circle in the air with her flat palm then ending in somewhat of a karate chop. The sign resembles something like a question mark.

Finally I smile. I smile big. Because I just tricked her. “Thought you’d never ask,” I sign.

She’s an expressive person, and I see relief cross her face right before she playfully slaps my thigh. I trap her hand and hold it against me. She goes to sign with the other, but I reach out and stop her.

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