Page 76 of ILY
I gasp and let out a loud laugh. We sure as fuck did. Almost shut the damn place down. No wonder the chicken in my wrap was so cold by the time I finished my plate.
We all exchange hugs, and then Denver heads for the exit as Thorne and I sit back down, our eyes catching.
“Can you hear me okay?” I ask him. He seems a bit fatigued, and I know how that feels on the brain when language switching.
He nods.
“Should we go home?” I ask him, and he wets his lips.
“We should, but first, I have something I need to tell you.”
My stomach drops and roils as I switch to my voice. “Oh god, not another lie.”
He shakes his head and then sighs. This cannot be good.
“Don’t freak out.”
“Too late.”
His stare grows more serious, and then he reaches out and twines his fingers with mine.
“I want to go home with you, and it is because I want to get into bed with you again. More than just tonight too.”
My heart’s still beating a little too hard. “But?”
“No but,” he says. “Just and.And…I want to be at your house because I need to look around more. I think your aunt killed someone. And I think they might be buried on the property.”
Once again, it feels like someone pulled the world out from under my feet. I stare at Thorne, then realize we’re in the middle of a diner about to close, so I can’t start freaking out the way I want to.
This is the first time since meeting him that I want him to be lying. “We need to leave.”
Thorne glances over at a couple of servers filling up saltshakers and sweeping under tables. We’re the last peoplehere, which is saying something for a Deaf establishment. “Let me drive.”
Wordlessly, I dig my keys out of my pocket, and at the same time, he pulls cash out of his wallet and lays it on the table.
“Oh. I asked you out. Let me?—”
“No.” He closes his hand over mine and then links our fingers together, tugging me close. “I’ve already fucked up your life in more ways than one. Let me at least treat you to dinner.”
I can’t argue with that. I don’t even want to try. I just nod and let him draw me to my feet, the chair making an obnoxious squeak over the linoleum as I push it back. He doesn’t seem to notice, which makes me wonder if his hearing aids have fully died.
We make our way to the empty parking lot, but instead of letting me go so he can get in, he bustles me against the side of the car and tilts my chin up. His eyes fixate on my lips.
“How good are your lipreading skills?”
“Very good,” he says, his voice low. “I had training before I started losing my hearing.”
That’s weirdly hot. Not the lipreading part, but the competency part. I’ve always had a bit of a thing for guys who were very good at their jobs. And I don’t know a lot of details about his, but I think he’s probably very good at his job.
“I need a kiss.”
He lifts his hand with a tiny smirk and signs it. When I nod, he curls his fingers around my jaw, just shy of painfully hard, and then leans in. His lips part mine, tongue pushing into my mouth. It’s wet and hot, and he tastes faintly of tonic and seasoning.
I let out a groan, and he swallows down all the noises I make, the fingers of his left hand resting lightly against my throat to feel them.
“I want to get you home,” he rumbles against my lips. “We can talk about the complicated stuff after, but I need you to know I’m not here just because of that. I don’t know what you want from me?—”
“I don’t know either,” I confess. I’d long since given up hope that I would find someone who wanted to put up with me and my anxiety and neurosis. But he seems to like all of it. And not just in spite of all the things people tell me are flaws.
