Dax eyed me up and down, then walked to the counter, grabbed a laminated sheet, and pushed it toward me, his finger tapping on the first photo, which was a man smiling. The text below saidHOW CAN I HELP YOU?Below all that was a list of car issues, which made me smile.
I shook my head, then lifted my hands. ‘I sign.’
His eyes widened, and he curled his fingers toward his face and waved them in front of his mouth. ‘Wow! Fluent?’
I shrugged. ‘I took four years at school and had some Deaf friends, but it’s been a while.’
His grin widened, then his eyes narrowed on me, and he gave me a slow up-and-down. ‘Familiar. I know you?’
‘We’ve met. I’m Creek’s brother. I’m here to drop off papers for…’ I wasn’t sure if Tameron had a sign name. I assumed he did, but I couldn’t recall seeing it, so I spelled it.
Dax’s brows flew up, and he tapped his Y hand in the air, his lips motioning, ‘Peh-peh.’ He pushed the laminated paper aside, then took the folder and set it on the desk. ‘I remember you. How are you?’
I felt a sudden and wild urge to cut myself open and spill my guts to this almost total stranger, but fuck if it wouldn’t get back to Creek in ten seconds. I’d always loved the Deaf community, but most of them were worse than an old-lady knitting circle when it came to gossip.
Unfortunately, his keen eyes did not miss the journey my face went on. He made a soft noise of sympathy and quickly grabbed one of the business cards and scribbled something on the back. His…number?
He pushed it toward me with an impatient sound in the back of his throat, gesturing for me to grab it. ‘I might be Deaf, but I’m a great listener.’ He signed listen at the side of his eye, which made me smile. ‘And I can keep a secret.’ He made a locking motion over both of his wrists, the ASL equivalent of lips are sealed.
God, I really was a walking open book, wasn’t I? I needed to learn how to compartmentalize before going out in public. Dax had keen eyes, but I had a feeling that if anyone who knew me saw me, they’d be able to tell my life was screwed six ways to Sunday.
‘I’ve been going through some stuff,’ I admitted.
He nodded. ‘Me too. Break up. Moving out…’
‘No more living with Tameron and Dayton?’
He snorted and rolled his eyes. ‘If I walk into one more room reeking of sex, I’m going to,’ he made a motion like he was slitting his own throat.
I burst into laughter. Yeah. That had to be rough. There was a reason I always—always—called first before I went over to Creek and Heath’s. ‘I understand.’
Biting my lip, I stared down at his number and realized I really could use a friend. Maybe that made me pathetic, but it was probably a good idea that I expand my world outside of Nash’s tender loving care.
And considering his weird work schedule, I could actually make time for Dax. I waved my hand at him to get his attention because he’d looked down at Tameron’s file folder. ‘Maybe dinner or drinks this weekend?’
His eyes brightened. ‘Yes! I know a great bar. ASL servers.’
I started to smile, but then I realized I still needed help. ‘I can’t drive.’
He blinked at me. ‘How did you get here? Car broken?I can fix.’
‘No, no.’ My hands hesitated in the air, my chest tight before I took a breath. ‘Sick.’ I had no idea what signs to use for what I was going through, and spelling out chronic illness on my fingers felt…heavy. ‘I get dizzy. Vertigo. I’m not allowed to drive right now.’
He’d also have to know about the seizures because if I had one while we were out, I didn’t want him to panic. But we could talk about that later, when I wasn’t standing in front of him, watching pity bloom over his face.
Though maybe that was unfair. He didn’t look like he was pitying me. He looked like he understood.
‘I can pick you up. You still live with Nash?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Cool.’ His fingers wiggled as he pressed his thumb to his chest. ‘See you soon?’
I shot him a quick nod of my fist to say, ‘Yes.’
‘Text me!’ Then, as if on cue, the door opened behind me with another flicker of lights, and I turned to see two young teens walk in, chattering and laughing to each other. They couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and one of them was holding keys to a Benz.
They didn’t even look at me as they breezed up to the counter and the dark-haired one said, “So, like, we need an oil change.”
