Free Hand (Irons and Works Book 1)
Page 7
Basil blinked at her. ‘When did he see me?’
‘My profile picture is us on the trip to San Francisco,’ she reminded him, though he was fairly sure she was lying and had probably let the guy Facebook stalk him. Which, whatever, considering he hadn’t used it in two and a half years. ‘But I think you’d like him. He has an MBA, he works for a tech company, he’s kind of boring, doesn’t have any feelings about sports or boats,’ she signed that with a grin only because she knew how much Chad loved both, ‘and he has Deaf parents.’
Basil’s eyes narrowed. ‘But is he…’
‘No,’ she said, her fingers interrupting his own. ‘He’s CODA, though, and he’s cute and kind of uptight. Just the way you like them.’
Licking his lips, he stared down at the paper again, then looked back at her. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea.’
‘One drink,’ she begged, then leaned over the desk and touched his chin to make sure she had his attention. ‘Please, just one drink. I promise if you hate everything about him, I’ll never bother you again. I’m just tired of you not letting yourself get out there just because you’re afraid. Not everyone is cruel. Most hearing people would never, ever do what Chad did.’
‘Enough of them do,’ he reminded her. He wasn’t the only person who had dealt with hearing ignorance, but the fact that she so readily chose to ignore it, or to overlook it, got under his skin.
Her cheeks pinked and she shook her head. ‘Please.’
After a long moment, he finally relented. The trouble was, he had been happy. Or at the very least, he’d been content. Every single day up to the moment he walked into that fucking vestibule, he’d been satisfied with his single life. Then, in the sweep of rolling thunder, it all changed. Now his entire being was consumed with wanting someone he couldn’t have because Derek was a bad idea all around.
But this guy—Jay—this CODA tech guy who ran Deaf events, might have been the answer he was looking for. Because he’d take just about anything to get his mind off the one man he wouldn’t let himself consider.
***
The problem with Denver was the same problem Basil discovered in Chicago, and in DC—you couldn’t escape the pretention of people’s desire to impress. No matter how down to earth or relaxed the community was, there was always something like this—a upstairs wine loft which served obscure labels and cheese boards covered in meats he didn’t like, and fruits dried beyond recognition. The fact that he could sit and converse with the relatively attractive man in his own language without having to worry about going slow or dumbing down his slang should have been a relief.
Instead, Basil found himself staring at the guy’s exposed forearms, bared from rolled up shirt sleeves, and thinking about how all that pale flesh was just…boring. Basil hadn’t ever been a tattoo guy before—he’d never really thought about it, hadn’t paid much attention to people who sported them except to find himself occasionally distracted when he was trying to pay attention to their words, but now…
‘Are you okay?’
Jay’s waved hand in his line of sight jolted him out of his thoughts, and he flushed a little, giving him an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. It’s been a really long week,’ he told him. He forced himself to really look at the guy one more time, to search for a spark which wasn’t there, but maybe it could be if he tried hard enough. Ama hadn’t been wrong, the guy was good looking and intelligent. He was taller than Basil by an inch or so, thin but lithe enough he probably ran in the mornings, and his suit fit him like a second skin. His light brown hair sat styled in a prim part just to the side, and when he smiled, Basil saw neat and pearly white teeth.
Nothing about him was offensive, but on the flip side, nothing about him was intriguing. He’d spent the first half of the date talking about his work at the tech company and how much good they were doing for the Deaf community as far as being offered access to relay devices, captioned phones, and devices to make the trips to the cinema easier. And Basil should have been thrilled by it all. Hell, he’d spent his first half of Freshman year attending every single protest he could make it to, demanding better accommodations and recognition for the Deaf. But something about Jay was exhausting, and even a little boring. Basil felt a little guilty for judging—it’s not like he’d gone into his own chosen career field, but the guy was as exciting as biting into a dry saltine.
‘How do you like the place?’ Jay asked him.
Basil raised his brows in surprise, then shrugged. ‘I don’t usually eat at places like this, but Fairfield doesn’t really have a lot to offer.’
‘Small town life,’ Jay signed, and there was something like disdain on his face which made Basil bristle. ‘I’ve been there a few times, no Deaf community at all.’
Basil wanted to argue that Fairfield didn’t have much of a community period. The people who lived there were either retired or owned businesses, and the rest of their busy life came from the bigger cities who wanted to drive out for the quaint ambiance. Still, Jay wasn’t entirely wrong. ‘It’s been a challenge,’ he admitted. ‘I could never figure out why my aunt liked it so much.’
Jay pulled a face when he signed, ‘Your sister said she married a hearing man. Maybe she just wanted to assimilate.’
The truth was, Basil didn’t know her well enough to even begin taking a guess, but the fact that Jay would feel he had the right to be judgmental over a member of his family that he had not only never met, but who had died, made his stomach feel twisted and sour. ‘Are you saying that’s bad?’
Jay looked a little startled. ‘I thought you were against it. I mean, your sister seems bad enough, but from what she said about you, I figured we were on the same page.’
Basil blinked at him. ‘You’re hearing.’
‘I’m CODA,’ Jay corrected, looking put out.
Basil couldn’t help his snort of laughter. ‘But you’re still hearing. You don’t really have the right to decide if it’s a good or bad thing.’
Jay’s jaw tightened and his hands flexed like he had an argument all prepared. Then, after a moment, he relaxed and his face gentled into a smile. Basil wasn’t a fool though, he could see the coldness that remained in his eyes and he knew this was doomed. Guys like Jay—guys who felt they had a right to speak where their voices weren’t wanted—they were a dime a dozen. He was wealthy and arrogant and dull, and nothing like the man Basil wished he was sitting there with.
Hell, he had a feeling if the night had gone on with Derek, they wouldn’t have come to this place at all.
‘I didn’t mean to offend,’ Jay told him.
Basil shrugged it off. There was no sense in fighting with him about it. ‘It’s fine. The truth is, I didn’t know my aunt very well, but she seemed to love it in Fairfield, and it’s started to grow on me.’
Jay smiled, but it was a little tight. ‘So, no plans to get out?’
Basil felt another wave of irritation at the question. There was a sort of condescending tone to his signs, an arrogance in the way he had said it, as though a small town wasn’t worthy of long-term plans. He hadn’t grown up in the place, but it was home for now, and he felt oddly protective. ‘I’m not sure,’ he finally answered.
Jay looked at him, then laid one hand on the table and signaled to the server for the bill. Basil turned his gaze away, knowing that Jay knew how rude it was to do it right there in the middle of their dinner conversation, but he wanted to make a point.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Basil caught a flash of bright color on skin, and he whipped his head around without thinking. A group of three people—one man and two women, all of them sporting colorfully inked skin—were being sat two tables over. When the man turned, Basil’s breath caught in his throat.
Derek. It was Derek. Their eyes met and the guy smiled a little, but there was no recognition there. Before Basil could panic, he suddenly became aware of the different hair, of the tattoo on his neck and it hit him.
That was Not-Derek. The twin.
‘Disgusting,’ he signed. ‘How could a person do that to themselves?’
‘Tattoos?’ Basil asked.
Jay’s expression deepened. ‘It’s trashy. Why would someone ruin their future like that? Someday they’ll want a real job and then where will they be?’
Basil couldn’t help it, his laugh bubbled up and he felt it vibrating in his chest loud enough to draw attention from people around them, but he didn’t care. ‘What year are you living in? No one cares anymore. And I’m willing to bet those people aren’t miserable fucks like you. Thanks for dinner, I have to go.’
He felt Jay swipe at him in an attempt to get his attention, but Basil was a lot faster and a lot more fit than he was. He managed to bob and weave through the crowd and he made it out of the loft and down a dark alley, hurrying to a long string of bars where he could get lost in the crowd for a while.
He could make it to his car no problem, but he had a feeling Jay would be waiting, and after all that shit, he needed a drink. He picked the place with the loudest vibrations, then slapped a ten into the doorperson’s hand and went in. The dance floor was crowded, but the bar was nearly empty, so he whipped out his phone and typed his usual.
Hi, I’m Deaf. Can I please have a vodka tonic with a lemon twist?
The bartender glanced at his phone, then smiled up at him. ‘I know sign language if you want to sign with me?’
Basil felt the tension in his chest unknot and wondered if the universe was doing him a kindness after that bullshit date. ‘Thank you. That’s great. It’s been a bad night.’
The bartender—a good looking guy, tall and skinny, dark tawny skin and thick, straight hair combed into an elaborate pompadour—gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Want to tell me about it? I can sign and work.’
‘You deaf?’ Basil couldn’t help but ask.
‘HOH,’ the guy signed with a shrug. ‘You?’
‘Deaf. My name’s Basil, and if you don’t mind, I would love to complain.’
The guy chuckled as he twisted a lemon peel into Basil’s drink and handed it over. ‘I’m Amit,’ he signed, then offered his sign name. ‘Were they a local? Some of them aren’t so bad, but we get some awful ones from time to time. Too much mountain air.’
Basil laughed as he took a drink and let the burn of alcohol soothe him. ‘He took me to a wine loft.’
Amit pulled a face. ‘Terrible.’
‘The worst. He’s CODA, hearing, spent the entire date telling me what a gift he is to the Deaf Community for his tech work. Then he insulted Fairfield, then told me that everyone with tattoos is trash.’
Amit’s eyes widened. He was called over to make a few more drinks as server’s tickets came pouring in, but he kept Basil’s gaze and signed fluidly with one hand. ‘I have twelve. You?’
Basil shook his head. ‘None, but I met a guy who works in a shop in Fairfield and his work was gorgeous. The guy was a dick.’
Amit’s face brightened and he pulled up the side of his shirt to reveal a bright red and orange phoenix cascading up his ribs. ‘I had this done there. Guy named Sage did it for me. Hurt worse than anything, but I love it. I know the place and they’re amazing guys.’
Basil bit his lip, but he couldn’t help asking, ‘Did you meet a guy named Derek?’
He wasn’t expecting Amit to smile and nod. ‘Yeah. Sage’s brother. Twins, but Derek does more Neo-Traditional work and Sage does a lot of geometric and abstract design. Sorry, I’m a tattoo nerd.’
Basil shook his head as he let that information slowly sink in. Sage. Not-Derek was named Sage, and he had once had his hands on the man right in front of Basil. And Amit had known Derek, knew some intimate details about him. The coincidences were starting to worry him, because nothing had changed his mind about Derek. Not yet. It still wasn’t going to work.
‘I have to go make a couple of blender drinks,’ Amit said, waving to get his attention. ‘Do you want to start a tab?’
Basil looked down at his drink with the single sip missing, then shook his head. ‘I need to drive.’ He laid cash on the counter, then waved off the change before Amit moved to get his receipt. He took another sip but knew he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be drunk in Denver and stuck waiting to sober up before he could get the hell out and go home. He just wanted this night to be over.
He glanced up when Amit slid the bit of paper toward him, and as he walked away, Basil noticed there was a number and a little note scribbled at the bottom.
Call me some time if you ever want to hang out, I could introduce you around. All my friends are inked, and none of them are douchebags.
***
It was over the top. It was too goddamn over the top and he was going to get laughed right out of the flower shop. And then the next day he would probably get served with a restraining order because all the guy had done was buy one of his art pieces. Not just that, either, because Derek didn’t have tangible proof that Basil was the one who’d done it at all.
The account was in his sister’s name and there was every chance Basil had just shown her the site and she found Kevin interesting. Or something.
Fuck.
“Fuck,” he murmured to himself. He stared at the octopus which was now glued to a canvas, covered in varnish, and framed, and he pressed his palm to his forehead. He was such a fucking moron.
“Are you just going to stare at it all day, or are you actually going to take it over there?” James asked. He was half-bent over a woman’s lower back, giving her a string of cherry blossoms.
“I’m going to rip that machine out of your hand and stab you in the neck with it,” Derek growled.
The woman twitched—not enough to fuck with James’ lines—he was one of the steadiest hands in the shop, but it was enough to make him look up and glare at Derek. “Can we not terrify the newbies, dude?” He gave the woman’s shoulder a firm pat. “Don’t worry, darlin’, this one’s all bark, no bite. He’d never stab me in the neck.”
No. Derek would save it for his balls if he didn’t shut the entire fuck up. He was well aware he was making this a bigger deal than it was, but anxiety didn’t ever have chill, and neither did he. He started to drag his hand through his hair, then realized he didn’t want to fuck it up completely because even if Basil told him to fuck all the way out of the shop and never come back, he at least wanted to make his retreat look good.
“Just go, dude,” James said. “You’ve got two hours before your appointment comes in. That’s plenty of time to suck his face or his dick or his a—”
“Seriously, man,” Derek said. He grabbed the folded note he’d spent two hours writing and decided to go because anything would be better than sitting there and listening to James give him shit for it. “I’ll be back.”
“Don’t hurry on my account,” James said, looking up and giving him a wink.
Derek flipped him off, tucked the note into the back of the frame, and hurried out. The walk was less than three minutes, but he took five in a pathetic attempt to give himself a moment to calm down. It wasn’t working, and he was getting more worked up, so he decided that just jumping in was his only real option.
From the front window, he could make out that the shop was empty. The owner, Amaranth—the woman he’d met before—was behind the counter tapping away on her phone, and there was no sign of Basil anywhere. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but it gave him the smallest amount of extra courage to walk in.
The door gave a loud ring as it opened, and he noticed a light in the back flashed. As he stepped in, Amaranth looked up and smiled. “Hey. Tattoo guy,” she said, coming around to greet him. “From the other day. Which one are you again?”
“Derek,” he said a little shyly. “Uh…”
Her eyes flickered to the painting in his hands. “Wha
t’s that?”
“He’s called Kevin,” Derek blurted, then flushed and turned the painting to show her. “Actually, my dipshit friend named him. I just called it Octopus, so you can name it whatever you want.”
She blinked at him, staring hard at his mouth like maybe she’d missed something. “Sorry…what?”
“You…this. You ordered this, right?” He said two prayers equally—one that the painting was hers, and the other that Basil had done this. He was such a mess.
She stared, then her mouth slowly curved into a wide grin. “No, but I think I know who did. You’re the guy from the ATM vestibule. The night the power went out.”
He blushed so hot he felt light-headed. “Yes.”
“My brother told me about it,” she told him, her tone full of glee. “He told me you were an artist, I didn’t realize he tracked you down.”
Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “Well I uh…just…during the storm I showed him my gallery online for something to do. He was probably just being nice.”
She laughed loudly, shaking her head. “My brother doesn’t do, ‘just being nice’. Trust me. He either really liked that, or really liked you.”
Derek licked his lips nervously. “Well I can just…leave this for him. When he gets back, he can…”
“He’s here,” she said, interrupting his flow of words. “He’s in the back pouting because he had a shit date the other night.”
Derek didn’t even bother to pretend like he didn’t know why hearing Basil on a date hurt the way it did. “Oh.”
“Yeah. The guy was an ass, and he’s blaming me because I set him up. But he’s got this dumbass thing about how he can’t date anyone like his ex, and that leaves a very small population of guys to choose from because his ex was basic as hell.”
Derek couldn’t help a small chuckle. “Yeah?”
She nodded sagely. “Trust me, total bro. It was gross and I was glad when they broke up, but it kind of fucked him up a little bit. He’s starting to get over it—I mean, at least he’s trying to now, but it’s been a long road.”