Page 10 of Stag

In the end, I decided to err on the side of caution.

“How behind? I’m not agreeing ’til I see what sort of mess you’re in.”

He grinned again. “Fair. Why don’t you pop and see me on your next free afternoon and I’ll run you through it.”

How adorable that he was thinking of this in physical terms. He could have just sent me this shit, but whatever.

Oh. “Hang on. When you say run me through it, do you mean you do this old school with fucking printouts and shit?”

Rocket leaned across the table. “He uses an abacus, man. He needs you.”

“He’s not that bad! I actually saw him use a spreadsheet the other day!” Caroline added, giggling wildly as her man faked dying from betrayal beside her. Yeah, this is all cute or whatever, but I’m the fifth wheel at this table. Fuck this.

“Tell you what. You show me on Tuesday afternoon, and if I can help, I will. Don’t have to pay me.” I got up, tossed back the last of my beer, and shoved my chair in.

“You’re leaving?” Rocket asked, as Harley shook his head.

“Nope, don’t take advantage of brothers.”

V leaned over to whisper something to Caroline which set her off giggling.

“He doesn’t take advantage of me!”

Ugh. This cuteness is killing me.

“Later.”

I walked out, ignoring the two of my brothers yelling out to me to stay. What would be the point of that? I mean, I get it. This is what I wanted. A club. Brothers. A fucking family, but this? Sitting among couples while they flirt with each other? Fuck that. I’m better off on my own.

I climbed on my ride, and dug my phone out as it vibrated in my pocket.

Harley: No stalking, brother. Keep it cool.

Prick.

Claudia

Sometimes it felt like there were eyes on me, even when I couldn’t see anyone watching. I wondered if it was a sensory replacement thing, like I’d lost one sense, so I was receiving another. One that picked up on things I couldn’t hear or even see. One that warned me of dangers nearby.

My lunch companion, Jethro, was about ten years older than me, and one of the other BSL instructors at the college with me, and so we conversed purely with fingers flying as we chatted at a comfortable speed for once. Whenever we’re signing with novices it’s all about moving slowly and deliberately, but with seasoned signers, moves become more fluid, a little less perfect, and we still understand each other well enough to carry a decent conversation.

Unfortunately my spidey sense as I’ll call it, unoriginal I know, kept dragging my eyes away from Jethro, and he had to keep tapping my hand to get my attention back.

*Is something wrong? You’re distracted today.*

I sighed. I was, but how to explain this to someone I knew well as a colleague, but not as a friend. He was a good person, but we mostly talked about students and classes, rather than life stuff.

*Talk to me.* He signed as I hesitated. Damn it.

*I’m feeling a little on edge, like someone’s watching me.*

He laughed, waving a hand in the air as a simple gesture, rather than a specific word. He cast his eyes around us too, and several people glanced away guiltily.

*People are always watching when deaf people chat.*

He wasn’t wrong about that. Speaking with our hands draws unwanted attention, and in some ways, it means we can never have discreet conversations. There’s no whispering for those who use sign language. If someone can see our hands and understand the movements, nothing is private. Hearing people don’t seem to realise that’s an issue, because they can just lower their voices, right?

*What’s going on?*