Page 52 of Interpreter

“You never answered my question, mami.” His brows waggle up and down, and it looks absolutely ridiculous.

“No, I didn’t come on the copier,” I say bluntly. “And Mr. Broody was… better.” I give Pe a one-shoulder shrug. I’d like to keep how much better to myself, but Pe won’t let it go. I’m telling you, if you think I’m bad, wait until you see him. “He’s been eating lunch with me and Oliver every day.”

I knew the minute he gasped and clutched his heart, my afternoon shower would be delayed.

“Girl! Come sit right now and tell me everything!” See what I mean? I told you he wouldn’t let it go. “You never told me he was eating lunch with you!” Before I can put a stop to this, Felipe has pulled me onto one of the sofas and pins me down by throwing his long-ass legs over my thighs.

“Nothing happens,” I say, feeling oddly protective of my time with Tim. “It’s just small talk, that’s all.”

Felipe’s eyes go all squinty. “No one cares about small talk, Milah. Is. He. Single?”

Now Felipe is sounding like Gretchen. I make my eyes go all wide and nod to Marcus, silently telling Pe that now, right before their anniversary, is not the time to be asking me if my coworker is single.

“Not for me, loser. For you!” he clarifies, holding up two of his fingers and ticking each question off. “Is he a citizen? And will he marry you?”

As crazy as Felipe is, I have to admit, I may have thought about it. But it’s so crazy and out of this world that I quickly shrugged off the notion. Tim might be single, but it’s clear he’s only interested in working his eight hours and going home.

“I get the vibe he isn’t in the market for a girlfriend, let alone a wife.”

Felipe has lost focus and is staring off, watching Marcus pour drinks behind the bar. “You should ask him to come to the show tomorrow night,” he says absently.

A deep, tired sigh bursts from my lips. It really has been a long day. “That’s sweet, Pe, but remember I told you, Tim is deaf. I doubt he’ll want to come to the show.”

Finally, my comment breaks Felipe’s trance. He turns, facing me. “Just because he’s deaf, Mami, doesn’t mean he can’t feel the music. Music isn’t about the sound but about the feeling.”

Wow. Pe is deep today and also sounds a lot like Ms. Peak. Maybe he and Tim will get along after all.

“Besides, music can be interpreted, right?”

I let his words roll around in my head for a while. “Yeah, you can interpret music. I saw it once, but I’ve never done it.”

Pe, seeing Marcus with drinks in his hand and acome hitherlook on his face, springs from the sofa. “That’s why we have the internet, doll. Look it up. Prepare. And secure yourself a husband.”

With that parting remark, Felipe is up the stairs, crooning his sweet nothings in Marcus’s ear. They are so cute sometimes—when they aren’t fighting.

Stretching out, I get comfortable on the couch since I now have it all to myself. Felipe is right—not about finding a husband—but about the music being felt, not heard. I don’t even know if Tim would be interested in the concert. But we’re friends now, I think, and friends invite each other to shows. Well… I don’t know. I’ll sleep on it. I don’t know that I could even interpret properly where he would be able to feel anything. Ugh! I have no idea why I’m even considering this. Felipe was just—my phone dings in my hand and I swipe to unlock it.

Pe: Don’t overthink it. I’m never wrong.

The next morning, Tim is already in the classroom when I arrive.

“Hi,” I say awkwardly, with this stupid little finger wave. I forget to even sign, that’s how much of a mess I am seeing him perched on the top of my desk, drumming his fingers between his spread thighs—thighs that are straining against his… jeans. Fuck! It’s Friday, and I forgot. How did I forget? I never forget a jeans Friday. And Tim’s only been here for… I don’t know, two hot seconds, and he remembers it’s jean day?

Ugh. Milah, you’re losing it, girl. This man is making you crazy.

Well, all the men in my life make me crazy. Felipe is probably teaching classes at night for them or something.

Tim’s head raises slowly as he flashes me this smile that says so many things. Things like:I want you under me or, you know, sitting on my face. How about let’s get these clothes off of you and spend first period in the supply closet?Okay, so his expression doesn’t say any of those things. What it really says is: I just woke up looking delicious and I’m very aware what it does to you.

And I think that is straight-up bullshit. Why do guys look so hot getting up in the morning? It took me over an hour just to not look like the local troll under the bridge.

“Good morning,” Tim says, all sleepy and raspy and—gah! What is going on with my stomach? The sound of his voice is just magical.Magical? Really? I’ve resorted to magical? This is bad, really bad.

Moving through the rows of desks, I shake off the fog, returning his “Good morning” with one of my own before pulling out my desk chair and flopping down, which is probably worse than standing in front of him. Now, my view is of one round and very well maintained ass. That’s right, you read that correctly. Tim’s ass is in my face. His ass that looks so incredibly tight that I just can’t even do the ladylike thing and look away. It is one phenomenal ass, so I see why my self-control is struggling. And with it right here—at ground level, right here in front of my face—yeah, do your thing eyes, I’m not judging. Even though a picture might be nice for proof to Marcus that Felipe does not have the best ass in the male population. I thought he did, too, when Marcus pointed it out, but now that I see Tim’s ass, I’m thinking Felipe needs demoting to second place.

I open my mouth, debating on mentioning that his ass is blocking my sightline, when I realize he’s not facing me and he won’t be able to read my lips until he turns around. I tap his back, and he takes another few seconds, drumming those long fingers against the faux wood of my desk before turning around with this fuck-me grin.

Deep breath, girl. Do not sweat in front of this man.

---