Page 5 of Kiss-Fist
Hm, I didn’t get the dress code, apparently. I should go home and change. Or maybe try again tomorrow. Or maybe never. I don’t think my ego can take it.
I turn to leave when the guy with the exposed nipples and the backward hat turns and smiles at me.
All of my vision narrows down to him. He’s all I can see. Everything else fades to black.
I blink slowly, taking in the entirety of him.
Holy hell, he’s hot, even with the slightly crooked teeth and crooked smile. His light brown eyes twinkle as he meets my gaze.
I see his mouth form a word, and I attempt to work out what he’s saying, but lipreading has never been my strong suit. My two brothers are passable. Quinn, the oldest, is better than Theo, who’s exactly thirteen months older than me. And my sister, Alice, is probably the closest to an expert.But I’m pretty sure that’s because she married a hearing man and has two hearing CODAs at home.
I, however, am a disaster.
Which is a whole can of worms I don’t feel like opening here in the gym. I don’t need to stress about my communication skills when I’m in the middle of a body crisis while surrounded by a bunch of men who could probably bench-press me.
Especially the hot guy with the smile.
Does he really need to show off his biceps like that?Christ.
Not that I’d complain if he wanted to lift me up and down, necessarily. It’s just that my pride and ego are on the line. And I don’t have those in spades.
Our gazes lock, and his fingers fumble with the metal water bottle he was in the middle of trying to close. He drops it, and it splashes all over his crotch. I imagine it makes some kind of loud noise because several people around him whip their heads around, and a blush starts from his ears to the apples of his cheeks.
Even from where I’m standing, I can see he has freckles. Oh, and dimples, one in each cheek, perfectly centered.
Send help.
The way I want to use the one muscle I have in my forearm to cover those cheeks in cum isobscene.
The only saving grace in this situation is that this isn’t the Deaf trainer I was sent to work with. Because the last thing I need is to pop an inappropriate boner in front of a guy who looks like that. And trying to communicate why my dick is hard to a guy who probably doesn’t sign is not something Iwant to do. The idea of writing out the explanation on a piece of paper or on my fucking phone? Trying to act it out?
Hell no.
I’d rather move housetomorrow. Or get a million paper cuts.
Or both at the same time.
The way my dick twitches in my pants all the same makes me want to turn around and run away. Only, I don’t really run, so maybe more of a brisk walk would suffice.
Or maybe a slow stroll…
In the end, I don’t move because dimples guy is now covering his crotch with his hands, and it honestly looks like he pissed himself.
I don’t laugh, of course. I don’t even crack a smile.
I may have a slight wobble to my lips, but it’s not noticeable. It’s not difficult to keep a straight face after working in a college for the last ten years. Nearly all of my students are hearing, but my interpreter has a knack for conveying the shit that spews out of their mouths with an art-like accuracy.
With the amount of skill I’ve honed holding back eye rolls, I should have an Olympic medal for it.
Water bottle guy says something and points.
Oh. At me.
Great.
The two men he’s with say something back, and then the taller one with very dark hair, pale, freckly skin, and what looks to be very well-maintained manscaping turns and walks my way. He’s just as muscular as the other two, and I fight the urge to turn andescape.
Or maybe try to chameleon myself into the tiled floors.
