Out of Love by

“Jericho,” Mr. Stole My Spot warned.

A couple girls veered off in our direction. “Oh my god! What a beautiful dog.” One leaned down to pet him, and he growled. The girls jumped back. “Whoa … okay.” They skittered off just as quickly as they’d detoured toward the tree.

Spot-stealer reached over and gave Jericho a scratch on his head as if to praise him for growling at the girls. However, Jericho’s gaze remained affixed to the pear in my hand.

I took another bite of pear and slid the chunk out of my mouth. Then I tossed it in front of Jericho.

“Leave it.”

I smirked at the gruff voice.

For a deaf person, he missed nothing. I peered in that direction again. Maybe he sat up and saw the piece of pear.

Nope.

He just knew.

The dog released a slight whine and dropped to the ground with his snout resting on his front paws.

Scooting my body and my bag a few inches toward the tree trunk, I reached my arm over my head, grabbed the piece of pear, and flicked it closer to Jericho.

I gasped as a shooting pain radiated from my wrist to the socket of my whole damn arm. Unforgiving fingers imprinted on my skin, and my hand tingled, losing all feeling.

“Feed my dog again, and I’ll break your fucking arm.”

“Whoa! Let. Go. Of. Me!” I ripped my hand from his grasp and scrambled to sitting, rubbing my wrist. By the time I glared over my shoulder to give him a few more choice words, he and his dog were ten yards away, heading up the stairs. His voice wasn’t what I expected. Agitation bled through in his abrasive tone, but it also held perfect inflections—not so common for deaf people. Or so it was my experience.

“Asshole,” I mumbled with my own perfect speech inflection while frowning at my pear that had fallen to the ground when my arm came under attack.

I breezed through my next two classes without gaining any real knowledge. Tall, dark, and one hundred percent asshole kept my mind preoccupied. After chatting with friends outside of my last lecture hall, I hopped on the first available scooter and headed home. Parking the rental on the main street, I trekked up the small hill to my house, slowing as I passed the Dickerson home. It looked similar to Aubrey’s house. The whole street was a little too cookie-cutter for my taste.

After making a slow pass by the house, I picked up my pace until I heard a car behind me. As I turned my head, a black Volvo SUV with tinted windows flew into the driveway. My brute enemy climbed out and opened the back door for Jericho. His gaze shot in my direction for a split second before he shut the door. I held my breath as if doing so would make me invisible.

Slade Wylder reminded me of the Grim Reaper—minus the scythe—cloaked in black, right down to his car and its windows. Eyes so dark they appeared hollow from a distance.

My mom said my dad had a mysterious dark side to him when they met. Maybe it’s why I’d always been drawn to men my father wouldn’t find worthy of his baby girl. I felt certain he hadn’t slept a day since I left for college. He was lucky I stayed in-state—a six-hour drive south of LA instead of the East Coast, where I seriously considered going to escape the warden.

Before Slade Wylder had a chance to take another sip from the cup of my blatant curiosity, I shot him a half smile—the one I loved giving to my father—and sauntered to my house.

“Dude! Guess who moved into the firehouse?” Kara nearly choked on her soda, wiping her mouth as I dropped my backpack by the front door.

“You’re not supposed to sit on the kitchen counter. If Mommy Aubrey catches you … you’ll be evicted.”

Kara leaned back against the white cabinets, hiking a knee to her chest, resting her foot on the edge of said white granite countertop. Bare feet on the kitchen counter would have sent Aubrey into a disinfecting frenzy. “This is hers.” Kara held up the can of diet soda shit and smirked before taking another sip. “And it’s the last one. I’m already in deep poo poo with Mommy.”

“You really are. And … yes. I know who moved into the firehouse. And he’s just as creepy as the rumors we’ve heard about Professor Molester Dickerson. Slade Wylder. He’s in my first class. And he has a dog.” I grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the fridge.

“He’s deaf. And really fucking hot. That’s what I’ve heard. Is he?” Kara’s eyes widened in question.

I took a few swallows then rubbed my lips together. “Hot or deaf?”

“Both.”

“I don’t know if he’s deaf. It might explain the dog. He’s definitely hot. But sadly … a jerk of epic proportions. I tried to give his dog a piece of my pear, and he grabbed my wrist and threatened to rip my arm off if I ever do it again.”