Here she is, the mystery girl who threw my entire day for a loop. I tried to chase her down, but she zigged and zagged so fast I lost sight of what building she flew into. And here I was afraid I had imagined her, I thought for sure all that adrenaline pumping through me was making me see what I wanted, skewing my perspective of reality. Reality hasn’t been so great as of late. But she’s here, every bit as beautiful as I remember and then some.

The dude I met a second ago, Tristan, turns his attention to a couple of girls I’ve been trying to shake. I’ve seen them here before—all tits and heels—curling their finger at me with one hand and a condom in the next. After each set I get a few invites, hell, who am I kidding, a few dozen invites for whatever my hard-up soul desires, but I’ve been laying off the rock candy ever since Benji died. He always did tell me I screwed around too much. He was the voice of reason for most of my life. Who knew it would take his death to turn me into some poster boy for celibacy. And as much as the girl standing before me seems like the cure, there’s a sweetness to her I can’t quite put my finger on. Something tells me she won’t be laying out any triple X offers tonight. But after years of jockeying bitter, easy women, God knows I’m craving a little sugar—someone down home and sweet.

I lead her to the entry away from the bustle, away from Tristan and the blowjob posse that’s surrounded him. He can thank me later. He seems like a nice guy, and if he plays his cards right those two blondes will be equally as nice to him.

“What’s your name?” I can’t help but grin like a fool at the gorgeous girl in front of me. She’s a foot shorter. Her lips are still in kissing range of mine, and I’m not above testing the theory. Her glossy light brown waves trickle down her back, and I fight not to dig my fingers through them. Her eyes practically glow in the dark like blue electric pools. I can’t seem to cut my gaze loose. And, judging by the way her lips are sealed tight, I’m guessing she’s shy as hell. Lucky for me I have nothing against a little social discomfort. I’m all about helping people loosen up. Not to mention, I’m boisterous enough for the both of us.

Her chest expands as she swallows. She gives a nervous glance past my shoulder as if she’s laying low. Her lips pinch into a restrained smile before she shakes her head and bolts out the door.

“Whoa, where you going?” I follow her out into the biting night air. I can’t remember the last time I was shut out like that. She just dented my ego and took off in a hit and run rejection that I hadn’t experienced in years, if ever. A quiet laugh strums through me. I’m okay with the chase. It’s a game I’m not too familiar with, but for her I’m willing to rewrite a couple of rules.

It’s clear out, cold as shit. You can smell the storm coming in. We’ll be drenched by midnight.

She plucks her phone out and starts texting—an extension of giving me the cold shoulder I presume. Oddly, it doesn’t feel rude. She’s as gorgeous as she is sweet, and I think I just might be getting the nicest kiss off known to man. Still doesn’t make that grinding feeling in my balls any better.

“Hey”—I pant, keeping stride with her—“did I do something wrong?” She doesn’t look up, just keeps clicking into her phone a mile a minute. “I mean, I did sort of save your life today. I would think that would at least warrant a thank you.” A sheepish smile takes over my face. I don’t really want or need a thank you. And if that’s the best I’ve got, I’m fucked. Half the girls in there were throwing their underwear at me, and this one won’t acknowledge my existence—ironic since she’s the only one I’d gladly take a pair of panties from. If playing hard to get is her game, it’s working. Hell, I’m up for any game she wants to play.

She flashes her phone at me. Her face glows from the light, perfect and beautiful like an angel, and I don’t want to take my eyes off hers. Reluctantly I glance down.

Thank you for helping me out this morning. I’m sorry if I seemed rude. I was a little thrown off. My name is Annie, and I’m deaf.

The smile glides off my face without meaning to. She swallows hard with a slight look of hurt as she tries to head back into the bar.

“No, no.” I block her path. “Please. It’s nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand, and she takes it hesitantly. “My name is Blake.” For a second I feel foolish saying anything, but, in truth, I’m not sure what to do, and the last thing I want is to shut her out. I search her features as a thousand emotions run through my mind. How can this beautiful girl not hear a word I’m saying, not hear a sound the world has to offer?

I hold up a finger and pluck out my phone. My name is Blake. It’s very nice to meet you. I stop from adding I’m sorry, even though I am sorry, and heartbroken, and gutted by the fact she can’t hear. I want that for her, and my heart breaks knowing she can’t have it. Would you like to get some coffee? I point to the Starbucks across the street. My treat.

Her head tips in the slightest hint of a nod, and I carefully pick up her hand. But it feels natural, and I don’t want to stop.

“Is this okay?” I mouth.

She offers a silent laugh and clasps her fingers over mine as we cross the street and head inside. Her hand slips from mine as we place our orders. We get our drinks and find a table near the window. I don’t think I’ve had this much silence with a girl unless our tongues were tied together. I give a pained smile as we stare at one another a moment.

My fingers fumble for my phone, and she places her hand over it and shakes her head. She pumps out a quick note on her phone.

I want to try and read your lips. At least in the beginning.

“Okay, then.” I take a deep breath, that silly grin finds a home on my face again. “Are you sure?”

Annie nods as a slight dimple lights up her left cheek making her that much more gorgeous than she already is. She’s more than beautiful—not to mention her beauty radiates organically from the inside. It’s clear she’s not the kind of girl I’m usually paired with. I’m used to barracudas ready and willing to tie me to the bedpost. Not that I would protest the idea if she proposed it.

“Tell me something about yourself.” I can’t help but speak slower, quieter given the circumstances.

I’m boring. She bites down on a smile as she flashes her phone my way.

“Not true.” I hold up my phone and twist my lips until she nods for me to use it. I saw you with a camera tonight. Are you into photography?

My brother Benji was into photography. It was his life’s passion. He wanted to sell his pictures to National Geographic and any other news-worthy entity that would take them. My gut cinches thinking about him. I try to shake him out of my head if only for a moment. Benji hasn’t left my head in weeks, and, strangely enough, there seems to be something about Annie that has the ability to make the agony more bearable. How do I explain to this sweet girl I’m going to need her around for the next few decades just to quell the excruciating pain in my life? I give a bleak smile.

I love photography. In fact, I think I got a few great shots of you and the band. If you like I can send them. Is that your passion? Music?

My brows knit tight. “Music is right.” I grimace. “Up until about six weeks ago it was bikes, too. Motorcycles.” She squints as if not catching all the words, so I type it out for her. I grimace as I show her the phone because a part of me knows I just opened up a can of worms that I wish I could jam back in because I know what’s coming next.

Why are motorcycles suddenly out? Did daddy repossess your Harley? ;)

I belt out a laugh. Whitney Briggs—Hollow Brook in general, is populated with over privileged kids that skate by drunk off their trust funds. So I can appreciate the humor—especially since I’m out of the demographic.

My eyes trace out her perfect bow-shaped lips and wonder if I’ll ever get to kiss them. I’ve become ravenous for those lips. There’s something about Annie that sets her in a league of her own, and it has nothing to do with her inability to hear.

“My brother.” The words jag out of my mouth like a rusted knife. I pump into my phone. He died a few weeks back—crashed into a truck. It was pretty bad, and now he’s gone. I slide it over to her, and for the first time in weeks it feels as if a weight has been lifted. How is that possible? I’ve talked about the accident until I was blue in the face with Olivia, and all it brought was compounded grief.

Her features morph into horror. I’m so sorry. She’s quick to flash the response. Please accept my condolences. I can see why you would feel that way about motorcycles. That’s very tragic.

“It is, and I’m sorry I brought it up. Please, tell me something about yourself. You’re a student at Whitney Briggs?” It feels strange mouthing the words to her like this, but to keep her seated across from me, I’d mouth the entire phone book if she wanted me to.

She nods and points to me as if deflecting the question back.

Crap. How do I explain that I was on campus because I was dropping my classes? Ratifying my new dropout status. Impressive. I know.

I take a breath and relax into a smile, something about Annie calms me all the way around. “I’m taking a semester off.” Who knows, I might be back one day. I might be a senior citizen, but it could happen.

That’s understandable. This is my first day, and I already feel like taking a semester off.

I wince. My heart wrenches at the thought of her toughing it out at Briggs. You sort of had a rough start, huh? I should know, I witnessed it. That service truck was laying on its horn. I don’t know what the hell the driver was thinking not slowing down. I guess in this world everyone expects the right of way—and for everyone to hear that they have it. Thank God I was there to help. It would have destroyed me to see her hurt. Hell, it would have destroyed her.

More than you know. She shrugs. My friends told me it would be different. I graduated from Quincy last June. It’s a school for the deaf and hard of hearing. I lived in the dorms during the week, so I guess you can say I was sheltered a bit. It’s a different world at Whitney.

I nod, fighting the urge to reach over and take up her hand again. Instead, I grab my phone. I know what you mean. It feels like a different world without my brother. I shake my head. So what do you like to do for fun?

Her face brightens a cute shade of pink. For a second I wonder if she thinks I’m propositioning her, not that I would mind. But a warning in my gut says don’t you dare.

Annie wriggles her phone in my direction. I read. A. Lot. BTW, I won’t let you shame me out of loving a good literary bad boy.

“A bad boy, huh?” I type into my phone. Okay, you’re smart. I like that. What do you like to do? What’s the greatest adventure you’ve read about that you’d like to experience?

Her forehead wrinkles as she bites over that luscious lip again, and my boxers stir to life. I shift in my seat trying to get out of the hard situation blooming in my jeans. Not cool. Clearly I’m going to need a strategy to prevent unwarranted hard-ons from ruining my good time with Annie. I shake my head at the strange idea. Annie has turned my entire thought process upside down.

I hardly ever go to the beach, but I tend to gravitate toward books set there. As far as adventures go I’d say hot air balloons.

I whip out a response. As soon as it warms up consider us at the beach. As for Hot air balloons—that sounds perfect, there’s a place near my brother’s ranch. Wyatt—my older brother. Benji, the one who passed away was older, too, but just by eleven months. My grandma used to say my parents didn’t let the sheets cool, a disgusting visual for me at any age. But my grandma, my mother, my brother, they’re all gone now.

She gives a pained smile.

He liked to lord it over me, I flash her the phone once again. “My parents didn’t exactly cool the sheets.” Stupid. I cringe. I’m sure my grandmother is cringing somewhere as well. “Sorry, TMI.”

Her chest trembles with a quiet laugh, and it makes the whole experience feel as if she just stepped out of a silent movie. My heart breaks for her ten times harder at the thought of never hearing her laugh.

She holds her phone my way. No, that’s okay. I don’t mind. In fact, I’d love to hear more about your brother. And as for the hot air balloon, that sounds like fun. I’m afraid of heights though. She twists her lips as I read it.

I open my mouth to say something just as the phone buzzes in her hand. Annie holds up a svelte long finger as she reads the incoming text. Her hair falls over her shoulder, shiny, healthy looking compared to the over-processed shit I’m used to. Before Benji died I bedded everything that moved. He hated that about me. He was the one wanting something better for me. It was his death that knocked me off my game once and for all. A dull smile rides up my cheek at the thought. Benji always was the voice of reason.

Annie pulls her shoulders to her ears. That was my brother. I have two. They can be a bit overprotective.

“Sounds like a fair warning.” Brothers. Now that’s unchartered territory for me.

I told them I was having coffee with a perfect stranger. Emphasis on the perfect. She averts her eyes in a playful manner. I’m just playing. I really do think you’re nice, but I don’t want you to think I’m hitting on you.

“Oh? I was sort of hoping you were.” I push the words from my lips nice and slow, putting in an extra effort to seduce her.

Her mouth opens as she blushes ten shades deeper.

Annie shakes her head as she types something out. I’m just not into boys right now.

“I get it.” I rest my chin on my hand. “You’re going through a girl phase,” I tease. I really do get what she’s saying, but I’m not buying the brushoff she’s trying to sell. I very much want Annie to be into boys. This boy specifically would be a nice start. And who knows? Maybe even a nice stop.

Annie shakes her head frantically. Her lips quiver from a smile to a look of fright as she spastically writes out a response.

I take that back. I am totally into boys. But right now I prefer them between the covers of a book. She takes back her phone and types something else out. Actually, on my Kindle. I’m sort of an e-book hoarder.

“Boys in books, huh?” I don’t bother hiding my amusement. That’s okay. I prefer my girls between the covers, too. I hold back a smile as I flash my response.

Annie averts her eyes at my feeble attempt at humor.

What do you like to read? I flash my phone before taking it back. Let me guess, you’re a little heavy on romance right now?

Annie holds back a laugh and gives a single nod.

“That’s cool.” I type away. It just means I have a lot to live up to. I think I’m up for the challenge.

Her eyes widen a moment, a vibrant shade of blue with just enough lavender to make her seem unreal. I don’t think I’ve seen such beautiful eyes before. I could write a song about them. In fact, I know I will. I reach across the table and pick up her hand again wondering why we have two feet of lacquered wood between us. I hope to God my tried-as-hell brain hasn’t manufactured her. I’ve felt madness skirting around the edges of my psyche since Benji died and with Annie being so perfect I have to wonder if it’s finally settled in.

Maybe it’s time to give the romance novels a rest and live one. I show her my screen.

A pair of beefed up dudes speed in our direction, and it’s not until they’re upon us do I realize it’s just Bryson and Holt.

“What’s up?” Shit. “Was I supposed to do another set?” The last thing I need is to fuck up the gig at the bar. The guys and I all need it right now. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s bolstered the sales of our indie album one hundred percent from zero so that’s something.

“You tell us what’s up.” Holt plucks me out of my seat by the jacket, and I push him off as gently as I can without knocking him out the window. “Dude, that’s our sister. We don’t want to see your fucking hands on her, got it?”

“What?” I glance to Annie who’s standing by my side. She’s pissed, and I can tell slightly afraid of where things might go from here. I hold my hands up in surrender. “I get it. Look, we were just having coffee. I swear that’s all it was.” And by the looks of things, that’s all it’ll ever be.

Bryson’s chest expands twice the size of a refrigerator. “Look, we get it. You can have who you want when you want—just know Annie is off your hit list.” He pulls her in, and she’s quick to sign to the two them, angry and stiff words that I can only guess spell out I’m pissed.

Holt shakes his head at her. “We’re leaving together, and that’s that.” He turns toward the door. “Stay away from Annie if you know what’s good for both you and your band.”

They shuttle her out the door so quick there’s no time for goodbye.

That’s okay. I don’t plan on saying goodbye to Annie anytime soon. It’s funny how Holt had the balls to threaten both me and my band, but he had to turn his head away from Annie to do it.

I can take her brothers. For Annie, I’d take on an entire football team. Nothing is going to stand between us and that hot air balloon ride I owe her.

Annie glances back at me through the window as they cross the street. It looks like her day ended on a crap note just the way it started, only this was one collision I couldn’t pull her out of. I hate to break it to Bryson and Holt, but they can’t hold onto her forever.

I have a feeling she doesn’t want them to.

---

The undercarriage of a 57 Chevy Impala is a thing of beauty. It’s a powerhouse like no other, and, if I had my way, this right here would be my one and only ride. As it stands I’ve got a truck, newer, raised just a touch too high by the previous douche of an owner. The impossible-to-remove dent in the fender was also an added bonus I acquired at purchase. It was Danny’s clunker. Danny has been the Sin’s drummer for the last three years. Benji slapped the skins before that, then we argued, and that was the end of his run with the band. Benji and I didn’t argue much, but, when we did, it always ended with a dramatic shift in the course of our lives. The last one ended his.

I roll from under the car and pull out my phone. It’s quarter after five, practice is at eight, so I’ve got time to shower, grab a bite and figure out how I’m going to find Annie again. I can’t shake that girl out of my head, and, believe me, I’ve tried. I think maybe this self-imposed female drought has caused me to unnaturally latch onto her, but, the truth is, she seems like the only bright spot I’ve had in my life in months. Just one hit, just a few minutes with Annie was enough to pump me with the desire to open my eyes this morning. I hop to my feet and clean up my work area. I’ve been at the garage now going on seven months.

Joe, the manager, heads over and I can feel my stomach twisting like bungee cords.

“You got it?” He’s big and burly, always with a beer in one hand and his palm out with the other. By it he means the rent. Benji and I split the rent, but, now that he’s gone, there’s no way I can swing it.

“Nope, I don’t have it man.” I glance across the street at the junkyard. Tiger, the Doberman Pincher barks up a storm at a passerby, and I wonder which old car carcass I’ll have to crawl into just to store my shit.

“All right.” He flicks his fingers. “I told you three weeks ago I’d give you time, but now I see you’re just taking advantage of me. Gimme the keys tonight before the sheriff gets dragged into this.”

“Done.” I dig into my pocket and take the rusted out key off my chain as a show of good will.

“Dude, I didn’t want to do it. I had a brother that died. I understand the shit you’re going through.” He wipes his forehead down with his arm. “Get your stuff out by tomorrow. I’m changing the locks come morning.” He picks up his tool bag and heads to the back of the shop. “Times are tough for everybody. I know you’re a good guy. Your brother was a good guy, but good guys don’t always pay the rent, and I’ve got a mortgage, five kids—two in college. I can’t go on being Mr. Nice Guy. My wife’s got my balls in a vise. She’s got gallbladder surgery in two weeks. The beat goes on. I need someone who pays the piper.”

“I hear you.” I wipe the grime off my face with my shoulder. “You’re still gonna let me hang out at the garage, right?” I give him a mock fist bump. “I don’t have classes, so you can up my hours if you want.”

“Sounds good. I’ll let you pick up Saturdays, half the crew bitches they need the day off. No overtime, though. I have to hang onto what little of my balls that I have left.”

“Got it,” I say walking out of the grease pit where I’ll be spending the rest of my days. “Appreciate it.”

Appreciate it. I shake my head at the lie. I’d give anything to have turned in my monkey wrench. How did I go from a business major to college dropout groveling to work on weekends? A patch of dark clouds moves overhead unnaturally quick, and I can’t help think that the world—all of time—is speeding by too fast for me to feel safe anymore. I’d work seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day just to have five more minutes with Benji. First thing I’d tell him is to stay off that damn bike.

I kick the tire on a Harley on my way out.

“Watch it!” Joe shouts from behind, but this time I don’t apologize. I head upstairs and throw all of my crap, and that of my dead brother’s, into six oversized trash bags and toss them in the back of my truck just as the rain lets go of all of its pent-up grief. By the time I make it to downtown Jepson, the back of my truck looks like a swimming pool. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere that I’m too lazy to pick through.

Jepson is one of the fastest growing metropolitan cities around, and, like any metropolitan city, if you make enough left turns, you’ll end up in the hood, AKA the crap neighborhood I honed most of my life skills in.

There it is, the clapboard bungalow I once called home. The lights are on in the tiny two bedroom stacked house that’s more vertical than it is horizontal. The houses on the street are so narrow it’s become a haunt for modern day hippies, the artsy fartsy type that sit out front getting stoned all day, looking to the sky for inspiration. Pops is sort of old school around here in that he bought the house with his first wife. She died of ovarian cancer, and he’s stuck his head in a bottle ever since. Enter AA and that’s where poor unfortunate soul number two comes in—my mother. She was his AA leader and, apparently, not a very good one. She hooked up with Ronald Daniels, dreamer extraordinaire, until death chased her down two years ago through an untimely stroke. It was a freak thing, much like her marriage to my father. And now she and Benji are together in the hereafter. I’m not sure why I find so much comfort in that other than the fact they don’t have to worry about things like rent anymore or whether or not to risk the band’s only big break by taking a sweet girl out in a hot air balloon.

I make a face at the tired looking house with its chipped paint and broken screen as I head on in. Not locked, no big surprise there.

“Pops,” I shout. A cigarette burns in the ashtray on the coffee table. That seems to be a decorating staple around here. It’s a wonder he hasn’t long since burned the damn place down. The living room is stifled with smoke, and I fan the air trying to catch a decent breath.

“In here,” he grumbles from the hall as the toilet flushes. “What the hell you doing?” He sputters and coughs as he stumbles out of the bathroom. He’s thinner than he was just a few weeks ago, granted we don’t see each other but a few times a year. He’s aged decades the last few years alone. His hair is all but gone, long and gray on the sides. He’s shirtless, his chest sunken and sickly looking. His eyes are ringed with dark circles, his lips purple and bloated. He’s a walking corpse, looking as shitty as I feel.

“Just dropping a few things off if you don’t mind.”

“Try again. I don’t need any more of your mess. I’ve got a boarder. A man named Jeff. Decent guy. Pays rent, too.”

“Relax. I’m not looking for a place to stay.”

“Good”—he barks as he passes me by. His body odor smothers me, ripe as an onion with the welcome hint of vodka begging to sanitize the air. “Because you’re not going to get it. I’ve got enough trouble without having you on my back.”

I head over to my old room and crack open the door. Bunks are still intact. Both made. A pile of dirty clothes sit in one corner. An older laptop sits on the desk, and it draws a frown from me.

“Out!” He picks up a broom with half the bristles missing and jabs me in the ribs. “I know what you’re up to, and it ain’t happening. Once you turned eighteen you weren’t my problem anymore. You got that? You see that crack you just crawled in from? You’re welcome to crawl right back out.”

I pause a moment looking right at his glassy eyes. “You’re wasted. I can smell the booze from here. Don’t bother calling to apologize tomorrow. It’s already forgiven.” I head for the door. “So about the shed.”

“No!” he roars, slamming the door behind me.

The rain presses down around me, but I don’t bother moving for a good five minutes.

After all, I’ve got no place to go.