Holding Her Hand (Reed Brothers Book 15)(12)

Matt covers his mouth with a towel and gags. “Who did that?” he asks in sign language when he uncovers his mouth momentarily.

I already have my hand lifted to my forehead. No way will I get blamed for that one. It’s too foul even for me.

“Sam,” they all say at once and I realize he’s the only one who doesn’t have his hand up.

He shrugs. “I couldn’t help it!”

“Find a way to help it next time,” Paul warns with a look. Sam’s face colors.

“I made quiche last night,” Sam explains.

“Well, don’t ever make that again,” Pete gripes. He shoves his shoulder.

Josh, the one in the wheelchair who is married to one of Lark’s sisters, pretends to cough into his closed fist. “So…I heard a rumor that someone had a hot date last night.” Josh just learned to sign, so his movements are halting and slow, but he’s trying.

“Funny,” I say, “I didn’t hear that rumor.” I point to my ear. Deaf humor is always funny.

“Who did you go out with?” Logan asks.

“Nobody.”

I start doing butterfly lifts so I don’t have to talk.

“He went out with Lark,” Josh says. Then he fans his face. “And I heard it got a little steamy.”

I put the weights down and glare at him.

Sam pats my back as he walks by me. “Dude, get used to it. Those girls tell one another everything.”

“Everything?” I ask.

He nods. “I think they all know the length and width of my dick. And my *, for that matter.”

“Eww,” Matt says. “Change of subject, please.”

I grin.

Sam sits down across from me with a towel slung over his shoulders. “Do you like her?”

I nod.

“How much?” he asks, his eyes narrowing at me.

“How about none of your f*cking business,” I toss back.

“Oh hell no,” Sam replies. “If it’s about one of my sisters-in-law, it’s my business. Trust me,” he says, “you’d rather have me in your business than Emilio.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “He’s brutal when he’s pissed.”

I point to my arm. “I did her tattoo.” I shrug. “That’s all.”

“A tattoo that included dinner?” Sam looks at Pete. “You ever had a tattoo that included dinner?”

“Had one that included a blow job. But not dinner,” Pete replies.

Paul opens his mouth to say something, but Pete adds, “I gave Reagan a heart on the inside of her ankle.” Paul calms down immediately.

Words come tumbling, almost unbidden, from my fingertips. “I like Lark a lot, but she’s not the type of girl I normally date.”

“Tits too small?” Pete asks.

I glare at him. “Her tits are perfect.”

“Ass too wide?” Pete says.

“No such thing,” Sam tosses out.

“She’s too smart for you, right?” Matt asks, but he’s grinning.

“Definitely,” I agree. She’s smart and funny and thoughtful. And scarred in so many ways. But I can’t tell them any of that because it’s her secret to tell. Not mine.

“Then what makes her not your type?” Paul asks. “Is it the hearing thing?”

“The hearing thing?” I ask, waving my hands sarcastically. “You make it sound like it’s nothing. She can hear. I can’t. It’s a pretty big thing.”

“Peck plays drums and I can’t,” Sam says.

“Reagan kicks ass and I can’t,” Pete tosses out.

“It’s not the same,” I protest.

Sam stares at me. “Peck stutters and I don’t.” The room goes quiet.

Logan speaks up. “Emily can’t read well, and I can.”

Emily has been very outspoken lately in the media about her dyslexia and has started some programs for kids who find reading difficult, so I’m not surprised Logan is bringing this up.

“Friday has a foul mouth,” Paul says. He scratches his chin. “Wait, I do too. Never mind.”

Matt shoves his shoulder.

“We’re all different,” Josh says, moving the wheels on his wheelchair back and forth so that he rocks. “Let’s face it, dude. The only thing that makes us all the same is that we are so very different from one another. If you’re going to let the fact that she can hear keep you from getting to know her, that’s on you—but you could be missing out on something wonderful.”

They stare at me until it gets uncomfortable, and I pick up the weights to break the tension.

They all go back to exercising, all discussion on the matter stopping, but I can see them shooting looks at one another, and I can tell this is going to be a topic for discussion later when I’m not around.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. It’s a picture of my baseball cap leaning against a fire hydrant. There’s a dog standing next to it.

Lark McCapSnatcher: Your hat is in mortal danger. I can choose to save it from the dog that really looks like it needs to pee. Or I can leave it to its fate. What’s your choice?

Me: What are my options?

Lark McCapSnatcher: Lunch with me?