On the Move

by Aislinn Kearns

  “From a rich girl, you mean?” She raised her eyebrows, challenging him to answer. Her eyes were bright, as if she enjoyed the teasing as much as he did. Well, Mike had never backed down from a challenge.

  “Yeah, from a rich girl. Didn’t you want to play tennis, or…I don’t know. Croquet?” He didn’t think he could ever like someone who played croquet.

  She snorted a laugh. “I think you’re over a hundred years too late on the croquet fad.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. You have an image of what rich people are like,” she told him boldly. Mike’s jaw clenched at how easily she’d read him. “And, yeah, a lot of my friends played more typical sports. But I wanted to annoy my parents.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “So it was genuinely just teenage rebellion?”

  “Basically,” she replied, unrepentant. “I mean, I liked the sport, too. But if there had been a rugby team, or something even less girly that allowed female players, I would have picked that.”

  He considered her for a long moment, an itch forming in his gut. The heat, the chemistry, between them…could that be rebellion, too? Was she thinking about how getting with the white trash soldier would annoy her parents?

  It would make sense, and explain why a woman like her was flirting with him. Maybe she wanted to have a fling in the jungle with the man her parents had hired, simply to annoy them. Wasn’t that a thing rich people did? Sleep with the help as a power play?

  Or was he again searching for reasons not to like this woman? He couldn’t even tell anymore. And why should it even matter if she only wanted a fling to piss off her parents? He’d never had a problem with that kind of thing before. In fact, it usually worked well for him—a short-term affair, and a middle finger to the rich—two of his favorite things.

  But for some reason, it did matter to him when it came to Jessica. And he refused to look too deeply to figure out why.

  Frustrated by his train of thought, Mike gave her a tight smile.

  “We’ll have to keep walking until we find a bridge.”

  Hopefully there was one. This deep into the rainforest, there was a good chance no one would bother. But if there were native tribes in the area, they might get lucky and find a way to cross.

  “How long do you think that will take?” Jessica asked.

  “It might add another day to our journey.” At a minimum, but he didn’t want to freak her out yet.

  She sighed, but nodded, looking only mildly disappointed. Again, no complaints, simply a willingness to do the hard work to get home. He almost wished she would complain, make herself more annoying. Then, he’d like her less, and this strange ache in his chest would stop.

  Or maybe he wanted her to cry again, so he’d have an excuse to take her into his arms and hold her tight.

  Shit, he didn’t know what he wanted.

  They set off again. Mike kept closer to the river now, even though it made pushing through the undergrowth more tiring. He didn’t want to miss a bridge across the water. The river bent a few times, but mostly stayed in a straight line.

  It wasn’t wet season, thank God, or the rain would be monsoonal and the river would be swollen even further. He could see the water line on some of the trees, and suspected most of this area would be underwater once the rains came in.

  After a full day’s hike, they still hadn’t found a bridge, so Mike finally admitted defeat as the last of the daylight faded. It was an entire day wasted, but there was nothing he could do to make it go faster, not without risking himself or Jessica.

  Impatience dogged at him. He wanted Jessica home and safe. And he wanted her far away from him where she couldn’t cause these unfamiliar sensations in his chest.

  They set up camp, a few feet back from the riverbank. They had a routine now. Getting the fire set up, the food trapped, the water boiling. Washing up before dinner, and hanging the hammocks. Changing into their sleeping clothes and rinsing out the day’s sweat from their walking outfit.

  “Parrot again,” she commented, making a face. He squeezed papaya onto the sizzling skin and grinned.

  “I could maybe find us a monkey. Or even a snake.”

  She gave a full-body shiver. “Parrot is great,” she said unconvincingly.

  He glanced back at the cooking bird again and turned it slowly. He’d had worse. Fresh food, regardless of what it was, had to be better than the MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—they survived on in the military.

  Jessica waved her hand, grabbing his attention.

  “Yeah?”

  “Aren’t there fish in the river?” she said, indicating to the river behind a cluster of ferns.

  “Probably.”

  “And wouldn’t those be easier to catch than a parrot?”

  “Sure. And I might at some point. But they are also more likely to be infected with parasites.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “What the hell is it with this place?”

  Mike chuckled. “I know I make it sound awful, but I’m only being careful. The jungle really is the best place to survive. We’ve got water, food, shelter. Sure, there are some difficulties, but compared to being lost in a desert, or a snow storm, we’ve got it good out here.”

  “I suppose so. Wouldn’t the locals survive on fish, though? In most places I’ve been to, the poorest people live off the land as much as possible, and fish should be plentiful.”

  “Yes, but their bodies are probably used to the various bacteria around here. We aren’t local, so our stomachs won’t like it. And the locals might be responsible for the parasites if they dump their waste into the river. There could be tapeworm and stuff.”

  “How do you know all this?” she asked, staring at him in astonishment. “It’s like you know everything about this place, every danger. Is this a common vacation destination for you or something?”

  Mike laughed and shifted on his raincoat. Jessica sat across the fire on the pack, where he could see her face more easily. He had to concentrate, since the light was low, which he knew meant he’d be staring at her intensely. But Jessica either didn’t notice, or didn’t mind.

  “Obviously, I’ve been to a lot of interesting places in the military. And we get handbooks we have to study. But mostly I just like to read.”

  “Huh. Nonfiction mostly, I presume?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He didn’t know why he was reluctant to admit he liked to read. It wasn’t an unusual hobby, after all. But after years of being sneered at for his love of books, it still felt like a dirty little secret. No one in his community had prized book learning, since all of the jobs in the area were working class. What was the point of learning stuff that wasn’t necessary? They acted like he was looking down on everyone else.

  He came from a poor town, and his public school education left a lot to be desired. No doubt Jessica had attended all the best private schools. He couldn’t compete with that, not on an intellectual level.

  “I read a lot of politics and current affairs,” she told him. “Biographies. I do read some fiction, sometimes. Romance, mostly. To escape, you know? But it’s often set in such a different world to the one I know. I can’t get into it.”

  He nodded. He knew what that was like. Particularly right after he’d come back from his last tour. He’d read books to distract himself. Most were too frothy and unrealistic, featuring characters with petty problems that were nothing compared to what he’d survived. Other genres, like thrillers or crime, often glorified the violence he’d escaped.

  In nonfiction, at least, he learned something, without worrying too much about realism or entertainment.

  “You must have seen some things in your volunteer work,” Mike said suddenly. He hadn’t considered that before now, still thinking of Jessica as the spoiled socialite. But her charity work took her to some of the places in the world that suffered the most.

  She nodded, her face harsh. “I’ve watched children dying from hunger and preventable diseases. I think that’s the wor
st thing. And doing everything you can, only to find sometimes it’s not enough.”

  Mike swallowed. Shit, it really was like his time in the military. The helplessness, the pain. They had more shared experiences than he’d expected.

  “How long do you think you can do it?” he asked softly.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

  He nodded. “Part of me is glad I was forced out when I was. Before I was too broken by what I saw.”

  Jessica gave him a look so full of understanding it broke his heart. He didn’t want her to know what that was like. She turned away and wiped her eyes, so Mike turned his attention to the cooking parrot to give her an illusion of privacy. It was ready, so busied himself taking it off the fire. From the corner of his eye, he noticed her turn back to him and straighten her spine, as if determined to put the conversation aside.

  “Ready to eat?” he asked.

  She nodded, so he dished out the food between them and returned to his seat opposite her. As far as he could get, in the hope she wouldn’t tempt him. It didn’t work.

  They were silent as they ate. It was too difficult for him to carry on a conversation over meals. Food and fingers hovered in front of the mouth, blocking his view. Chewing distorted the mouth shapes, so he couldn’t understand.

  When they were full and had washed their hands and faces, they returned to their positions around the fire. It was too early to sleep. Clearly, their bodies were getting used to the exercise, since they weren’t as exhausted as they had been the previous two nights.

  Jessica shifted, drawing his attention. “So, I didn’t ask, but the lip reading thing. How does it work?”

  Mike relaxed at the new topic. This was far easier ground.

  “I watch the movement of your lips, tongue, face, and so on. I can grasp about one in three of the words you say, and I piece together the rest from there. People who gesture a lot or are really expressive are easier to read, because there are more clues and context.”

  “How long did it take you to learn?”

  “Honestly? I’m still learning. It takes a while. But I get by.”

  “Are some people easier to read than others?”

  “Yeah. People who mumble are a nightmare. You speak clearly, so I haven’t had much trouble so far.”

  “All those elocution lessons my parents sent me to finally paid off,” she said with a smile.

  His eyebrows shot up. “You went to elocution lessons?”

  She laughed. “No, but you believed me. You have some weird ideas about rich people.”

  Mike chuckled. He loved that she made fun of herself and her upbringing. “I guess I do. But, seriously, there are a lot of reasons lip reading can be tough. It’s harder now in the low light of the fire, particularly this far away. It’s hard if the person is tired or drunk and slurring their words. Beards and mustaches make it trickier. Someone with an accent or thin lips can be more difficult. We’re lucky I find you easy to understand or it might get messy.”

  “Would it be easier for you to see my lips if I sat closer?”

  Mike swallowed, unable to breathe for a second. Her face hadn’t changed, not really, but there was a subtle shift that told him her mind had gone somewhere else, somewhere flirtatious. Did he want to encourage that, encourage her?

  No.

  “Yeah.”

  She immediately stood and rounded the fire. She parked herself next to him on the raincoat and crossed her legs. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not only in case she said anything, but because of the soft glow of the fire over her pale skin. She was so beautiful in this light. In all lights, if he was honest.

  “Have you ever had a really embarrassing moment because you misunderstood something?”

  “Oh yeah,” he chuckled, dragging his mind away from his attraction to her. “Particularly when someone says something out of nowhere and you have no context for what they are saying. Once some guy with a long beard ran over to me. The street was dark, I could barely see his lips. All I could see was the panic in his eyes. And he says to me “Someone’s stolen my sheep!”” He paused, admiring the way Jessica’s eyes lit in amusement. “Now, keep in mind this was in downtown Portsboro. Not too many sheep around. But he kept saying it. “You gotta help me, man. Someone stole my sheep.” I thought he was high, offered to call a doctor.”

  She laughed. “And did you figure it out?”

  “Yeah. Turns out that “sheep” and “Jeep” can look weirdly similar when an agitated, bearded man is yelling at you on a dark street.”

  Jessica threw her head back and laughed harder. Mike watched her, chest filling with an answering joy. But he wished, suddenly, that he could hear what that laughter sounded like.

  He waited until her laughter died and she looked at him again, but the spark still hovered in her eyes. “I don’t get everything you say, either. It’s not really like hearing words, because there are so many variables to a human face. Seeing someone straight on, with good lighting, and a clear view helps, but it’s not perfect.”

  “That’s so fascinating,” she said. “I never really thought of it like that. The movies make it look like magic.” She leaned into his arm, her warm weight pressed against him. His skin tightened.

  “I wish. I could be a super spy if it worked like that, reading the lips of enemy spies from miles away, while they have secret meetings.”

  “It wouldn’t work like that? Even with binoculars?”

  He shook his head. “Too far away. You could only get half of the conversation, focusing on one person at a time. And they probably wouldn’t face straight on. I’d get a few words, but not enough to make it worthwhile. And I could easily mistake some important piece of information. It’s easy to get things mixed up.”

  She nodded. “I guess, since we haven’t really had any stumbles, it didn’t occur to me how hard it must be for you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. Better than not communicating with people at all.” She turned slightly, her breasts pressing into his arms. A shiver ran down his spine and his cock ached. She was trouble, this one. A simple, unconscious gesture from her and his body responded as if she was stripping naked in front of him. He wrenched his mind away from that image before it got too heated.

  “Do you know sign language, too?”

  “Yeah, I’m learning. I prioritized learning to lip read, so I could still hold onto my old life. I wanted to talk to the same people, in the same way I was familiar with. Stay in the hearing world.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, with signing, sometimes it’s easier. I get the whole picture, rather than snippets. I’ve made new friends who are deaf, and it’s kind of a relief to talk in sign instead of piecing together half-formed words. But I’m not totally fluent yet.”

  “Can you teach me some?”

  “Sign language?”

  “What else can we do?” she teased, looking around the nearly-empty camp.

  He almost didn’t want to. It would be an odd kind of intimacy to teach her to sign, a whole new way of communicating. He’d be bringing her into his world, and connecting them in a whole new way. Out here, it would be like the two of them had their own secret language, even though there were about five hundred thousand other people who spoke ASL.

  And if he was being honest, there was another way he’d prefer to communicate with her right now. A way that didn’t involve words at all, spoken or signed. He wanted to kiss her, touch her. Communicate in that ancient, primal way.

  He liked sex. He was glad that particular activity hadn’t changed much after he lost his hearing. Sure, he missed hearing his partners’ cries of pleasure, but a body could communicate so much without the need for words. A muscle contracting, a sheen of sweat, squirming against the bedsheets. All told him he was on the right track.

  But he couldn’t do that with Jessica. Not here and now. Not with rebels chasing them, and neither of them having had a shower in what was, frankly, far to
o long.

  Once he got her home, and safe, they could act on their attraction if they were both still willing. Maybe. Hell, he wouldn’t even mind if she was using him to piss off her parents. Wouldn’t be the first time, and they’d both still get something out of it.

  Though the words didn’t ring true, even in his head. He didn’t want that, not with her. They both deserved better.

  Deserved more.

  He shook his head to clear it and then focused back on Jessica. What had she asked? Oh, yes. Sign language.

  “Okay. So, first thing you have to know is that the syntax is different for ASL than for spoken English. It’s actually more similar to Japanese.” He explained the structure of sentences while Jessica watched him closely.

  “I think I can remember that.” Her voice dropped as she repeated it to herself. “Time tense, subject, color, other adjectives, action.”

  “Right,” he said, surprised by how seriously she was taking it. Most people only wanted to know the swear words. “But first, how about I teach you the letters and numbers, so you can fingerspell if you need to?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. Then, she shuffled around on the raincoat so she faced him. Mike did the same, pressing his knees against hers to keep off the moist ground.

  He went through each of the letters one by one, and repeated them again and again while she followed along until she almost had them perfect. She giggled each time she got one wrong, but still kept her focus, determined to get it right.

  Next, they moved on to numbers. When they got to nine, she stopped him. “Wait, isn’t that the sign for “f”?” She held up her hand, the index finger and thumb pressed together, the remaining three fingers sticking up.

  He shook his head. “No, the one for “f” has these two fingers more rounded,” he explained, brushing his fingers over hers. A tingle spread across his hand, but he ignored it. “The one for nine has them pressed more flat.”

  She blew out a breath. “Okay. That’s confusing.”