Page 16 of Winning You
“What? Hilarious? A huge pain in the ass? I mean, I was the reckless disabled toddler in my house, so I feel like I can come up with some pretty accurate adjectives.” He stopped. “Sorry, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about her on the clock.”
Frankie laughed very softly. The sound rumbled over Lucas’s skin, as delicious as his speaking voice. “No. Actually, this is kind of nice. But if I tell you what I was going to say, you’re going to hate me even more.”
“Dude, not possible. Trust me. Last night, I sculpted a clay model out of your face from touch-memory alone and then threw darts at it.”
“Wait…really?”
“Oh my god, no. I haven’t touched your face, you fucking weirdo.”
“Right. I, uh…my sleep deprivation might be making me delirious.” Lucas heard a noise he recognized as the one gesture Gage did a lot where he rubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Calm down. I’m not that sensitive about shit, especially when the person has no experience with blind people.”
Frankie took a breath. “Elodie’s blind.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Mm. Which, you know, means I should know better.”
Lucas couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Yeah, no. I mean, yes. Youshouldknow better, but trust me, I don’t think that’s the default. I have one good dad who is the exception to the rule, and a shitty one who still believes all the stereotypes.”
“So your mom?—”
“Dad,” Lucas corrected quickly. “I have another dad, and he sucks big, juicy donkey balls.”
“Gross.”
“I mean, not literally. I don’t think. I won’t ask. He doesn’t speak to me anymore. He didn’t want to have some freaky autistic blind kid, so once the divorce went through, he was glad to be rid of me.”
“He sounds like a dick. Sorry,” Frankie added.
Lucas gave up trying to make this man not care about swearing. “Look, you seem like a decent guy, okay? I mean, you were an ableist shithead yesterday of epic proportions, but you’re…not a total monster today.”
“Thanks,” Frankie said flatly.
“And as much as I want to use that to bribe you into giving me an A plus-plus?—”
“Not a real score.”
“—I want an accurate grade because I don’t want to kill my customers or whatever. So how about I read you the labels so you don’t have to take a hundred years. Then I’ll make you one of my famous grilled PB and Js because they literally cure bad days, and then you can be on your way.”
Frankie was quiet again, which Lucas hated. His friends had all learned to give some kind of verbal cues—sometimes humming or tapping their fingers. Any indication to let him know they were still present. He should probably coach Frankie on that so he didn’t torment his daughter.
“Why not?”
“Sweet. Now, get your nicely sized ass out of my way so I can do this.”
“Did you just…”
“What?” Lucas pressed.
Frankie let out a breath. “Never mind. I’m ready.”
Turning back to the fridge, knowing full well he’d at least touched the line with his toe, he smiled to himself, then set his fingers on the food storage bins and began to read.
“Your chariot awaits, my lord.” Gage said the words with a soft flourish, and Lucas felt a pang in his chest because while he fully believed now that romance between them would have been the worst thing they could have done, it hurt.
He wanted someone like Gage. Someone built for him and who loved him just as fiercely. Someone who embraced all his nerdiness and weirdness like they were welcome pieces of his personality. So far, he was zero for…too fucking many. Or however the saying was.
