Page 9 of Nonverbal

“What does that mean?”

She glances around, but her phone is on the couch and there’s nothing to write with. She makes the motion again with more emphasis.

I take a guess. “Thanks?”

She nods with another full grin.

“Well, you’re welcome.” Heat spreads through my chest. Just being nice. Anyone would do it. I glance up at her, past the full, firm breasts hovering so close to my face. So close. “Thank you for taking care of my sister. I appreciate what you did for her. Thank you. I mean that. Amber’s the only family I have left, and I’m grateful you were there.”

Grateful you were there when I failed to be.

She nods and pats my head. Her fingers trace my hairline, moving strands from my forehead.

The touch is too intimate, so I quickly secure the bandage around her torso and then walk to the oven. Steaks are done. I clear my throat, hardly believing what I’m about to say. “You can stay as long as you want.”

She moves to the couch to grab her phone before sitting at the table.

“Ha, I don’t know about that.” I give her a side glance. She’s still half-naked. Sitting at my table, scratching her bandages, naked. It’s bugging the hell out of me. “Can you put some clothes on? Jesus. If I was a bad dude, this would’ve gone different.”

She shrugs.

I slap the steaks on two plates, followed by a handful of salad mix and a drizzle of balsamic dressing. “I’m a complete stranger, and I can easily overpower you. Why would you just take your clothes off?”

She looks at the plate I set in front of her. She points to the bandage.

I lift my chin. She trusts me, huh? Just like that.

I cut into my steak. I guess I am a caring person. I usually care too much, but no one ever notices. “Go put some clothes on.”

With that smirk of hers, she grabs the plate of food and a fork, then saunters off down the hallway. She doesn’t come back, leaving me alone with my steak and porn. I switch to sports.

Well, my life is just peachy, isn’t it? Now there are two women in my house driving me nuts. For very different reasons.

Chapter Three

Paige

LIFE IS GREAT. THIS PAST week has been the best week of my life. Zero meltdowns. No yelling. Anxiety is at an all-time low. I’m adapting easily to my temporary home, better than expected. Despite my worries, part of me is glad I took Amber’s offer to live with her and Brody. I’ve never felt safer, nor this free. No one tells me to stop doing this or start doing that. No getting locked in my room. No shouting. No arguments. No objects thrown against the wall. No more, “You’re looking at me weird again and if you keep looking like that, I’ll smack that fucking look off your cunt face.”

I took a walk the other day and Brody didn’t care at all, like it was okay for me to do whatever I wanted, when I wanted. He only said, “Okay. Just stay away from the west side of the park because Mrs. Johnson sits outside all day, and she’ll make you look at a photo album of her cats.”

I didn’t believe him, so I walked to the west end. Mrs. Johnson did make me look at a photo album of her cats, both alive and dead. All 23 of them. Then she gave me a box of expired cookies and said I was a good listener.

I agree. I am an excellent listener.

Amber is out working a lot, and Brody has kept his distance since that first night. He washed the blood off my clothes and left them on the edge of the couch, so I thanked him for that. But now he doesn’t interact much and avoids being in the same room with me. I think I scared him off.

He leaves some mornings, brings women and men home some afternoons. They use his gym equipment for several hours, so I play video games with Bamsy on the couch or watch porn with the volume muted, quick to turn off the screen when I hear Brody shout down the hallway, “Great session today.” I think he knows what I’m watching.

He’s a strong prospect for my fourth sexual experience, though I know Amber hates the idea. I don’t know why she’s so against it. Doesn’t matter now. I came on too strong. I have yet to master the art of subtlety and taking my time, probably the main reason I’ve never had a boyfriend. Well, and my mom won’t allow it, thus why I’ve always had to sneak around.

Also, being with me means restrictions. People in adult relationships want to go out and have fun spontaneously—do what they want, when they want, where they want. I just can’t. It takes time for me to adjust to new environments. If I had a boyfriend, he’d only feel trapped.

I don’t care about a relationship, only sex, but it would be nice for a guy to at least try for a second date with me. Maybe I’m too focused on sex. I want to get to it. Skip the games. Skip the foreplay since my skin is so temperamental. Get to the fucking. Get to the orgasm. I want to bask in that full sexual climax others seem to enjoy so much.

If only my body would cooperate.

---