“Cheers to us,” Reed says, holding his bottle out. “To a great partnership.”
I clink my bottle against his and take a drink.
“Thank you so much for this, Dylan,” Reed says with a smile. “I woke up this morning feeling like I was trapped under the heavy rock this house has become. But you’ve swooped in here like a superhero and saved the day. With your help, I’ll be able to do what I had originally planned with this place. I’m so friggin’ excited. Seriously, I cannot thank you enough.” He reaches over and puts a hand on my arm, and it feels like little sparks are shooting through me at his touch.
“Do you feel that?” I ask abruptly.
Reed pulls his hand back, his eyebrows furrowed. “Feel what?” he asks.
“When we touch each other, it feels almost like an electric shock. I’ve felt it nearly every time we’ve bumped into each other.” I give him a curious look.
REED
Well, now, there’s a question I didn’t see coming. The electricity between Dylan and me is impossible to miss, but I’ve never had anyone call attention to obvious horniness quite so bluntly.
“Um..” I say, not sure how to answer. But Dylan jumps in.
“I like it,” he says. His voice is relaxed, but he’s not meeting my eyes again. I originally thought he was shy, but the way he asks questions and is unafraid to be so direct doesn’t feel like shyness. There’s something else about Dylan. I chuckle at his blunt honesty, suddenly realizing how much I’m enjoying it. The man calls things like he sees them.
“I like it too,” I say. “I guess that’s what people call chemistry? I, um, well, it seems like we’re attracted to each other.”
He nods slowly, processing my words. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. I’ve never understood what people were talking about when they said that. It makes more sense now.”
“Happy to be of service.” Little laugh lines appear at the corners of his eyes as we exchange a smile.
We’re quiet for a few moments as I get wrapped up in my own head, trying to work up the nerve to ask Dylan if he’d like to go out with me sometime, but I don’t even know where that urge is coming from—I don’t date, for fuck’s sake.
“I’m autistic,” Dylan says suddenly, in a matter-of-fact tone. It’s so unexpected I actually choke on my beer.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” I splutter, mortified, since it probably looked like I was laughing at him, which I absolutely was not. “You just caught me off guard there.” Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to be offended.
“It’s fine,” he says. “I know sometimes I change the subject too quickly or say things that are out of context. I try to avoid it, but it still happens.”
Some things begin to make sense to me as I process this news. The little things about Dylan I’ve been noticing, like his blunt honesty and how he sometimes appears to struggle with eye contact, among other small things. Of course it’s autism. I feel like it should have been obvious to me.
“Oh. That makes sense, actually,” I say, giving him an encouraging look. “There were a couple of times when I noticed your reaction to something was a little unusual, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.” I pause for a moment. “Oh, is that why you were wearing earplugs at the hospital yesterday?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’m quite sensitive to sound. Lots of autistic people experience something similar.”
I nod, looking at him thoughtfully. “Thank you for telling me. I really like that you told me.”
“Why?” he asks.
I raise my eyebrows. “Why do I like that you told me?” He nods.
I shrug, self-conscious. “Well, I guess it seems like something you might not share with everyone, so maybe it means you trust me. And I like that.” I pause while I try to decide whether to say what I’m thinking. Quickly, I decide that since he’s being so honest with me, I owe him the same.
“I also like it because I’d really like to know you better. Knowing you’re autistic means I’m less likely to accidentally put you into a situation you’re uncomfortable with. Also, if anything happens where you might need some help, I feel like that’s a good thing to know.” Realizing how condescending that sounds, I begin stammering an apology. “I mean, it’s not that I think you can’t handle things or need help, but I just—”
He interrupts me with a bemused smile that starts a delightful, liquid warmth spreading through my chest. It’s not a sexual feeling, more like a longing to be the one who makes him smile that way—as often as possible.
“It’s okay. I didn’t think you meant anything insulting. There are things I sometimes need help with. It’s just a fact of my life. Having people around who can help is a good thing.”
I breathe a quiet sigh of relief, thankful I haven’t fucked this thing up—whatever this is—before it’s even had a chance to start. Before allowing myself to think about it, I forge ahead, jumping in with both feet, even though I have no idea why Dylan is bringing out this reaction in me. “So, um… I would really like to get to know you better. Is there any chance you’d like to have dinner with me tonight?”
He looks surprised, but then that smile is back, sending another rush of endorphins coursing through my bloodstream. “Yes. I would like to have dinner with you.”
Chapter 11