Page 4 of Kiss-Fist
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 doesnotmean 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 Idoneed to go to the gym. If I have to do more than jerk someone off in my freetime, then I’m going to need at leastsomeupper-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?’
CHAPTER TWO
ROBBIE
Why the hellare there so many muscles everywhere? I stare down at my arms hidden beneath my long-sleeve shirt and let out a sigh. Mellie was right. They really do look like limp noodles hanging from my torso.
Spaghetti noodles.
Not even penne. Just a sad state of affairs in its entirety. They’re nothing like the mounds bulging from the men and women around me.
God, are necks supposed to look like that?
And those ankles. Since when do ankles havedefinition?
Thank god I wore pants.
Really, I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. But I guess change doesn’t happen unless you actively participate in it, right? Sitting in my windowless office all day and occasionally standing in lecture halls doesn’t do much for building a nice, mountainesque physique.
Even if I try and will it into existence on a weekly basis.
Not that I’ll ever get as big as these guys in here. They have to be on steroids or something. This cannot possibly happen naturally.
My eyes fall on one man in particular with slightly tanned skin like he spends a lot of time outdoors, wide shoulders, light brown hair tucked under a backward cap. The tank top he’s wearing is one of those that shows off most of his chest, including his dusky pink nipples and all of his arms, which are decorated in tattoos I can’t make out the details of this far away.
And god help me, the shorts he’s wearing? They’re tight, and I can see the globes of his assdistinctly.
I stare down at my baggy athletic pants.
