Page 29 of Kiss-Fist
‘What?’ I demand after too long sitting under his doe eyes.
‘You like him.’ He doesn’t use the casual term for like—the way I like coffee or chocolate. No, he signs something closer to infatuated.
Damn him for seeing it. And damnmefor being so transparent.
My heart beats a little too fast, and I force myself through a couple of breaths. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Oh, those signs feel like the most terrible lie as my hands pass through them.
He lifts a single brow. ‘Really?’
‘I don’t want to like him.’ There, that’s better. I don’t like lying to the people I care about. The list of them is very small. Iknowa lot of people, but the ones who matter to me are few and far between.
Rhett started off as my interpreter, but he’s basically family now. Shit, if I were married, I’d spend more time with him than my own husband, considering the hours we work.
‘Because he’s hearing.’
Yes. But also…no. It’s about my rules. Important rules that backfired every single time I broke them in my early dating years. And granted, I know deep down I can break them if it was for the right person, but the right person is not the absurdly hot, sign-impaired gym bro who kisses like a god.
Guys who are that hotknowthey’re hot. They’re arrogant and egotistical, and even if Thom does learn sign—which will take for-fucking-ever to become fluent enough not to irritate the shit out of me—that will only give him more ways to remind us both how much better than me he thinks he is.
And okay, maybe I’m projecting a little. Maybe the fact that Thom could easily grace magazine covers and billboards with those fucking dimples has me feeling a little…intimidated. But I know plenty of classically hot guys to know how they are deep down.
I don’t want that. I don’t want to compete with his ego.
I don’t want to constantly feel less than.
And I don’t want to struggle for god only knows how long waiting for him to become fluent enough to speak to each other. Mellie and Rhett are different. Rhett has been signing for years. The only thing Mellie had to compromise on was his previous decision to avoid dating outside of his culture, and Rhett is a great person to compromise for.
Thom, well…
I shiver at the memory of the way he’d touched me—of how powerful his hands were and how his tongue tasted in my mouth. Fuck, I’m so screwed. I snatch the protein shake off the desk and gulp down a few mouthfuls, grimacing at the weird, chalky taste.
It’s sugar-free but sweet, so the cloying aspartame clings to the sides of my tongue.
“Uhg,” I say—or something like it. I feel the noise rumble against the back of my throat.
Rhett is fighting off a grin, and he leans down, reaching into his bag for something. He produces what looks like a candy bar until I see the logo on the front. A protein bar? Fuck all the way off.
‘No, thank you. This is enough gross gym product for me.’
‘Trust me. It’s good. It tastes like French silk pie.’ He slides it across the desk, and I tuck it into my top drawer with a grimace. I see his shoulders rise and fall with his sigh. ‘So, are you quitting the gym?’
I want to say yes. If I weren’t such a classic fool, I would have. But while I know I can’t have Thom again the way he’d taken me in his office—and more—there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a little eye candy, right?
I just need some help. Like a chaperone when I’m near him so I don’t kiss him again.
‘When are you and Mellie going to the gym next?’
He blinks in surprise. ‘You want to come with us?’
‘The weekdays are getting too busy,’ I remind him. It’s a half lie. I do need to spend more time on marking papers. I can’t do everything at the last minute. That’s only going to cause a mental breakdown before the semester is over.
And marking papers is a chore and a half, even with the new technology where you do it online. And don’t even get me started on how terrible some of these papers are. And with the use of AI, it’s a clusterfuck.
Which reminds me…
‘I’m switching up today’s lecture, and the first fifteen minutes are going to be on sentence structure.’
Rhett leans over the desk toward me. ‘Don’t change the subject.’
