by Laura Brown
The smell was home. It was my father and tradition. Anger bubbled forth. If Mom had been willing to try, I could have continued to learn about my faith. Instead I’d been left with broken pieces and half-formed concepts. Tradition would have made each of our random apartments feel more like home.
Or it wouldn’t have changed anything. Maybe once my life settled down, I’d do my own research. There were occasional interpreted services at a local temple. The next time I heard of one, I’d go.
Until then, I had soup. Sure, a day early, and I’d still eat bread and all the crap I wasn’t supposed to for a week. But soup was good.
The ground vibrated, and I turned to find Dev at the edge of the kitchen, nose sticking in the air. “You cooking?” His eyebrows scrunched low on his face.
“I can cook.”
“I know you can. Haven’t seen it in years.” He walked over to the pot and looked in. “Soup?”
“Matzo ball soup. Dad’s recipe.”
His face softened. “Glad I saved that box for you.” His smile tried to melt me. “Funny, I got something to go with the soup. I noticed Passover started soon and wanted to get you something.” He reached around and set his backpack on the table, pulling out a bag and then a box of matzo.
I laughed and shook my head, spreading my arms around the kitchen. “Do you see any matzo?” I’d made a conscious choice not to buy any when I was at the store. Of all the things tempting me, matzo was near the bottom of the list.
Confusion crossed his face. “No.”
“I dare you to eat only that for bread for a week; it’s heavy as hell. It’s been years, and I remember that.”
“Deal.”
I laughed; he was going to hate me in a few days. I tried to remember what else we couldn’t eat, but the rules were fuzzy. One day, I’d figure it out. One day.
I WIPED DOWN the worn wooden bar top as I looked around. All my customers were happy with full drinks, so I took a moment to alternate my weight, taking pressure off my feet. These boots looked kick-ass, but after several hours, they hurt like hell.
Another thing I should consider replacing, perhaps with something a little more suitable for long hours standing. But every time I spent money, my dreams slipped further and further away. Vicious cycle of life.
At least my belly was full of good soup. I’d even crumbled some matzo and sprinkled it on top. A day early and without any of the tradition I once had, but it warmed me even hours later. Made me a little sleepy, but no worse than when I worked on an empty stomach.
A new group of guys arrived, snagging one of the round tables. I collected my whiteboard and attached it to my hip, crossing the room to where they sat. Smile firmly planted, I waved, signed “deaf,” and pointed to my board. In permanent marker, the top read: Hi, I’m Jasmine, I’m Deaf, write down your order.
The guys smirked, and I resisted an eye roll. Yes, I wore a short black skirt and a black tank top, but only because I wanted to. This was my image of my job, and if it helped boost my tips, then all the better. My reflexes didn’t need any help. If they got too handsy, they didn’t get a drink. Simple as that.
I jutted my hip out to the first customer. Sure, I could detach the board, but I found this method to be easier and flirtier in most cases. It also reduced grumblings over having to write their order.
They chatted over me as they wrote, nothing new. I became part of the furniture since I couldn’t communicate. On rare occasions, customers gestured or wrote back or showed off the two signs they picked up in elementary school. Not this group. I backed away from the last one when his hand snaked around to my ass. Didn’t stop him from grabbing me, but I prevented my skirt from being raised. I checked my board and saw that he’d written down enough. I knew what he wanted. I flashed a smile and waved before turning around and rolling my eyes. With my orders, I rounded tables on my way to the bar and handed my board over to Len so he could prep the drinks.
I brushed my hair back, tempted to pull it into a ponytail and get it out of my face. But since it covered some of my skin, it lent an air of mystery. Even if I was hot and sleepy and starting to regret the soup.
I needed a distraction and scanned the bar area, not surprised to find Dev at one end. My aching feet and tiredness vanished. Time for a little fun. Since he’d agreed to our deal about the matzo, I was going to torture him. Step one, he had to follow the rules, and the main one involved yeast. I bumped shoulders with him. “You think you’re getting a drink?”
“Why not?”
I tried to hold back the smile but failed. “You’re eating the matzo, right?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yes.” His hand movements were slow and elongated.
“Beer has wheat and yeast in it. You can’t have it if you accept the matzo challenge.”
“That wasn’t part of the original plan.”
Len nodded my way and pointed to my full tray. “It is now,” I signed. I picked up my orders and headed off, leaving Dev without a drink of his own, doing my best not to laugh.
I delivered the beers, careful of any more ass grabbers, but they seemed too distracted staring at my breasts. Some days the customers were gentlemen, other days they were grabbers.
“You don’t play fair,” Dev signed from across the bar, after my drinks were served.
“You’re just figuring this out now?”
His jaw clenched. “Twenty-two years old, and she’s refusing to give me alcohol.” He didn’t sign it to me, but he didn’t hide his hands either.
Len was MIA, probably out back smoking, so I slipped behind the bar. “You want a drink? I’ll give you a drink.” I pulled out my phone and the picture I had snapped of Dad’s crazy concoction. An old-fashioned with basil simple syrup instead of a sugar cube.
Even if Dev gagged, it’d be worth it. And, bonus, I’d know whether it stayed on my bar plans or not.
I busied myself fixing up the drink. Without looking up, I knew he watched me; something about his gaze always touched my skin. I’d know where he was in a dark room.
With the drink finished, I sniffed it. It seemed to be okay. Alcohol wasn’t for me, sans a few sips here and there, part of avoiding addictive behavior and all that shit, but I would take a sip of this.
After Dev.
I slid the glass on the bar top until it rested under his nose. “What’s this?” He pointed to the drink with an air of distrust.
“Something my father left me.” His jaw worked, and I swallowed a laugh. I knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse me. “His soup was good, right?”
Dev shot daggers with his eyes, but I held firm. I knew he was seconds away from caving. Sure enough, before I reached the count of ten, he picked it up and took a sniff. Eyes on me, clearly suspecting foul play, he brought the drink up to his lips.
My humor died as his mouth parted and pressed against the glass. The liquid floated toward his face, wetting his top lip. How easy it would be to lean across the counter and take a taste against him.
I took a step back instead and forced the smile back on my face. “So?”
“It’s not beer.” Yet he took another sip.
“Good? Bad?” The man was killing me.
He gripped the top of the cup and slid it across the bar top to me. His eyes held mine in a challenge, and I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. I picked up the glass and brought it to my own lips. For the first time ever, I saw heat come into his eyes as the liquid touched my tongue. I welcomed the sweet tang, anything to diffuse the building tension between us.
I gave him back his drink. “Not bad. Point for Dad.”
Dev nodded, turning the glass around so his lips touched the pink spot where my lipstick had rubbed off. My knees threatened to give out. We were playing with fire now.
But the tables needed my attention. I grabbed my board and scurried off. Like it or not, I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing my best friend.
Chapter Twelve
Devon
I PULLED MY shirt ove
r my head, tossing it in the corner to my hamper. Jas was at work, so for the moment I had the room to myself.
The apartment still smelled of the chicken soup she made earlier. My room held a light floral scent that I associated with her. She was up my nose, in my head, and driving me insane.
I wanted her. In many ways I always had—couldn’t quite pinpoint when friendship merged into something more. Didn’t matter, since I couldn’t stop thinking about her now. Each touch, each look burned with need. And moments like tonight, when she looked at me like I tried not to look at her, only wound me up further. I couldn’t think of being with anyone else. I wanted to kiss her plump lips, run my hands into her tight curls, feel her curves underneath me, and . . .
Get a grip. These thoughts headed into no-man’s-land. I couldn’t change things. Could I?
I pulled out my phone, sent a text to my brother.
Me: You awake?
Blake: Yeah, what’s up?
Me: You alone?
I had no problem if Shawn stayed over, but I had my limits.
Blake: I’m alone.
Me: I’m coming in.
I left my shirt off and crossed the hall to his room. He sat up in bed, also shirtless, and I hoped his lap stayed covered by the sheet, just in case.
“What’s up?” Blake signed.
I perched on the end of his bed, not quite sure how to sign what I wanted to sign, if I even wanted to. I picked at the small hole in the knee of my jeans and tossed out the first words I could. “You think I should be dating someone specific, right?”
Blake sat up straighter. This whole thing with Jas required kid gloves, a topic danced around for years now. I never threw it out for discussion, and no one ever out-and-out challenged my real feelings.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course you do this now, when she’s living with you.”
No mistaking what his answer would have been if he didn’t have other things on his mind. “We see each other all the time. It’s no different.” No pretending on my end either.
Blake’s eyebrows shot up. “No different? She’s sleeping in your bed,” he signed, his hands making large movements for emphasis.
“Same as she’s done since we were kids.”
“You two are crazy, you know that? It’s not normal.”
It was for us. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“And what happens when you’re not there? What happens when you fight and she feels she can’t stay?”
“Nothing’s happened, and you expect us to fight?”
“Yes.”
Then that was my answer. I couldn’t do this. “I can’t date her.” The words felt wrong on my hands, and it had nothing to do with the admission.
“You can’t not date her. You’ll never find someone else unless you let each other go.”
“Not happening.”
Blake laughed. “You signed that awfully quick.”
I raised my hands, but nothing came out.
“Find out what her plans are, long term. She can stay, but you two need a foundation.”
We had fifteen years of foundation. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why haven’t you introduced Shawn to Mom and Dad? Isn’t that part of a foundation?”
Blake broke eye contact. “Dad doesn’t like change.”
“No, he doesn’t.” I tried to think of the last boyfriend Blake introduced to them and had to go back to high school.
“You talk to him yet?” Blake asked, turning the tables back on me.
Proof we were related; neither one of us shared important things that Dad might not like. “Tried, but not really.”
“He’s got that disappointed-puppy face that cuts right through.”
That wasn’t my concern. “He paid for a degree I don’t want to use.”
Blake rubbed his neck. “I guess we’re both wimps.”
I laughed. Yeah, we were. But there was one place I didn’t want to be a wimp anymore, and that had nothing to do with Dad.
The bed vibrated under my hand. “You’re really going to go for it with Jasmine?”
Multiple answers flitted around my mind, but only one mattered. “I love her.”
“That’s old news.”
I laughed, years of hidden tension breaking free. “So that’s my answer.” Jas wasn’t some random fling or a quick fuck. She’d always been a person I wanted by my side, forever. I got on my feet. “Nothing fast, she’s too important to me for that.”
“See you on the couch in the morning.”
Yeah, the couch. Like that’d be comfortable. I tried to escape, but Blake waving caught my attention. “I heard the door close. She’s home. What’s your move?”
I stared at him. I had no clue. How did I forever alter things with my best friend?
I turned, catching the blur of blond curls as she passed by, then popped back out, checking on me. I waved and closed Blake’s door behind me. “How was work?”
Her eyes skipped my face, zoning in on my chest, all but tracing me. I’d been shirtless around her countless times, and she’d never reacted like this. I wanted more, wanted to know what thoughts plagued her and how I could act on them. She shook her head and checked her wrist for her nonexistent watch. “You left maybe ten minutes before I did.”
She collected the shirt she’d been sleeping in and vanished into the bathroom. I headed into my room and grabbed one of my pillows and a spare blanket. Then I stared at my bed, imagined Jas in it, alone. What it would be like to lay her down, strip off her clothes, and . . .
I took in a breath. I couldn’t share a bed with her. Not anymore. Nothing had happened, and yet whatever bubbled between us had boiled over.
Somehow, I needed to explain this to her.
Lost in my head, I didn’t notice her coming back. Not until she touched my arm, and I jumped like a scared little kid. Her face makeup-free, all she wore was the tee shirt. No amount of makeup or bar clothes could compete with her natural beauty. Her eyes were wide with amusement until they narrowed in on the pillow and blanket. “What the fuck?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I thought it would be best if I slept on the couch.”
She didn’t move. Her facial expression didn’t change. Yet I knew thoughts ping-ponged in her head. One of us needed to leave or make a joke. Or we’d finally call attention to what had grown between us.
I took a step toward her, testing the water. She took a step back. But the irises in her eyes darkened, and dammit, there lay an invitation.
We both breathed heavily, neither moving. We knew each other like the back of our hands, but from here on out, everything was new.
“You’re too tall for the couch.” Her hands moved small, soft. I wanted them on me.
“I don’t sleep flat.”
She cocked her head.
“When I’m alone.” Maybe that was why I didn’t sleep much when she joined me.
“What are we doing?”
The feet between us could’ve been miles, and yet the pull grew stronger than ever. No more denying, no more pretending. In a few short words, we’d both acknowledged that something was there.
Had been there.
I shifted my feet. “I can leave.” An offer. I leave, we bury this shit again. No questions asked.
Jas tipped her head up, curls tumbling down her back. She breathed in, and I couldn’t ignore the rise and fall of her chest, not when I could make out the shape of her nipples through the cotton. Then she pierced me with her brown eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
Offer shredded. I took another step to her. She didn’t move. My breaths came in fast spurts. She was there, right there. Everything I had dreamed of potentially minutes away from my grasp.
I reached out and caressed her jaw, her skin smooth and soft. My thumb traveled over her bottom lip, and she opened for me on a little gasp. A taste, I needed one more than my next breath, and I leaned in, eyes locked with hers. She tilted her head u
p to mine, letting my fingers brush down her neck. But even as her body said yes, there lived a hesitance in her. I didn’t know if it was the newness of this, the change, or what. I only knew I had to take my hand back.
Slow, or we’d combust. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Because it’s too damn hard sleeping next to you and not touching you.”
I held my breath, those words flying in the air from my hands. She bit her lip, her gaze not on my eyes. “Why now?”
“Too long.”
She nodded, the tension threatening to bend the walls. I wanted that lip out from her teeth and in between mine. But I also noticed she hadn’t confirmed anything, even though we both knew the truth now.
It cooled me down. Here I had just revealed a part of my feelings, and she kept her hands still.
I backed up. She let her lip free. Instead of reaching for her, I kept the distance we now required. “Good night.”
“Wait.” She stepped forward, answers written across her face. The need to share shone in her. I held her eyes, begging her to join me in this shift of our relationship. “Good night.”
She didn’t reciprocate. I stood there a moment longer, hoping for a change that wasn’t coming. Then I left the room and settled down on the couch. Sleep would be a long time coming. Blake was right, I shouldn’t have done that, not now. Instead of moving things forward, I might have fucked up everything with my best friend.
She deserved better than this. What the hell had I been thinking? Laying it out like that. I should have asked her out. Made my intentions clear, rather than pussyfoot around the issue.
It was out there now, nothing stopping me from bringing it up. From asking her out. See if she took the bait. Maybe I’d get a different reaction out of her.
I’d give her some time, then make one more attempt. If she shot me down . . . well, that’s what I got for trying to change things, for trying to acknowledge what we both damn well knew was there.
Chapter Thirteen
Jasmine