But then she looks directly at me, and says, “I want a tattoo.” She points toward the front of the store. This time, she closes her eyes tightly, wincing as she smiles. “Or how ornery he’s feeling that day.” He raises his brows at me, and then his gaze travels toward the tabletop. “Depends on how much he likes you,” my brother says with a shrug. But she looks over at my brother instead. I watch her open her mouth to start to speak. She brushes a strand of jet black hair back from her face, tucking it along with a lock of light blue behind her ear. The smile hits me hard enough I’d be on my knees, if I wasn’t stuck behind that table. “Something about kissing his ass.” She’s grinning now. “He’s talking all romantic to me,” he tells her. “You start whispering secrets in my ear, dickhead, and I’ll knock your head off your shoulders.” You never heard of a secret code between brothers? I sign. Like I have another choice besides signing. “If you’re going to be rude and sign around her, I’m going to tell her what you say.” I flip him off and he laughs, holding out his hands like he’s surrendering to the cops. “That’s why he was ogling your tits like a 12 year old.” “He says you’re beautiful,” he tells her. Not after a boy on the playground said I sounded like a frog. No sound has left my throat since I lost my hearing. But there’s a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth at the same time. “Stop looking at her tits, dumbass.” He says the words as he signs them and her face flushes. When I don’t answer, she looks at my oldest brother Paul, who rolls his eyes and smacks the center of his head with his fist. I haven’t heard a word since I was thirteen years old. No one really talks to me since I can’t hear. Or at least she’s mouthing something at me. I see her mouth move out of the corner of my eye.
I would tell her I’m a guy, I can’t help it. She shoves her wrist toward my face, and I have to jerk my eyes away. But I can’t take my eyes from her tits long enough to look at them. Her ni**les are hard beneath the ribbed shirt she’s wearing, and she pulls her sleeve back to show me something. I hope Paul did some laundry this morning. I reach down and adjust my junk, the metallic scrape of the zipper against my dick not nearly enough to calm my raging hard on.
I’m so hard I can’t get up from behind the table where I’m drawing a tat for a client on paper. That skirt is made to draw attention, and she has all of mine. She’s a tight package in a short skirt that makes me imagine the curves under her plump little ass.
I don’t know her name, but she looks familiar to me.
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