Show Me Your Lips (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 3)

Crack Hardy

Lauren clomped down the stairs and knelt, still keeping a safe distance from the man.

"Um... sir? Sir, are you—"

She threw a panicked look behind her. Someone should've heard the clamour! Someone will be here any moment, right? she whined in her mind. If the man jumped down her throat, he wouldn't have enough time to inflict much damage. 

Another low groan rolled in his throat, and he slowly opened his eyes. They were light brown, almost green; rather striking, probably because of how long and fluffy his eyelashes were.

"I'm so sorry!" Lauren cried out. "I announced myself, I swear! And I was loud! I don't—"

He grunted, and his hands flailed on the dirty floor. And then he snarled, baring his teeth. Like the terrifying Leonberger of one of Lauren's customers, Billie Cerretelli.

He pressed his left arm to his chest, cradling it in his right palm; and, first, rolled onto his side, and then awkwardly sat up. Lauren inched away from him.

"Did you hurt your arm? I'm so very sorry! But I can't believe that you didn't hear me! Considering how loud I was!"

She choked on her rambling, because he was now peering at her - at her mouth, to be precise - and then he met her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she mewled.

His whispered response was so quiet that it took her a moment to process what he was saying.

"I'm deaf."

"Oh," Lauren exhaled and glanced at his left ear, the closest to her.

She was pretty sure that there was no hearing aid on the other one either, though.

He moved the fingers of his left; hissed; and his face distorted in a grimace. Up close he was not as scary as she expected - or maybe she was heartened by his obvious lack of desire to punch her clock. Maybe, the desire is there; but he's left-handed; and thanks to you, Lauren, he physically can't, she thought acridly.

His hair was close-cropped, a crew cut, so short that one could only just guess the warm brown colour. His beard was darker, long and unkempt. The rugged features, the weather-beaten skin, and the laughing wrinkles near his eyes disguised his age. His clothes were dirty, and not just from him landing on the floor. There were oil stains and muck; and he smelled accordingly; as well as of leather and... human. It wasn't too bad, Lauren thought; but he definitely needed a shower.

"Blimey, Lauren, what have you done?!" Frank's voice came from the top of the stairs.

Lauren whipped her head, and in her peripheral vision she caught the same movement from the man.

"He fell," she answered, scrambling to get up. "And I think he hurt his―"

"I'm so very sorry for my sister, sir!" Frank exclaimed, hurrying down. The scattered papers crunched under his feet; and then he slipped on a hand-written invoice, and grabbed to the wall, regaining his balance. "Sodding hell, we need to do something about this space! And again, I apologise for my sister! We—"

"Frank, he says he's deaf," Lauren interrupted him, her voice ringing desperately. She could see the faces of Mel and the mechanics appearing behind Frank. "He can't hear you," she muttered.

Frank helped the man up.

"Sir, is anything else hurt, besides your arm?" Frank asked.

"Frank, he can't—" Lauren started protesting.

"Laur, I get it," Frank threw to her, his tone irritated.

The man followed Frank's movements with his eyes.