“Why not?” Emily asks, her smile sweet. “She doesn’t make enough money?”
I bite back a laugh. Dinner arrives, and it’s really difficult to read lips when people are eating, so I miss parts of the conversation. Dessert comes next, and I can catch more as the forks and the cups slow down.
“Emily,” her dad says. “The congressman and his son are here. I’d like for you to go and meet them.” He stands up and holds out his hand.
She takes it, looking over her shoulder. I sign the word fine at her really quickly and nod. She can go; I’ll be all right.
Mrs. Madison is talking to a woman on her right, and Trip is glaring at me. So, I take out the notepad that’s always in my pocket, pull the nub of a pencil from the spirals at the top, and start to sketch. Mr. Madison has a tricky problem within his ad campaign, and I can solve it, so I want to get it down on paper. He may never use it, but if he does, it may score me some points with him. I doubt it. But maybe.
I put my ideas on paper, sketching words and scenes that might be a commercial or print advertising. I’m totally engrossed in my ideas when Emily returns. She sits down beside me and says, “I’m back.”
“My world is now complete,” I respond.
She rolls her eyes and leans over to kiss me quickly. “That was cheesy,” she says.
I shrug. I don’t care. It’s true.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking down at my sketch.
“Doodling,” I say, grinning at her. She snags the notepad and flips through the pages.
“These are really good,” she says. She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide. “I mean, really, really good.” She passes my pad back to me, and I shake my head.
“Probably not worth the effort,” I say.
She heaves a sigh. “Probably not.”
I lay my pad on the table and stand up. “Come and dance with me,” I say. I pull her into my arms and spin her around the dance floor. She’s breathless when we come back.
I look around for my sketch pad. “Hmm,” I say. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?” she asks, her cheeks rosy and her breaths quickened.
“My notepad.”
She worries her lower lip. “Maybe one of the servers picked it up by accident?” she suggests. “Do you want me to ask?”
I shake my head. “It was just a notepad.” I have a lot of them, and they end up scattered all over the house. But as a deaf man, you never know when you might need one.
She looks at me shyly and says, “Can we go and dance some more?”
I’d do just about anything for her. So, we go and dance the rest of the night away.
Emily
It’s more than a little awkward when my dad’s limo pulls up in front of Logan’s apartment building to drop him off. He looks at me like he wants to take me with him, and I want to go. But my dad is in the car, and I know he won’t like it. I nudge Logan’s leg, and he reaches over, offering his had to my dad.
“Thank you for the wonderful evening, Mr. Madison,” he says. He smiles at my mom. “And Mrs. Madison.”
Begrudgingly, my dad takes his hand. Logan looks down at me one more time, kisses my forehead, and then the driver opens the door. He gets out of the car and I follow behind him.
“You’re staying?” he asks, his face lighting with hope.
I shake my head and nod toward the car. “No. He’s going to take me to my apartment.”
His face clouds and he looks up at the stars, breathing in a long breath. I don’t want to leave him. I want to stay here. This is home. Not my apartment and certainly not with Trip Fields.
My stomach twists with the knowledge that I won’t get to sleep in his arms tonight. He won’t throw one leg over my naked bottom and hold me close to him.
“I have a class at nine tomorrow and another at noon.” I say. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
He shakes his head. “My classes don’t start until three on Mondays, and then I have a lab at six thirty.”
“Oh.”
The window of the limo lowers, and my dad barks at me.
“I know!” I shout. “I’m coming!”
Logan brackets my face with his hands and says, “I want to kiss you.”
My dad starts to whistle, the window still down. I’m glad Logan can’t hear it because it’s annoying the crap out of me. “I want to be kissed,” I say.
He groans and presses his lips to my forehead, holding them as he breathes in and out, in and out.
In a perfect world, I could go home and we could talk late into the night on the phone. But that can’t happen with us. Logan can use a TTY, but it wouldn’t be the same.
“Emily,” my dad warns.
“I have to go,” I say, and I kiss him quickly on the lips. The driver holds the door open for me, and I slide into the car. I feel like he’s shutting the door to happiness when I have to leave Logan. I sigh heavily and lean back against the backrest. This sucks.
Logan
I run up the stairs as quickly as I can. Paul is standing in the kitchen and spins to face me when I run in and slam the door.
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “Someone stole all your clothes and brought you home dressed like a f**king douche.”
“Can I borrow your bike?” I ask, my breath rushing from my body. I need to go, and I need to go quickly.
“It’s too f**king cold to ride the bike,” he warns, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you want it?” Paul has a Suzuki street bike that he won in a card game. He doesn’t drive it this time of the year.