Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
But when I finish, I realize I’m the only one spinning.
Oh.
My cheeks flush hot and uncomfortable as I plant my feet on the floor. Everyone else has stopped and is looking at Jewel, who’s demonstrating the next move.
Swallowing hard, I glance around at my friends. They’re standing next to their poles, focused on the teacher. Maybe no one noticed my extra spin. Maybe no one cared.
But I care. Because I can’t fucking hear her.
Why does Jewel play the music this loud? How can anyone hear over this thumping bass? Her voice is muffled, indistinct as she slinks around in leg warmers and tiny shorts, demonstrating some new choreo. I can’t quite read her lips, because she’s in motion, her hair swishing past her face as she goes. I’m standing here just…wondering what the hell she’s saying.
The thing no one tells you about hearing loss? It’s not just the volume you lose. It’s the ability to pick out speech in a sea of sound. With this sexy, throbbing music blasting, Jewel’s words are a garbled mess.
Faking it isn’t working.
I swallow tightly, trying to push down the stupid rush of emotions I don’t want to feel.
Shake it off, Leighton. No one even saw you. This could happen to anyone.
Right. Of course. I don’t want to ask for special help since I don’t want to draw attention to myself. But really, I just got distracted. A little too much Miles on the brain. This is my reminder: focus more, daydream less.
With my throat tight, I zero in on Jewel for the rest of the class. I don’t miss a beat—not because I hear her, but because I watch her and everyone else like a hawk.
When class ends, Everly slings her workout bag over her shoulder. “Who’s up for Moon Over Milkshakes?”
My first thought is the sound, the noise. My second is whether there’s another diner I could suggest. But everyone’s already nodding and saying yes, so I go.
It’s easier that way.
Besides, I’ve learned how to manage here. Once we’re inside the bright, noisy diner and seated at a booth, I discreetly adjust the settings on my hearing aids. It’s not that I don’t want my friends to know—I just don’t want them to think they have to accommodate me. I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.
We slide into a worn mint-green booth. The scent of French fries and pancakes fill the air, and I inhale them, taking comfort in the way I can tell them apart no problem.
“So,” Maeve says, whipping her gaze to me the second the server walks away. “You’ve got that freshly fucked glow.”
Well, then.
In one spot-on assessment, Maeve takes my mind off my funk. “Do I now?” I ask playfully.
“You do,” Josie agrees, drumming her Kim’s Convenience-themed nails on the chipped Formica table.
Fable nods, her hazel eyes twinkling with interest. “Spill, girl.”
“You all have freshly fucked glows too,” I point out, shooting them knowing looks. Most of their boyfriends are back in town after the same road trip Miles went on.
Everly wags a finger at me. “And yet we’re talking about your freshly fucked glow. So I’m guessing resistance proved futile?”
The earlier tension from class fades completely as I let myself focus on Miles and the whirlwind of emotions he stirs up. “He’s kind of…” My stomach flips, my chest tightening with a mix of nerves and something far more dangerous. “He’s great. Like, really great. And it’s weird that he’s so great. I don’t know what to do with him being this great.”
Josie raises a hand, her blue eyes curious. “Did you just skip all the sex part and jump straight to feelings?”
“I guess I did,” I say, a little sheepish. Then I smirk. “Do you want me to back up and tell you how absolutely incredible it was? Because it was. Best I’ve ever had.”
Maeve claps her hands several times. “Thank you, because that’s super important.”
Fable nods sagely. “Never underestimate the benefits of a good banging.” She grins, turning to Maeve next to her. “Put that on one of your mirrors, Maeve.”
Maeve, who’s expanding her art business with a line of mirrors featuring cute love lessons, taps her chin thoughtfully. “That is solid advice. But maybe I’ll add, ‘Never underestimate the value of a man who truly gives a shit about you.’”
There’s a collective sigh around the table, and my heart goes a little squishy.
But then Everly gives me a concerned look, her brow furrowed. “What are you going to do about it, though? You know…your dad and everything.”
The warmth in my chest is doused with a bucket of ice. There are so many feelings swirling inside me right now that it’s hard to find space for them all. “I honestly don’t know,” I admit, shrugging. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
The conversation shifts when the food arrives, and I let myself breathe. It’s easier to join in when I’m not in the spotlight.