Tall, Tatted and Tempting (The Reed Brothers 1)

While he’s gone, a man approaches the table. He’s a handsome black man with tall, natural hair. Everyone calls him Bone, but I don’t know what his real name is. “Who’s the chump, Kit?” he asks.

“None of your business,” I say, taking a sip of my root beer. I fill my mouth up with a chip, and hope he goes away before Logan comes back. And I hope deep inside that Logan will come back so I can apologize.

Logan slides back into the booth. He looks up at Bone and doesn’t acknowledge him. He just looks at him.

“You got a place to sleep tonight, Kit?” Bone asks.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’m fine.”

“I could use a girl like you,” Bone says.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” It doesn’t pay to piss Bone off. He walks away.

“You all right?” I ask Logan.

He nods, brushing his curls from his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. And I mean it. I really do.

He nods again.

“It’s not your fault you can’t talk. And...” My voice falls off. I’ve never talked to anyone about this. “It’s not my fault I can’t read well.”

He nods.

“I’m not stupid,” I rush to say.

He nods again, and waves his hands to shut me up. He places a finger to his lips like he wants me to shush.

“Ok,” I grumble.

He writes on the board and I groan, visibly folding. I hate to do it, but I can’t take it. “I should go,” I say. I reach for my bag.

He takes the board and puts it in his backpack. He gets it, I think. I’d rather play twenty questions than I would try to read words.

He opens his mouth and I hear a noise. He stops, grits his teeth, and then a sound like a murmur in a cavern comes out of his mouth.

“You can talk?” I ask. He put me through reading when he can talk?

He shakes his head and bites his lips together. I shush and wait. “Maybe,” he says. It comes out quiet, and soft, and his consonants are as soft as his vowels. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

I draw a cross over my heart, which is swelling with something I don’t understand.

“What’s your name?” he asks. He signs while he says it. It’s halting and he has to stop between words, like when I’m reading.

“People call me Kit,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “But what’s your name?” he asks again.

I shake my head. “No.”

He nods again. The waitress brings the burgers and he nods and smiles at her. She squeezes his shoulder again.

When she’s gone, I ask him, “Why are you talking to me?”

“I want to.” He heaves a sigh, and starts to eat his burger.

“You don’t talk to anyone else?”

He shakes his head.

“Ever?”

He shakes his head again.

“Why me?”

He shrugs.

We eat in silence. I was hungrier than I thought, and I clear my plate. He doesn’t say anything else. But he eats his food and pushes his plate to the edge of the table. He puts mine on the top of it, and looks for the waitress over his shoulder. I’m almost sorry the meal is over. We shared a companionable silence for more than a half hour. I kind of like it.

He gets the waitress’s attention and holds up two fingers. He’s asking for two checks. I should have known. I pull my money from my pocket. He closes his hand on mine and shakes his head. The waitress appears with two huge pieces of apple pie. I haven’t had apple pie since I left home. Tears prick at the backs of my lashes and I don’t know how to stop them. “Damn it,” I say to myself.

He reaches over and wipes beneath my eyes with the pads of his thumbs. “It’s just pie,” he says.

I nod, because I can’t talk past the lump in my throat.

Logan

Black shit runs down from her eyes and I wipe it away with my thumbs, and then drag my thumbs across my jeans. She’s crying. But I don’t know why. I want to ask her, but I’ve already said too much.

I haven’t talked since I was thirteen. That was eight years ago. I tried for a while, but even with my hearing aids, it was hard to hear myself. After the kid on the playground teased me about my speech, I shut my mouth and never spoke again. I learned to read lips really fast. Of course, I miss some things. But I can keep up. Most of the time.

I’m not keeping up right now. “Why the tears?” I ask, as she takes a bite of her pie. She sniffs her tears back, and she smiles at me and shrugs. This time, it’s her who won’t talk.

Hell, if pie will make her cry, I wonder what something truly romantic would do to her. This is a girl that deserves flowers and candy. And all the good shit I can’t afford. But she likes to talk to me. I can tell that much, so she’s not with me simply because I wouldn’t give her bag back.

She asks me a question but her mouth is full of pie, so I wait a minute for her to swallow. She gulps, smiles shyly at me and says, “Were you born deaf?” She points to my ear.

I point to my ear and then my cheek, showing her the sign for deaf. I shake my head.

“How old were you when it happened?” Her brows scrunch together, and she’s so damn cute I want to kiss her.

I make a three and flick it at her.

“Three?” she asks.

I shake my head and do it again. She still doesn’t get it. So, I put one finger in front of the three and she says, “Thirteen?”