Page 90 of Kiss-Fist
He laughs, and the sound is not as kind or as sweet as Robbie’s. ‘Obvious. Baby signs.’ He mimics sucking his thumb, and my chest aches with offense. Yes, I might have the vocabulary of a one-year-old, but that doesn’t mean that’s going to last forever. If I could magic the language in my head to make Robbie’s life easier, I would. But this is all I can do.
‘How can I help you?’ I repeat. I will not rise to the bait. I will not rise to the bait. I will not. I will not. I willnot.
‘Personal trainer,’ he spells at lightning speed. The only reason I recognize all the letters put together like that is because I’ve spent hours practicing them since that’s my literal job.
I nod and point to myself and sign, ‘That me.’
He looks instantly annoyed, and I kind of love it.
Taking a single step back, I circle him, giving a little more thorough of an assessment than I usually do new clients. I see him shift uncomfortably under my stare, but he’s obviously playing chicken with me now, and I can tell he’s not going to flinch first.
‘Ok,’ I sign. He lifts his brows. ‘You need to focus on your glutes, abs, and rhomboids.’ I spell that word slowly, then tap the major and minor spots on his back.
His cheeks darken, and he wrenches away from my touch. It’s obvious he expected me to find him without flaw.
Rome says nothing though, so I jerk my head for him to follow, and I take him to the mirrors and lay out a mat. I inspect the free weights and then point down. ‘Time to warm up. We’ll go slow.’
His jaw ticks with irritation, and he signs nothing at all as he sinks down and begins to follow me through the set of gentle stretches.
It’s the moment I think that Rome’s actually going to play nice that he turns it all around on me. We’ve gone through several sets of weights, an ab workout, and then fifteenminutes of cardio on the treadmill, all with total silence from him.
He just nods and does what I tell him to do, and it’s obvious he’s not a stranger to the gym because his heart rate is amazing, and he’s barely broken a sweat. He chugs his electrolytes like he’s posing for a fucking Gatorade ad—his head tipped back, eyes closed, throat bobbing.
I hate that I can see what Robbie saw in him. He’s offensively good-looking, and when he smiles, it lights up his whole face. Even if he’s trying to be mean.
But I do start to relax because it really does seem like he’s here to work out. And then, halfway through his cooldown on the weight bench, he leans toward me and waves his hand to get my attention.
‘Robbie deserves better.’ He signs and mouths the words slowly.
I blink at him. ‘I’m a good guy.’
He shrugs and shakes his head. ‘You’re hearing. You can’t even speak his language.’
‘I’m learning.’ I’m so angry I smack myself in the forehead with the force of my motion.
He scoffs, then clears his throat and surprises the fuck out of me by speaking aloud. His accent isn’t as thick as Robbie’s. “You will always be behind him. He will always have to dumb himself down to make sure you’re included. Even if you spend a lifetime learning, you’ll always have a shitty hearing accent in your signs. It’ll never look natural.” He pauses, then lifts his hands. ‘You will always be a compromise.’ He spells that last word, and when my brain processes it, it’s like a knife to the gut.
Because he’s right. I will be. I will never be as good or as fluent as Robbie is in his natural language. If he wants to spell, he’ll always have to take his time because even in ASL, my dyslexic brain doesn’t follow along like other people. He’ll always have to check in and make sure that I’m not lost.
I don’t know what to say. Robbie likes me. He chose me. He went out of his way to show me that last night. He was angry at Rome for being a dick. He was worried that I was going to leave him.
He’s…happy, right? It’s not like he doesn’t have other ridiculously hot options for his dating life.
So yeah. He wants me. Rome might have shaken me, but he’s not going to win this.
‘I think you should talk to Robbie.’
He smirks and stands up, swiping his palms on his sweats before he lifts them to sign, ‘Trust. I plan to. I’m going to remind him exactly what he’s always wanted.’ He hesitates before walking away, turning back to face me fully. ‘You seem like a good guy, but you’re not right for him. You don’t belong.’
My heart sinks. I don’t know what to say, so my hands hang by my sides. Rome looks almost sorry. Then, like he didn’t just try to shatter my whole fucking world, he turns on his heel and leaves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ROBBIE
Something is wrong with Thom.When I see him after work, he’s withdrawn, his eyes glinting with worry, his teeth working his bottom lip until it’s red and puffy.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, handing him a Vitamin Water and watching as he fiddles with it. He barely ate any of the food I brought to his place, and no one picks at Lupe’s Cantina tacos.
