Live Out Loud Page 3

  “Ma”—I put my hand on hers, forcing her to look at me—“you are the strongest woman I know. And I’ll always be here for you.”

  It breaks my heart to see her like this, what that man has done to her. There are no words.

  She pulls her hand from beneath mine and sits back, nursing her coffee and grinning widely. “Enough about me and my shit. How was the concert tonight?”

  “Good.” I nod. “Standing room only.”

  “Look at my boy getting all famous!” she squeals while she shrugs her shoulders in rapid succession.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Hell, we can’t get a record label to give us the time of day.”

  “But, your fans do, and that’s what counts, right?”

  I take a swallow of my watered down coffee, recalling the screaming crowd that had packed into Mississippi Lights tonight. Our biggest gig yet. But it’s Harper’s round face and wild red curls that my brain zeros in on. Could she feel my eyes on her tonight? It seemed like she could. When our eyes locked for those brief seconds, everything around us fell away. It was just the two of us…fucking amazing. And her body. Damn. The sultry sway of her hips as she danced to the music was intoxicating. Won’t get that image out of my head for a long time, not that I’d want to.

  Mom smacks my arm. “Thor?”

  My eyes snap to hers and I’m pulled away from the Harper movie reel in my head. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. What’d you say?”

  Mom’s eyes widen, stretching her lips upward into a sly grin. “What were you thinking about?” She points her index finger at me, circling it around. “I know you, Thorin, only a girl can put that look on your face. Do you have a new girlfriend?”

  “Jesus. No, I don’t.” I bristle at the word “girlfriend.” Wrinkling my nose, I throw back a swallow of coffee.

  “Oh! It is a girl! You always get like this.” Her hands beat a wild, circular path in front of my face.

  I can’t hide anything from her. “Like what?”

  “Like this.” Her hands move faster, making wider circles, as if that clarifies her meaning. “All defensive and brooding. Girls eat that shit up, don’t they?”

  I look up at ceiling and roll my eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

  Lowering my chin, I meet Mom’s enthusiastic stare and cave. “Yes. I met a girl.”

  “Ahhhh!” She claps. “I knew it! It’s the brooding, gets ’em every time.”

  I blow out a huge breath, my cheeks puffing. Telling her about Harper was a mistake. She is going to take this news and run with it. Tomorrow, Harper and I will be married. By Sunday, we’ll have a couple kids. “Relax, Ma. I didn’t propose. Hell, I don’t even have her number. Time to lay off the soap operas and Hallmark movies.”

  Mom falls back in her chair like I’ve taken a pin to her balloon. “You can’t ask the lady out if you don’t have her number, Thor.”

  I nod. “Thanks for that pro tip, but the ball’s in her court, she’s got my number.”

  She bites her lip, working over this nugget of information. “Oh. Well, do you want her to call? What’s she like?”

  Fuck yes, I want her to call, she’s sexy as hell. Curves that warrant a caution sign. A sassy, lopsided grin that dares a man to come closer. And let’s not forget about those deft fingers…I definitely want to find out what those can do. “Yeah, I really hope she calls. She’s beautiful. Curly, red hair. Petite. Pink cheeks. Ivory skin. Freckles.” I rattle off the mother-friendly list of Harper’s physical attributes.

  “Sounds like she made quite an impression.” Mom wags her eyebrows.

  You have no idea. I put the cup to my lips and finish off the cold, poor excuse for coffee.

  “Then don’t ruin things with her. You aren’t getting any younger.”

  I give her a dirty look, offended. “I’m only twenty-four.”

  “Exactly. Don’t waste your youth and good looks, they won’t last forever. And you were already five years old by the time I was your age.”

  I roll my eyes. I need a fucking cigarette. If there’s one person in the world that should want me to stay away from anything serious, it’s my mother. She should be first in line to shoot down any potential romances, not the one making a damn love connection. Jesus, and the thought of kids? That makes me want to vomit. No fucking way. I will not be responsible for screwing up a tiny human’s life.

  Relationships aren’t my thing. Never have been. From the time girls hit my radar, I knew I wasn’t looking for more than just a short-lived good time. With my old man as a role model, I wanted no part of anything that resembled a relationship. One-night stands are easier…safer…no one gets hurt.

  But dammit, Harper pops into my head. After a ninety-second conversation with her, I’m itching for a second date before I’ve even been on a first one. What is it about her that’s got me wanting more, tossing aside my strict one-night stand policy? Yeah, she’s different from the girls I usually hook up with, and it’s not because she’s deaf, there’s something else. I felt it when I couldn’t tear my eyes away from hers while I was on stage. I don’t know what it is, but I’m willing to go on a thousand dates if it means I get to figure it out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Harper

  I watch the last kid leave, then turn around and survey the mess left behind. The room looks likes a fairy war zone. Glitter everywhere. At the time, making cosmic silly putty sounded like a good idea, in practice, not so much. This is why pharmacy school is a better career choice for me than teaching. The kids have way too much fun and now I’m left with the chaos my crazy idea generated. After working at the YMCA’s Deaf Youth Outreach Program for the last three years, one would think I learned my lesson about messy projects. Nope. The bigger the mess, the more fun the kids and I have. With a sigh, I resign myself to the fact that I’m going to be here all night, up to my eyeballs in glitter, and that’s okay.

  Walking over to craft area I collect the dripping glue bottles and toss them in a basket. I set a trashcan at one end of the table and swipe my hand across its length. A dozen empty glitter containers, paper, and ruined markers plop into the can. I pull my hand away and wiggle my fingers covered with wet glue, multicolored sparkles, and some other unidentifiable gooey substances. Kindergarteners aren’t known for their hygiene skills. Smart, Harper.

  Clapping my hands over the trash, some of the glitter comes off, but I’m still a mess. I’ll be leaving a trail of pixie dust in my wake for weeks. I turn around and head to the bathroom to wash my hands just in time to see Chloe barreling through the Y’s door.

  Chloe skips over to me, bouncing like Tigger with a beatific smile on her face. Her black-blond braid is wild, pieces coming loose all around her face and sticking out in every direction. I’m not used to seeing her so disheveled. “I’ve got huge news!”

  “What?” Half-dried clumps of glitter glue fall from my sticky fingers.

  “Months ago, I sent in an application and a video to the Food Network for a chance to appear on their show, Cupcake Wars. They called. They want me on the show!” Chloe bounces on the balls of her feet, excitement pouring from her.

  I wipe my hands down the sides of my pants getting off as much gunk as possible. “O-M-G! Chloe, that’s amazing! You’ve wanted to be on that show forever!”

  “I know, right? They’re doing some sort of Internet baker episode, so I’ll be going to war with another YouTube baker.”

  “I’m so proud of you, Chloe!” I stretch out my arms and pull her into a hug. I don’t care that I’m covered in a layer of kindergarten muck; this is the kind of news that requires hugging. After a tight squeeze, I pull away and ask, “What are the details? Where do they film? When do you leave? When will you be on TV?”

  Chloe shakes her head, a permanent smile on her face. “I don’t know the details yet, but Megan said she’d go with me, be my assistant. Unless of course, you want that job?” She waggles her eyebrows.

  Still smiling, I shake my head. “I happily give Megan th
e title of ‘Assistant to the Cupcake Queen.’ It’s the perfect gig for your sister.”

  Consumed by excitement, my eyes well up and I pull her back into my arms, holding on longer than a normal hug should last. It isn’t until Chloe starts to squirm in my arms that I let go. She holds me at arm’s length and gives me a once-over. “What happened to you?”

  “A fairy threw up on me.” I shrug.

  She wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue while picking glitter out of my hair. “Got an extra rag, I’ll help you clean up.”

  “You don’t have to do that. You should be out celebrating.”

  Chloe waves me off and pushes by, swiping the roll paper towels off the end of the table. Tucking it under her arms she mouths, along with signing, “I cannot subsist on a smattering of ten-minute conversations in a week. I miss my friend. Our clinical rotations are killing our social lives. At least this way, we’ll have a chance to catch up.” Taking the paper towels from under her arm, she rips off one long piece and walks to the sink, running it under the faucet.

  Chloe’s right. This last week has been one exhausting roller-coaster ride. Chloe and I are on opposite clinical paths. While she spends her first semester learning the ropes of filling prescriptions in a commercial drugstore setting, I’m learning the hospital side of pharmacology—which I love. To know that I have the opportunity to help manage a patient’s pain, especially a child’s, it’s the greatest feeling.

  At the end of the semester, Chloe and I will switch. It’s actually kind of nice that we didn’t have the same track, this way, we know what’s coming down the line—and for me, it’s always helpful to have some insight into the future, so I can prepare.

  Whipping back around, Chloe cups her hands beneath the wet towel and runs, plopping the soggy towels on the table. Together, we wipe down the mess. “Thanks for staying to help.”

  “It’s nothing.” She gives me a thumbs up and huge smile. “Not like I have anywhere I need to be. Although”—she stops signing, her brow furrowed—“it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start practicing for Cupcake Wars. Hope you like cupcakes, that’s all I’m baking for a while.” She winks at me, pivots on her heel, and shoots the dirty paper towel into a trashcan like Lisa Leslie.

  Whirling back around, she eyes me, pointing.

  “What? Something the matter?” I underhand toss my wet rag into the trash, raising an eyebrow at her incredulous stare.

  “I might not have anywhere to be tonight, but why aren’t you getting ready for a date?” She gives me the stink-eye. “Does the name T-H-O-R-I-N K-L-I-N-E ring a bell?”

  Shit. I thought she’d forgotten about that; it’s been over a week. I cringe. Yes, Thorin Kline is hot. Yes, he’s a musician (and damn Chloe for knowing my weakness for musicians). But, I have zero time for the opposite sex right now. “Yes, I remember him. I’m choosing not to engage. Now is not a good time to get involved with someone.”

  “Fuck that!” She shoves a chair under the table and stalks toward me. “It’s just a date, Harper, not a friggin’ marriage proposal. Text the guy, go out with him. My eighty-year-old grandma has more of a social life than you.”

  I yank the chair from under the table and flop onto it. She’s so right. I have no life.

  Chloe drags another chair over and sets it backward, right in front of me. She straddles it, resting her elbows on the back, chin propped comfortably in her folded hands. She blinks, waiting.

  That’s the thing about Chloe, she knows me too well. She knows I hate long periods of silence. She’ll wait me out. My need to fill empty space with words has gotten me in trouble so many times, I’ve lost count.

  Not this time, though. I can sit here quietly. If I get tired of sitting, I’ll just finish cleaning up. Text Thorin Kline? That’s the one thing I will NOT do.

  One minute.

  Two minutes.

  Chloe licks her lips, checks her watch, blinks, and resumes her stare of opposition.

  Three minutes.

  GAH! Dammit! I want to scream. I stand up, sending the preschool chair falling behind me. “Why is it so important to you that I text him?” I sign furiously, angered by her sit-in protest against my love life.

  Chloe stands, her face in line with mine. She scoops up my hands, gives them a couple of squeezes, then lets go. “You’re like a sister to me. I want you to be happy. Let loose once in a while. It’s okay to have fun. All you do is study.” She flinches, shaking her shoulders in repulsion.

  “If I went out with him, you know better than anyone how the date will go. My track record with guys isn’t stellar. I’m tired of the same old shit. Pity dates suck. He didn’t know I was deaf before he asked for my number, and once he found out, he didn’t want to be the prick who walked away. If I don’t text, I save him and me a lot of awkward staring.”

  “Okay. Whatever you say.” She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and walks away. I watch, stunned. Chloe never gives up an argument. And she never turns her back to me in the middle of a conversation. What the hell? I wasn’t done making my point.

  At the closet, Chloe drags out a vacuum cleaner. I tap her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. When she looks at me, I lay into her. “Why did you walk away? I wasn’t finished yet.”

  “It looked like you were. Obviously, your mind is made up. What else is there to say?” With a shrug, she bends over and unwraps the cord from the machine.

  This time, I wait. I know she’ll look at me eventually. With the cord unwrapped, Chloe squats, pushes the plug into the outlet, and stands. Her eyes on me, she flips the switch and the light on the handle glows red. I can feel the vibrations of the beater spinning on the floor. A great thing about being deaf, conversations can continue even in the noisiest places. “Give me one good reason why I should text him. Why I should give him a chance? Why you think he’s somehow better than all the other idiots I’ve wasted my time on.”

  Chloe moves the sweeper back and forth, eyeing me. I can see the wheels turning in her head. The vibrations under my feet stop. The red light, off. Pushing the handle upright, she walks around the vacuum and comes to stand in front of me. “Because he spoke to YOU!” She points at me.

  I pinch my eyes together. “What does that mean?” That was not the answer I’d been expecting. He’s hot, or Have you seen his ass? Those would have been the typical Chloe answers.

  “Even after he found out you were deaf, he spoke to you. You’re always saying that hearing people have a terrible habit of not speaking directly to you in a conversation. He did. Without having to be told. Doesn’t seem like a prick to me, or pity. Just a guy hoping the pretty girl will text him.”

  I roll my eyes. When she puts it like that…

  “Honestly, right now, you’re the one who’s being all condescending and judgey. You get upset when people assume you’re an invalid just because you’re deaf, and here, you’re labeling him a douchebag before he even gets a chance to prove you otherwise. Yeah, you’ve had some shitty dates in the past, who hasn’t? Want to compare lists? Don’t be that person. He spoke to you, Harper, not me.” Shaking her head, Chloe grabs my hands and pulls me in for a hug, squeezing tight. A clinical, antiseptic smell clings to her clothes and hair. I can tell she’s spent the whole day at the pharmacy.

  She’s right. And dammit, I hate it when she’s right.

  Stepping back, I look her in the eye. “Okay, I’ll text him.” I sigh my concession.

  Chloe shakes her head. “Don’t text him because I guilted you into it. Only text him if you want to.”

  I do want to. I have all along. The excuses just clouded my vision. “You’re right. I’m not being fair. He deserves a chance.”

  “Damn right he does!” Chloe smacks my shoulder. “Have you seen his ass?”

  And there it is! That’s the Chloe I know.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Harper

  “Chloe, why am I doing this?” I shake out my hands and arms, my stomach in knots. Forget butterflies, they’ve been forced
to evacuate the quaking, twisting mess of my insides. “This is stupid. A waste of time.” I haven’t been on a freaking date in ages and for good reason—the language barrier is a crusher. I get it, communication differences are a huge deal and more often than not, they’re the deal breaker.

  Chloe shakes her head and glares at me in her much perfected “I love you, but you’re ridiculous” way. “It’s okay to have some fun every now and then. Even you can take a day off from saving the world. And what other reason do you need to go out with him?” she asks. “He’s hot.” Her eyes widen, trying to burn her reasoning into me like a laser beam. “And he’s in a band.”

  “Not all hot-guy musicians are date worthy.” I cock my head and return her glare. “And I’m not saving the world.” I roll my eyes.

  “When you aren’t studying, so you can become the world’s greatest pharmacist, you spend all your free time with kindergarteners at the YMCA. Admirable, but you can afford to be a little selfish once in a while. As much fun as the pill and tablet counter, finger paints, and glitter are, you are in serious need of some excitement.” She wags her eyebrows. “And you’ll never know if T-H-O-R-I-N-E K-L-I-N-E, Mr. Hot Band Guy, is date-worthy unless you go on an actual date with him.” Chloe steps closer and puts her hand on my shoulder, her eyes focused on the window behind me. Snapping her attention back to me, she pulls her hand away and quickly signs, “He’s here.” The corners of her mouth pull into a playful grin and the knots in my stomach tighten to the point that I feel like my whole body is going to fold in on itself.

  Hi, Thorin. Didn’t realize you were going on a date with a pretzel, huh? I cringe at the thought.

  All I know about Thorin Kline is that he’s twenty-four, an only child, a native St. Louisan, and he taught himself how to play the guitar and piano because his parents couldn’t afford lessons. According to his band’s website, I have nothing in common with this guy. I’m two years older than him, not from St. Louis, and unfortunately, my knack for playing Name that Tune doesn’t count for actual musical talent. I don’t know how this date is going to be anything more than an awkward, silent, stare-fest. I hope he has nice eyes; otherwise, it’s going to be a long night.