Friend (With Benefits) Zone

by Laura Brown

  One of the women wore the coolest glasses with tiny gemstones in the corners. If I ever needed glasses, I wanted those. Chic Glasses Lady glanced at the clock and said something to the other, who had long brown hair in perfect ringlets. If my hair had curls . . . I shouldn’t be shopping for fashion styles in my linguistics class. They moved to get their bags as the door opened.

  You know those corny movies where the love interest walks in and a halo of light flashes behind them? Yeah, that happened. Not because this guy was hot, which he was, but because the faulty hall light had been flickering since before I walked into the room. His chestnut hair—the kind that flopped over his forehead and covered his strong jaw in two to three weeks’ worth of growth—complemented his rich brown eyes and dark olive skin, which was either a tan or damn good genetics.

  Not that I paid much attention. I was just bored.

  And warm. Was it warm in here? I repositioned my hair, thankful it not only covered my aids but also the sudden burning of my ears.

  Dr. Ashen stopped talking as Hot New Guy walked over to the two women, shifted his backpack, and began moving his hands in a flurry of activity I assumed was American Sign Language. Chic Glasses Lady moved her hands in response while Perfect Ringlets addressed our teacher.

  “Sorry. My car broke down, and I had to jump on the Green Line,” Ringlets said, speaking for Hot New Guy.

  Car? In the middle of Boston? Was this guy crazy?

  Dr. Ashen spit out an intense reply. Chic Glasses signed to Hot New Guy, who nodded and took a seat in the back of the room.

  For the next two hours—the joy of a once-a-week part-grad class—I watched the two interpreters. Every half hour or so they switched, with one standing next to Dr. Ashen. They held eye contact with one spot near the back of the room, where Hot New Deaf Guy sat. I’d never seen ASL up close and personal before. My ears, faulty as they were, had never failed me, at least not to this degree.

  From the notes the students around me took—pages of them, according to the girl on my left—this class was a bust. I needed this to graduate. Maybe my advisor could work something out? Maybe—

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Dammit. To add insult to injury, my hearing aid, the right one, traitorous bitch, announced she needed her battery changed. Right. This. Second. And if—

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I reached into my purse, rummaged past lip gloss, tampons, and tissues, and searched for the slim package of batteries. I had no choice. If I ignored the beeping it’d just—

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Silence.

  Fuck. My left ear still worked, but now the world was half-silent. And Dr. Ashen was a mere mumble of incomprehension.

  I pulled out my battery packet only to find the eight little tabs empty.

  Double fuck. No time to be discreet. I tossed the packet onto my desk and stuck my head in my bag, shifted my wallet, and moved my calendar. I always had extra batteries on hand. Where were they?

  A hand tapped my shoulder. I nearly shrieked and jumped out of my skin. Hot New Deaf Guy stood over me. It was then I noticed student chatter and my peers moving about. Dr. Ashen sat at his desk, reviewing his notes. All signs I had missed the beginning of a break.

  Hot New Deaf Guy moved his fingers in front of his face and pointed to the empty battery packet I had forgotten on my desk.

  “What color battery?” asked Perfect Ringlets, who stood next to him.

  “I . . . Uh . . . ” The burning in my ears migrated to my cheeks. I glanced around. No one paid us any attention. Meanwhile I felt like a spotlight landed on my malfunctioning ears. Hot New Deaf Guy waited for my response. I could tell him to get lost, but that would be rude. Why did my invisibility cloak have to fail me today? And why did he have to be so damn sexy standing there, all broad shoulders and a face that said, “Let me help you”?

  He oozed confidence in his own skin. Mine itched. Heck, his ears didn’t have anything in them, unless he had those fancy-shmancy hearing aids that were next to invisible. The kind of hearing aids I assumed old dudes wore when their days of rock concerts gave them late onset loss. Not the kind of aids someone who had an interpreter at his side would wear.

  At a loss on how I was supposed to communicate, or where my jumbled thoughts were headed, I waved the white flag and showed him the empty packet like a moron.

  He nodded, twisted his bag around, and found the batteries I needed.

  I glanced around the room again. No one looked at us. No one cared that a hot guy holding out a packet of hearing aid batteries threw my world off-kilter.

  This class was going on the List of Horrible Classes. Current standing? Worst class ever.

  He tapped the packet and signed. A few movements later, much like a speech delay on a bad broadcast, the interpreter beside him spoke.

  “Go ahead. Sharon says this guy has a thick accent. Must be hard to hear.”

  This could not get any more humiliating. I glanced at Perfect Ringlets, who I hoped was Sharon, and she nodded.

  “Thank you.” I took out one battery, pulled off the orange tab, and popped it into the small door on my hearing aid before shoving it back in my ear. Hot New Deaf Guy still hovered over me, wearing an infectious smile, a smile that made my knees weak. I handed the packet back. “You don’t wear hearing aids, why do you have batteries?”

  He watched Sharon as she signed my words while putting the batteries away. “I work at a deaf school. Most of my students have hearing aids and someone always needs a battery. I keep a stash on hand,” he said via the interpreter.

  “That’s nice of you.”

  He smiled again. I wished he would stop. The smiling thing, I mean. Every time he did, I lost a brain cell. “My name’s Reed.” He stuck out a hand when he finished signing.

  I looked at his hand, a bit amazed at how well he could communicate with it.

  Not an excuse to be rude. I reached for his outstretched hand. “Carli.”

  Sharon asked me how I spelled my name. Reed looked at her instead of me. When I touched him, a spark of some kind ignited and dashed straight up my arm. A tingling that had nothing to do with my ears, or his ears. His eyes shot to mine and I froze. Unable to move or do anything human, like pull my hand back. All I could think of was the fact that I’d never kissed a guy with a beard before.

  I broke contact before I turned into a tomato. “C-A-R-L-I,” I said to the interpreter.

  He signed something to her that she didn’t speak to me. Then she walked away and he squatted next to me. Soft jeans flexed over his knees, molded to his sturdy frame. He reached for my notebook—still blank—and pen. Even with the beard, he had a soul patch beneath his full bottom lip. My own bottom lip found its way into my mouth and my teeth clamped down. I tried to stop but couldn’t. A hot guy was taking an interest in me. It wasn’t a common occurrence.

  Why don’t you have any communication accommodations?

  He wrote in scrawly, messy words across an angle on my notebook. Close to me, so close if I leaned a little our shoulders would brush.

  I shrugged, careful not to brush him, and seized the pen.

  What would I have? I don’t sign.

  He laughed, the sound low, guttural, and without restraint. A bit jarring since not a single other noise had come from him. As he wrote, I glanced around again. Still, no one watched us. I swore eyes bored into the back of my head but couldn’t find any proof.

  You could have a CART provider.

  I wanted to write what the fuck is that? but figured it might be boorish. Instead, I stared at him, slightly less boorishly.

  He laughed again, the sound no longer low, but free, without any societal restrictions. It hummed in a quiet manner across my veins. He started scribbling again.

  CART, I forget what it stands for. You know those court stenographers who type everything in court?

  He looked up at me while I read. I nodded. I’d seen some frumpy librarian-type woman positioned near a judge in images before.<
br />
  The university provides that to Deaf and Hard of Hearing students. You should take advantage of them, especially in a class like this.

  He capitalized deaf and hard of hearing. I had no idea why. Everything about this conversation contradicted with my upbringing. I wanted to squirm, allowing only my foot to tap a jittered dance. I’d never spoken to a deaf person before. I’d never had one sitting in front of me, full of a normalness I never possessed. I picked up the pen.

  I can handle things on my own.

  Motto of my life. My father all but had it engraved over the front door: handle it yourselves. Next to that? Perfection is never overrated.

  Reed studied me with intense eyes. My breath caught as I resisted the urge to lean in closer. I tried to look away, really I did, but found I couldn’t.

  I’m sure you can. But getting help to hear is being independent. Without Sharon and Katherine, I wouldn’t be able to take this class. And without CART, neither will you. I can get it set up for you. Give it a try. What do you have to lose?

  He reverted to studying me intently as I read his words. I looked at him and wondered how to respond. This was so completely out of my comfort zone, yet he had a point. Without help, I was dropping this class.

  Dr. Ashen made a loud noise. Startled, I looked up, creating a chain reaction when Reed glanced over to the interpreters. He quickly scribbled something on my paper before heading back to his desk.

  I took a deep breath, ready for the last hour of the class. If a God existed, my inability to hear the professor was only due to my hearing aid battery dying.

  Nope. Was it too late to convert to atheism? I understood the spittle from Dr. Ashen more than any of his words. I turned my attention to the interpreter. Chic Glasses Lady, Katherine, stood nearby, out of spittle range. They must have learned fast. Her hands moved smooth and easy, her face full of expression.

  I knew I wasn’t going to hear anything for the rest of the class. My head ached, and I was done pretending for the day. Instead, I focused on Katherine’s hands, fluid movement from one sign to the next. The beautiful motion transfixed me.

  Something deep inside me shifted. I had no clue what she said. But I felt it. Her words made sense on some level.

  I knew exactly one sign, I love you, and that wasn’t about to help me. I spent the rest of the class watching her, no longer hearing Dr. Ashen.

  When I finally looked at my paper, Reed had written a phone number down, plus text me if you want to talk.

  Students around me wrote notes. The interpreter signed. Dr. Ashen continued saying nothing I could infer. And I really didn’t want to delay my graduation. I didn’t come this far in my quest to be a teacher to fail now.

  I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and plugged Reed’s information into a new text message.

  Me: How do I get this CART thing?

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  About the Author

  LAURA BROWN lives in Massachusetts with her quirky, abnormal family. Her husband’s put up with her since high school, her young son keeps her on her toes, and her three cats think they deserve more scratches. Hearing loss is a big part of who she is, from her own Hard of Hearing ears, to the characters she creates.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Also by Laura Brown

  Signs of Attraction

  A Letter from the Editor

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you liked the latest romance from Avon Impulse! If you’re looking for another steamy, fun, emotional read, be sure to check out some of our upcoming titles.

  If you’re a fan of historical romance, get excited! We have two new novellas from beloved Avon authors coming in August. JUST ANOTHER VISCOUNT IN LOVE by Vivienne Lorret is a charming story about an unlucky-in-love viscount who just wants to find a wife. But every lady he pursues ends up married to another . . . until he meets Miss Gemma Desmond and he vows not to let this woman slip through his fingers! This is a delightful, witty story that will appeal to any/all historical romance fans—even if you’ve never read Viv before!

  We also have a fabulous new story from Lorraine Heath! GENTLEMEN PREFER HEIRESSES is a new story in her Scandalous Gentlemen of St. James series. The second son of a duke has no reason to give up his wild ways and marry, but when an American heiress catches his eye, the prospect of marriage seems much more appealing. As any true #Heathen (a Lorraine Heath superfan!) knows, her books are deeply emotional and always end with a glorious HEA. This novella is no different!

  Never fear, contemporary romance fans . . . we didn’t forget about you! Tracey Livesay is back at the end of August with LOVE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER, a fun and sexy new novel with a While You Were Sleeping spin! When a woman awakens from a coma with no memories from the past six years, she’s delighted to learn a handsome celebrity chef is her fiancée . . . or is he? Don’t miss this wonderful, diverse romance that will have you sighing with happiness!

  You can purchase any of these titles by clicking the links above or by visiting our website, www.AvonRomance.com. Thank you for loving romance as much as we do . . . enjoy!

  Sincerely,

  Nicole Fischer

  Editorial Director

  Avon Impulse

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Excerpt from Signs of Attraction copyright © 2016 by Laura Brown.

  FRIEND (WITH BENEFITS) ZONE. Copyright © 2017 by Laura Brown. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Digital Edition JUNE 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-249559-4

  Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-249561-7

  Avon Impulse and the Avon Impulse logo are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America.

  Avon and HarperCollins are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.

  FIRST EDITION

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