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She continued to stare at him until he shifted in his seat and prodded, “Gonna share or keep to yourself?”
He fought a grimace when she gently corrected him because he’d missed the word “it.” He should be grateful she wanted to help him enough to point out his mistake so he could correct it.
But before he had a chance to repeat his question correctly, she said, “I think you’re dyslexic.”
Dyslexic. “I’m what?”
“Dyslexic,” she repeated.
He had no fucking clue what that was. “That another name for a retard?”
Any color in her cheeks drained away and her brown eyes went wide. “What?” she whispered. “Did someone call you that?”
If she only knew what he’d been called... If that one particular word made her react like that, he couldn’t imagine how she’d be bothered by the rest.
“Don’t use that word.” Color rushed back into her cheeks and it wasn’t because of embarrassment or sexual desire. Her expression dripped with pure anger. “You aren’t... You’re not... that. You just see things differently and have a hard time visualizing words and letters while on paper or in your head. That’s probably why you speak so slowly and mess up or omit words when you don’t.”
That he already knew. He tended to screw up more when he didn’t think his words through carefully or he rushed to answer. Or sometimes when his adrenaline was kicked up a few notches and he had a hard time focusing.
“Dyslexia makes learning to read more difficult but not impossible. It just takes work. A lot more work.”
She chewed on her bottom lip again and he wanted to stop her by taking her mouth. But she was distracted. Clearly turning over this new discovery in her head. Maybe even reconsidering if it was worth her trying to help him.
He wouldn’t blame her if she bailed. Then he’d just go on with life like he had been for the past thirty years.
“I don’t know enough about it. I’ll talk to some teachers and see what they can recommend. Books, programs... whatever.” She groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead. She was back to being pissed about something. He just didn’t know what. “I should know way more about it than I do.”
She was angry at herself, not him, this time. “Chelle...”
“I’m a fucking librarian!” she shouted. “Encouraging children to read is a huge part of what I do.”
He made sure to take his time and get all the words out correctly because he wanted to make sure what he said was crystal fucking clear. “Chelle, ain’t your fault. You can back out. Don’t gotta do this.”
This wasn’t life or death. With all the shit he’d dealt with in his life, not being able to read was a minor problem. He’d survive it like he already had all these years.
The cords in her neck became tight and her eyes held a scary determination. Maybe the intensity should worry him, but instead it turned him on.
“No, I’m doing this. You’re doing this. You might never read perfectly or as easily as others, but you’re going to read, damn it. You’re missing out on so much...” She fisted her hands in her lap and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them they held a shine. A fucking total turnaround from seconds earlier. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t lose myself in a good book. You should be able to experience that, too.”
“Basics would be good. Doubt I’m gonna be sittin’ around readin’ a book, Chelle. I can wait ‘til the movie comes out,” he semi-joked.
She sniffled and blinked quickly.
She was about to cry. Actually shed tears for him.
His chest ached from him knowing she was this affected by his problem. He didn’t want her upset over him. Hell, he didn’t want her upset over anything. Not on his watch. “Chelle.”
She sniffled again, rubbed her eyes, then flapped a hand around. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”
He had a feeling it took a lot for her to fall apart. That as a single mother she had been forced to be strong for so long, she didn’t know how not to be. She was afraid to show any kind of crack in her shield. A shield she probably originally picked up for her daughters.
To show them strength. To protect them.
Like a mother who’d do anything for her children would.
He leaned closer, drove his fingers into her loose hair and pulled her face to his. “You’re a good woman, Chelle.”
When she opened her mouth to respond, he stopped her by taking it. Sweeping his tongue through, tasting her, then deepening the kiss.
He’d gotten a hard-on in record time, especially when she climbed into his lap and encouraged him to kiss her more. She also encouraged him to touch her tits. He didn’t find it a struggle to oblige her on any of that.
