Unable to take it anymore, I slip a card out of my pocket. Emery gives me a puzzled, sidelong look. She gets mad points for not saying or doing something to give me away. When I win the next hand, Luke gives me a look, too.
“Guess you’re taking a shot,” he says with a shit-eating grin as he slides a small glass of Jäger toward me.
“I can’t, man. I have to work,” I sign with a hard look.
He shrugs as he reclines back in the chair. “Guess you shouldn’t have won then.”
“You say that like he did it on purpose,” Seth says as he examines his cards.
Luke and I exchange a challenging look. It’s all for show. We really don’t give a shit if either of us cheats.
“You haven’t had to take a single shot during any of your winning hands,” I argue with Luke.
“Because Violet takes them for me.” An artful smirk curls at his lips.
I glare at him as I reach for the shot, but Emery beats me to the punch, scooping up the glass. Before I can stop her, she puts the brim to her lips, throws back her head, and sucks the brown liquid down.
Her expression remains neutral as she sets the empty glass down on the table and licks a drop of Jäger from her lips. “There. Problem solved.” Her voice quivers a little, but confidence radiates from her expression.
My jaw drops. I’m so turned on I’m getting a hard-on.
Luke’s eyes are wide as he cocks a brow at me.
I shrug then sign, “Guess it’s time to deal her in.”
He nods, impressed, and then shuffles the deck while the rest of the group counts their chips.
“Oh, my God,” Emery whispers under her breath while everyone’s distracted. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I lower my head into my hand, and my shoulders shake as I start to laugh. Laughter is one of the few noises I can still make, and Emery’s breath catches with the sound of it. I don’t want to read into her reaction too much, but it makes me wonder if I excite her as much as she intrigues me.
Lifting my head, I take her hand in mine again and place the tip of my finger against her palm. I would have warned you if I had time. I write each letter out on her hand. You swallowed that like a badass, though.
Her hand quivers under my touch. She opens her mouth to say something, but then surprises me when she flips my hand over and traces her words across my palm. You cheated on that hand. Her lips twitch with amusement.
I grin, totally proud of myself as I flip her hand over and write, It’s how I was taught to play. I don’t usually do it anymore, but since we’re not really playing for money, I thought I’d have some fun.
She bites her lip as she turns my hand over. Are you going to show me how to do that?
The things I’d like to show her… God, if she knew, I’m not sure she’d be comfortable enough to let me touch her like this.
Not today, I draw the letters across her hand. It’s an art and takes time, but I will eventually.
Eventually? She traces back. Does that mean we’re going to be hanging out again?
Well, at first I would have gone with a no, but it kind of seems like you can’t stay away from me. I mean, first you come storming down the stairs at me, demanding I give your papers back. Then you literally run into me. And tonight, you come wandering down on your own. Plus, there’s the fact that you keep staring at me out your window every morning. It kind of seems like you’re obsessed with me. I grin so she’ll know I’m joking with her.
She maintains my gaze even when her cheeks flush. Hey, at first, I only came to you because I wanted my papers back, but… Tonight, I’ll admit I was curious. She looks embarrassed, though, it feels like she’s flirting with me. Maybe that’s another thing she hasn’t done, either. And the only reason I stare at you is because I like to eat my breakfast in front of the window, and you just happen to be out there, writing in your little notebook.
I turn her hand over. That’s my journal, I slowly sketch, basking in the way she shivers every time our flesh connects.
“You write?” she mouths in shock. “Like how I write?”
I stroke the back of her hand. Her skin is so soft. I wouldn’t know how you write since I’ve never read anything you’ve written. I wasn’t lying, Emery. I didn’t read those papers.
“I know you didn’t,” she mouths. She pauses, decides something, and then rotates my hand over. My brother and I used to do this.
I angle my head to the side and mouth, “Do what?”
“Draw on each other’s hands.”
It’s been so quiet between the two of us that the sound of her voice startles me. I glance around the table, suddenly remembering where I am and that we’re not alone.
Holy shit, that was the most intense moment I’ve ever had, I think to myself.
My attention falls back on Emery. I raise my hand to ask her about her brother. To see if he’s like me. Or is he deaf? Or is there another reason she knows how to sign and have amazing conversations by simply writing on the palms of hands?
“Where’s your brother now?”
Her beautiful almond eyes widen. “I don’t know.”
My forehead creases. “You don’t know?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen or talked to him in six months.”
Fear fills her eyes as we trade a look. She’s terrified of something. Or someone.
“Dude, Ryler, it’s your turn,” Luke hollers, breaking the moment into a thousand pieces. “Ante the fuck up.”