Page 39 of Hunt Me

With a story like that?

I force myself to breathe as Arhe watches what’s probably an epic face journey, and eventually, I nod. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

The tension leaves him again, and he turns, reaching into a little countertop wine chiller, and then uncorks a bottle—chardonnay, it looks like from the label I can’t read from this far away. He gives me a great big holiday pour into a green crystal cup and slides it toward me.

I take a sip, and my eyes widen. It’s good. And different. And I swear to god I can almost taste something like honey in the notes. ‘Who made this?’

‘Man.’ He points to the east. ‘Neighbor. Deafblind. Beekeeper.’

I swallow another mouthful. ‘Otto?’ I spell it, then use his sign name. I’ve known Otto for years, but I’d almost forgotten he moved out here after his brothers staged an intervention with their mom and then literally built a little cottage for him and his bees.

Arhe shrugs. ‘Don’t know name. Percy met him first.’ He then pulls a stool out and sits directly across from me, and ourknees brush under the counter. I feel myself blush, the heat lingering along the back of my neck and in the tips of my ears.

Clearing my throat, I set down the last bit of crust I don’t want to eat, then glance at the label again. It’s clearly handmade. ‘I didn’t know he made wine,’ I start to babble because while I hate small talk, I don’t know what the fuck else to say. ‘Leaf has to be so jealous. I know he’s been trying to do this for ages, but his sucks ass.’

I’ve made the mistake of trying more than one of his random alcohol concoctions. The pickle-tini was the second worst. His attempt at a merlot was first. My stomach still twists and turns when I think about it.

Arhe cocks his head, and I swallow, taking another sip of the wine, and then use my voice. “Sorry, did you catch that?”

“Most.” His word is stiff and very short, but I don’t think it’s from irritation. I think that’s just how he is.

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He watches me finish the glass, then tops it off. Taking a few more sips, I start to feel slightly buzzed from the lack of food during the day, and Arhe takes my empty plate and sets it in the sink.

‘How did you learn sign?’ I ask as he starts to turn away. I want to know everything about him, but especially where he fits into my community. Is he a CODA? Does he have other Deaf family? Was it a whim he picked up in school, like so many of my students?

His body stiffens, then he turns and leans his ass against the sink. ‘A friend.’

‘Deaf friend? Do I know them?’ There’s a huge community here, but I probably know most of them. Even the newer ones in town.

‘No, he lives far away.’ Then he points to a door off the kitchen. ‘I want you now.’

I blink in surprise. I’m used to Deaf blunt, but Arhe’s is a little different. He doesn’t waste time or mince words, whether they’re spoken or in sign. He seems to say whatever’s on his mind the moment the thought enters it, and in all honesty, I kind of fucking love that about him.

I turn to look at the door and find myself fascinated by it. It’s worn down with a makeshift panel nailed across the center, and there’s something a little creepy about it, but not in a way that makes me want to run.

It’s creepy in the way that excites me, which is an entirely new sensation.

When I don’t stand quickly enough, Arhe cocks his head. ‘You followed me home. You want me, yes?’

I run my tongue along the front of my teeth. I do want him. Of course I want him. And I can’t lie to myself and say I didn’t expect sex when he saw me. We haven’t kept our hands off each other since that moment in the alley, and I don’t want to break that record now.

‘Fine, but not just that.’ I stand up and walk toward him, and the moment I’m within reach, he snags me by the belt loops and tugs me against him.

‘You want what? Tell me all.’

Something like excitement and anticipation erupts under my skin like fireworks. Does he mean that? He’s been very secretive this entire time, but this might be my only chance to ask. I slide my hands up his body, feeling the shape of his abs, his pecs, the way his collarbones poke out, even though he’s not skinny at all. I watch a faint flush that matches mine crawl into his cheeks, making his little freckles stand out. His eyes flicker to mine, then away like he’s struggling to hold eye contact.

I’ve noticed that about him. He initiates it, but he rarely keeps it for longer than a few moments.

Reaching up, I trace my finger along the rough scar on his cheek. “I want to know about this,” I say aloud. “How did you get it?” I don’t know why, but it feels like a lot of questions I have about him will be answered by this.

He hesitates for a moment and then shrugs as he curls his hands around both of my wrists and holds my palms against his chest. “I got it when I was younger,” he says aloud. “Someone bad did this to me.”

Anger rushes through me, and I want to hurt this unnamed person who left their mark on him. ‘How?’

He shrugs again, almost like it’s practiced. ‘They tried to get away, and I stopped them…’ He hesitates, then says, ‘No more for now.’

I want to push, but also, I can tell he’s not used to sharing those parts of himself with someone he doesn’t know. It can be a question for later—a story for when he trusts me to keep his secrets.