Page 181 of Delicious

I hold up a finger and then pull my phone out to ask Robbie if he wants anything.

Robbie: Arnold Palmer tell him way I like pls ty ily

‘Robbie wants an Arnold Palmer. He says you know the way he likes it.’

Mellie makes a confused noise and repeats Robbie’s sign name and wriggles his finger in question. ‘Who?’

I spell his name, and to my absolute and complete confusion, Mellie throws his head back and lets out the most adorable belly laugh I have ever heard. He’s laughing so hard he holds the side of the cash register, and when he calms down, his eyes are glinting.

He clears his throat, then holds up his hand, and I swear to God, he signs, ‘That’s not the sign name I know. It’s Horny rooster corn.’

“What?” I say aloud, then very quickly fix my mistake. ‘What? Who?’

He spells Robbie, then makes the sign name again.

There’s no fucking way that’smyRobbie. I pull up my Marco Polo app and show Mellie the last video Robbie sent me. ‘Him? Horny rooster corn, him?’

Mellie grins at me in spite of the fact that I get the feeling he still doesn’t like me very much. Doesn’t bother me in the least. Kind of like it, to be honest.

‘He didn’t tell you that?’

Well, no. I feel like that’s not the sign name he’s going to be spreading around campus. On campus, he’s Teach, not initialized. I know to his parents he’s got the sweet childhood name sign of an R tapped on his heart.

But horny rooster corn? That’s…next-level.

I try not to laugh. It’s not really fair to Robbie, who isn’t there to defend himself, but still.

I clear my throat. ‘Do you know the way he likes his drink?’

Mellie nods, and his mirth begins to fade from his face like he suddenly remembered he’s talking to me. Whatever I did—I still don’t know what…except, well, that social faux pas where I stepped in it and tried to fix something that wasn’t broken.

‘Your sign is terrible. Terrible hearing accent.’

I know for a fact that’s not true. There’s a reason Robbie has basically wheedled and threatened the college to keep me as his main interpreter, and that’s because I can sign at Deaf speed. I’ve been using ASL since I was four and a half and my cousin moved in with us. He’s the only Deaf one in our family, and no one bothered to learn it, but even as a kid, knee-high to nothing, it didn’t make sense.

‘Sign slower?’ I ask to be a shithead because I know he can understand me just fine.

He grimaces and shakes his head angrily.

‘Faster?’

He sighs and waves me off. ‘Drinks?’

‘Arnold Palmer and a bottle of water.’

He punches the orders into the little order pad probably way harder than he needs to, then points at the little square box where I’m meant to tap my card. He spins the order pad toward me, and the suggested tip is sitting on the screen.

I don’t know why, but I type in the number twenty. It’s kind of a dick move, but while I know I fucked up a little, I’m not going to let it stand, damn it. I will kill him with kindness. And bribery.

I tap my card and pay. I see the moment he notices the tip because his pretty lips part on a soft inhale, and then his dark eyes bore into mine.

I stare back. A challenge.

Do it, I think.Call me out. Get mad.

He turns his back, effectively turning off all communication. My whole body deflates, and it’s only then I realize that I’m worked up and hard behind the zipper of my jeans. Luckily, they don’t show anything, but I adjust myself as discreetly as I can and make a mental note to grill Robbie on everything I possibly can about Mellie the Deaf Chef.

You know, for science.

---