Signs of Attraction Read online

  I was deep into scribbling notes while trying to keep up with Dr. Ashen’s lecture—I had no clue how fast he talked, no wonder I didn’t understand him—when the paper slipped under my arm. I startled and turned to Reed. He faced forward, but the curve to his lips was probably for my benefit. I glanced at his interpreters. Great. We had an audience. What did they think about what was going on? What did I think? What was even going on?

  I opened the note in my lap.

  After class?

  I put the note back on the table. At this rate I wasn’t going to pay any attention to the pretty words being typed for my benefit. If only my heart would settle down into my chest.

  After class I told Nancy she was a lifesaver. She nodded toward Reed, who chatted with his interpreters, and told me to make it official. Nancy packed up her equipment and set it on a rolling cart most people used for luggage. Reed appeared next to me, stuffing his belongings into his bag. He smiled. I had to lock my knees. He should need a license to unleash that thing. He clenched two fists, rotating one on top of the other in opposite directions.

  Oh, smart. I was about to have coffee with a guy who couldn’t hear, and I couldn’t sign. What was I thinking?

  That he was hot and saved my butt in Dr. Ashen’s class. I owed my future teaching career to his help, assuming I never had students as difficult to understand.

  He grabbed the paper we had used for notes and pointed to the word coffee. I nodded and he pulled out a pen.

  There’s a coffee shop around the corner, unless you have some other place in mind?

  I shook my head. My contribution to the conversation consisted of yes/no answers. I supposed I could shrug for maybe. Woot, a total of three words I could say to the guy. With a point to the door, we set out, walking in silence. It was weird. We didn’t know each other and couldn’t communicate.

  Well, there was one way we could communicate that wouldn’t require any talking at all . . . No, mind on target. Coffee. Even though I already hit my caffeine limit for the day. And needed dinner. Oh yeah, this was smart.

  Chapter Four

  Reed

  CARLI STARED AT her feet, conversational avoidance behavior. If only she knew we were communicating just fine. Communication didn’t have to be verbal. It could be visual or physical. To prove it, I pointed to the door, and she fell into step beside me.

  Steps have a rhythm, a poetry to the motion. Some are fast and hurried, in an oh-shit-I’m-late type of scenario. Others are slow and at ease, a Sunday don’t-have-a-care-in-the-world motto. Carli’s steps faltered every few feet. Not in a comic falling-over way. No, her faltered steps indicated a hesitance, an insecurity.

  I caught her eyes and smiled. I didn’t want her feeling resistant around me. She took a breath and smiled back.

  My own steps faltered.

  If nothing else, she threw me off my game.

  I turned into the small, dimly lit coffee shop. A mirrored wall opened up the area, enhancing the maroon cushions and bohemian feel. The barista gave me a double take, then pointed to her lower face and gave me a thumbs-up. When my teaching job was on break, I tended to let the whole shaving thing lapse. But now it was up and running again, and for some reason I decided my professional look was beard-free. I scratched my hairless cheek as she handed over her pen and paper. I’d been known to survive on caffeine, the record at thirty-six hours before I crashed. I wrote down my order, added a winking smiley face, and handed the paper back.

  She gave me a wink and went about prepping my order. When I blew on my coffee, Carli pointed to a muffin. She was a little closer to my world than she thought. I covered up my smile by taking a too-hot sip. If I didn’t stop making this a habit, I’d never taste food again.

  Oh well, my tongue was already burnt, so I took another sip. I continued with our lesson—one I’d bet my shiny new Blu-ray player would go over her head—by pointing to a table by the window. She nodded and I set off, passing by the other tables full of people with moving mouths and stationary hands clutching drinks.

  I slid into the booth and grabbed my notebook and pen, placing them on the glass table. I wrote a note and slid it across to Carli as she unwrapped her muffin.

  How did you like CART?

  She popped a piece of her muffin past her plump lips. My blood pumped hard. I wanted to feel that movement against my lips, my skin, my . . . I sipped my coffee, and the taste skipped right over my raw taste buds. A reminder my tongue was burnt. No kissing. Not tonight.

  Huh. I wanted to kiss someone. And not just someone in the large, grand ocean of availability. This person across from me. My heart doubled its efforts and my stomach thought maybe the coffee was too hot. How long had it been since I’d felt this way?

  Beth.

  I burned the thought right out of my head. If only I could burn the girl from my memory. Relief washed over me as Carli slid the notebook my way.

  It was amazing. I didn’t know what to expect, but I went from not understanding Mr. Scary Mustache at all to following everything. I don’t think I’ve ever followed that much of a class.

  Scary Mustache? Is that what happened when a mustache grew too long? I raised my eyebrows and tapped the name on the paper. Good thing I hadn’t left one when I shaved.

  Dr. Ashen. Can you lip-read him?

  For a moment I was almost relieved the comment had nothing to do with kissing. My tongue had this funny idea she could help relieve the numbness.

  She grabbed the paper back before I could fully focus. Damn. Here I was, making a fool out of myself. Stop thinking about her lips.

  Do you lip-read?

  I wanted to lip-read her. To the point where I almost asked her to say something and I’d try to understand it. Focus, idiot. Lip-reading. Not kissing. Not Carli’s lips. The act of lip-reading for communication purposes.

  Some. I think it helps to combine lip-reading with sound, easier for you than me.

  She read the note and her eyes locked with mine. A small part of me hoped the conversation would sway to lips and not reading. Hers were pink with something glossy, even after eating a third of her muffin. How many kisses would it take to remove entirely?

  And I was being a dick. She had taken her first step into my world, and all I could think about was her lips and kissing. Then it hit me. She wasn’t staring at me because of the thoughts rolling around in my head. She hadn’t interacted with others who had hearing loss. I took the paper back.

  Do you have any friends with a hearing loss?

  She shook her head, and my heart broke a little. What a lonely life, to be so different and so alone. Time to forget about her lips.

  Well, you do now.

  Her smile warmed me more than the coffee. She needed a friend, not some guy looking to ease his burnt tongue in her mouth.

  Thank you. I didn’t think there were many young people with hearing loss.

  She really was a fish out of water.

  Our numbers are small, true, but we stick together. The Deaf Community is tight. I’ll introduce you.

  She read my note and turned her gaze to her muffin. I scared her and she didn’t know the not-so-pure thoughts rolling around in my head. Wrong time to suddenly resume interest in the opposite sex.

  I laughed at myself. What a time to decide to be normal again. I reached for the pen and paper.

  Don’t worry. It’s not a death sentence. We don’t bite. I can introduce you to someone who’s like you.

  She sent me a smile, distracting me once again with her lips and thoughts of what that smile would feel like pressed against my skin.

  And you’re not?

  I hadn’t scared her off. Not yet, at least.

  I meant someone Hard of Hearing, who can hear with hearing aids. Hearing aids gave me headaches, not language.

  Something new crossed her face as she wrote.

  I have headaches most of the time.

  I forgot about her lips. Was she closer to my nonhearing than I thought?

  Th
en take them off.

  She shook her head.

  Can’t hear enough without them. And it doesn’t make a difference.

  I tapped the table. Something wasn’t right with this picture.

  How bad is your hearing loss? I don’t mean to be nosy, but unless you have significant loss, the headaches don’t seem normal.

  She frowned at my note.

  Moderate. I guess. No one really talks about what I can’t hear.

  Moderate. The picture she presented definitely didn’t make sense.

  Sorry you have headaches. Have you always had your hearing loss?

  She nodded. Then grabbed the pen and bent over the paper, blocking it from my view.

  Since we’re doing twenty questions: favorite movie?

  The smile grew on my face before I could help it. Conversation swerve, excellent execution from one hard-of-hearing girl with pink glossy lips.

  Dead Poets Society. A bit cliché for a teacher. You?

  She read my note, body relaxed and at ease. I hadn’t realized how tense our previous topic had made her.

  Mine’s Penelope.

  Oh God. Willow’s favorite movie. Good thing I enjoyed it, because she wanted to watch it All. The. Time.

  My friend loves that movie. The girl w/ a pig nose, right?

  Carli nodded. I shifted the conversation to other movies. After the Penelope reference, it came as no surprise she was into chick flicks—Willow would love her. I wrote down a few of my drama and high-action favorites.

  She slid the notebook back my way, with a grin I swore bred evil.

  So you go for explosions and scantily clad women?

  Busted. I caught the last drop of cooled coffee on my numb tongue and shrugged a shoulder. Nothing wrong with explosions and scantily clad women.

  We continued chatting as the sky grew darker outside. When I focused on the café, I noticed the crowd had diminished. Without meaning to, I had dragged her into Deaf Time.

  As a small token of thanks for sitting here this long to write back and forth, I collected her items and tossed them in the trash for her.

  When I turned, I caught her checking me out. She darted her eyes to her bag as I stood, feet sprouting roots and turning my legs into tree trunks. It was mutual. What I felt was mutual. And damned if that didn’t make me feel like an insecure thirteen-year-old. Even if I needed this, badly.

  I grabbed the notebook and scribbled down thank you before showing her the sign and pointing to the paper. She smiled and nodded. On instinct I moved in to hug her, like I would’ve after any other meeting like this. Except she wasn’t part of the culture, and my need to touch her wasn’t friendly at all.

  I balled my hands into fists and stepped back. Something flashed across her face, and I realized she was closer than before I moved toward her. She would have let me touch her. I nearly switched tactics, again, before thinking with the head not in my pants. Instead of a hug good-bye, we waved at the exit of the coffee shop and headed in different directions.

  For two blocks I contemplated turning around and hugging her anyways. Just to feel her body pressed against mine, even for a second.

  Then I took in a breath of the cool city air. I might be trying to help Carli, but so far, she was helping me. For the first time since Beth, I felt alive.

  Chapter Five

  Carli

  MY HEAD SWAM after the strangest coffee meeting of my life. Well, more of a stabbing swim, thanks to my headache’s appreciation of my late caffeine addition. I’d never communicated about hearing loss with another person. And it felt . . . strange.

  Yup. Strange. I planned on sticking with strange to classify my evening. At least my “date” was hot and filled out a tee shirt quite nicely.

  I took a deep breath as I walked down Beacon Street—not the cleanest air, mind you. For the past three years, Boston had been home. The cold air settled into my bones, and I pulled my jacket tighter. Didn’t matter that people passed me in short sleeves. I was destined to always be cold. Even though it was late, cars still lingered on the street as students and other city dwellers lined the walkway.

  At the brownstone I called home, I trudged up the three flights of stairs to my apartment-style dorm I shared with my BFF. I entered and let my bag and jacket fall to the floor before dropping myself onto the teal couch in our living room. A vanilla scent hung in the air, courtesy of my roommate and her candle addiction. Our dorm had a nice living space and open kitchen area, plus two bedrooms and a shared bathroom. Heaven in campus living. Heck, more affordable and nicer than anything off campus anyways.

  “How was that cat thing?” D asked from the kitchen as my body sagged into the couch. D was short for DD, which was short for Deirdre Deborah. Hey, we all had our own parent issues. Lord knew I did.

  “CART, not cat. It was cool. I got to read what Dr. Ashen said, rather than try to understand the un-understandable.”

  “I don’t think that’s a word.”

  “Bite me. I’m a math education major, not English.” And my ears would do well not to get in my way again.

  “You don’t want me biting you. What about Hot New Deaf Guy?”

  I rolled my head back on the couch. “His name is Reed.”

  D pulled her dyed-red hair into a messy bun and secured it with one of the three multicolored pens on the wicker coffee table. “Yet no mention of the biting.”

  Without warning, my mind traveled back to the end of our coffee meeting, when I stood scoping his nice ass. I fixed my hair around my face in a desperate attempt to hide my burning cheeks.

  “Where does he fall on the Carli scale?”

  Yes, I had an odd obsession with math most of my life. “Holding steady at eight.”

  D’s black-lined eyes opened wide. “Never, in the three years I’ve known you, have I heard of an eight.”

  I picked up my bag. “And what does that say about my inner psychosis?” She was already thinking it, courtesy of her psych major, so might as well get her to fess up before she went into full psychiatrist mode.

  “Either this guy really is hot, or you need to get laid.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?”

  D doubled over in laughter and I escaped to my bedroom. I considered my muffin as my dinner, and the caffeine had me sufficiently jittery. But more than that I felt . . . unsettled.

  It was well past time for some comfort. I changed into lounging clothes, letting the soft fibers soothe me. My ears were itchy, as the hearing aids turned earwax into a wet mess. I pulled them out, and the air tickled my damp ears as I cleaned the lingering wax off my molds. Tinnitus rang in the almost silent room, thanking me for that last bit of coffee. Quiet was never truly quiet when my ears rang on their own.

  I set up my work on my bed. Four books and corresponding notebooks each got their own prime spot. I gave each the most attention I could give it. Once my brain wandered, it was time to put the book aside. I stretched before picking up the next book. D thought my study habits were insane; she didn’t get how I could comprehend everything. To me it felt like I spent hours on each subject, but I was told it was minutes. I didn’t question it. It was how I learned. The only way I knew how to process information.

  Not that my father agreed with my self-assessment. To him, my study habits were one more area where I was impaired. As an elementary student, I began studying in my room, away from the rest of the family, away from his disapproval.

  Tonight as I paused after working on linguistics, thoughts of Reed filtered in. I brought my hand up to my face, copying his movements from before we left. “Thank you.”

  Intrigued, I rolled onto my back and picked up my phone. I searched for ASL, amazed at the sheer volume of sites I hit. Though I shouldn’t have been surprised; was there anything one could search for and not hit a million random sites?

  Maybe . . .

  No, Carli, mind on target. The first site I clicked on housed a visual dictionary. I scrolled through, clicked on thank you, and got conf
irmation that was the sign Reed showed me.

  What else had he shown me? Coffee. I found the sign and it looked similar to what I remembered.

  For the next hour, with way more concentration than normal, I searched through the dictionary, soaking up each word like a sponge. My hearing aids were off and yet I understood videos. Sure, the videos were just of a man or woman performing one sign over and over again. But it was still cool.

  I also spent a decent amount of time with the alphabet, forming my hands to match what was on the screen.

  At the end of the hour I lay sprawled on my back, watching my own hand.

  C-A-R-L-I, C-A-R-L-I, C-A-R-L-I.

  R-E-E-D.

  Chapter Six

  Reed

  THE STAINED, WRINKLED, off-white envelope floated down, covering the page of my Psychology of the Deaf textbook. Ironically, it covered the early childhood section.

  I pushed the book into the center of the kitchen table and looked up at Val.

  “I wondered when you’d stop hiding this.”

  I wanted to snatch it and put it at the bottom of the same drawer I shoved the letter. Or burn it. Burning it would work.

  Val pulled out the wooden chair and sat opposite me. She studied my face, choosing her words carefully, no doubt. “How are you doing? Between the letter and the new girl, I can’t tell.”

  I shrugged and flicked the envelope off my book with the capped end of my pen. “I’m fine.”

  Val leaned her elbows on the table. “Liar.”

  I dropped the pen into my book and closed it. “What do you want?”

  “Truth.”

  “The new girl’s name is C-A-R-L-I.”

  She didn’t sign anything. She stared me down, round brown eyes never wavering from mine.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Too bad. What did the letter say?”

  “Don’t know. Didn’t read it.”