Chapter 5 #2
“Hey, man,” I interrupt again, gentler. “I’m attracted to you, and I’m horny.
That’s literally all this is. And bonus: I’m not going to be in this country for long.
So if this,” I gesture between us, “doesn’t work out, you won’t see me on every street corner.
You won’t spend the next year wondering what might’ve happened if we’d just drawn a line under a false start and tried again. And neither will I.”
I step closer, slowly. He stays where he is. I think that’s a good sign.
“Because I would,” I admit. “When I think about you and touch myself six months from now, I want solid memories, not a frustrating pile of ‘if onlys.’”
He finally looks straight at me, eyes almost pained.
“I know, I’m very blunt,” I add, smiling ruefully. “ADHD nuked my filter years ago. But it’s saved me a lot of time and misunderstandings over the years.”
He clears his throat. “It’s fine. You’re right. Honesty is…” He trails off, folds his arms, stares at his feet. “You have… I mean, you’re…”
“I like the term neurospicy,” I say. “Would you say you are? It’s a spectrum. Everyone’s somewhere on it.”
He closes his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I think so.” His voice is so quiet I have to lean in a little to hear.
“I find… being around people… stressful. Working out what to say. How to react. It makes me… edgy. I can’t understand why people socialize for fun.
I find it confusing and exhausting and the exact opposite of enjoyable. ”
He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for half his life but hasn’t been allowed.
“Do I make you edgy?” I ask.
He’s silent long enough that I’m proud of myself for not filling the gaps.
“Very,” he says at last, with a tiny, apologetic glance.
“OK.” I nod. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel less edgy?”
His mouth twitches. “Your very existence nearby puts me on edge, so no. But that’s not your responsibility. It’s mine to… cope better.”
“Nothing wrong with adjustments.” I shrug. “Have you thought about getting assessed?”
He shakes his head. “Not sure I see the point. And my father would -” He stops.
Aha.
“Your father would…?” I prompt.
Jacob makes a low, frustrated sound that goes straight between my legs.
“I shouldn’t care what he thinks,” he mutters, “but he’d be…
Christ, he’d be disgusted, if it turned out I was.
Never mind I spent most of my life twisting myself into knots for his approval so he wouldn’t shout at me.
I worked myself to the bone for good grades, a solid job, promotions… just so he wouldn’t raise his voice.”
He shifts his weight side to side, over and over, and scratches at his rolled up sleeve.
“Being yelled at is a sensory nightmare,” I say. “It’s not surprising you feel that way. I hate it too, I just go into fight mode instead of freezing.” I nod toward his feet. “Do you do that a lot?”
He stills. “Do what?”
“Rock side to side.” He nods, wary. “You know about stimming, right? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what that is. I do it too, but in swivel chairs; I go side to side. Plus endless doodling. Plus muttering the same lyric on loop when I’m stressed.”
His frown this time is curious, not defensive. “Any particular song?”
“Whatever’s stuck. The other day it was the first two lines of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” I grin. “Thanks, kids.”
He looks like he wants to say something and isn’t sure if he should. I stay quiet.
“I…” he starts, then lets out a breathy, self-conscious chuckle. “I have a passage from Romeo and Juliet I mutter when I’m really angry. To calm down.”
My grin turns into a beam. “That is so cool.”
“The ‘do you bite your thumb at us, sir?’ scene. All of it. I don’t know why it helps. It just…does.”
“Like I always say,” I shrug, “whatever works, do it.” And I like him even more now than I did ten minutes ago. “Thanks for telling me. It’s nice not to feel like the only weirdo in the room.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You seem like you’ve never been alone in your life.”
“Not true.” I take another small step forward, close enough to touch now. “Not true at all.”
He looks right into my eyes and stays there. I can see a dozen tiny emotions chasing across that pale blue. “I don’t think I stand a chance,” he whispers.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” He swallows. “I don’t think I can resist you, even if I should. Since we’re being honest.”
Something warm blooms in the center of my chest. “That’s OK,” I murmur. “You don’t have to.”
“I know this is a lousy question,” he adds tightly, “but… why me? You could have anyone you wanted. Like that rider. So I don’t see why you’d bother with me when I’m such a…”
I hook two fingers into his collar and give it a little shake. “Because you’re interesting. I like being around you. And you turn me on. It’s that simple.”
His low self-esteem is like a crime scene. I want to drag his parents, teachers, whoever, to the board and demand to know why they never gave this man the basic support that could have made his life softer, kinder, and considerably easier.
Tentatively, like he suspects he shouldn’t but wants to anyway, he sets his hands on my hips and rests his forehead against mine. “I don’t get it,” he says, a tiny smile breaking through, “but OK.”
“Alright, listen.” I stay exactly where I am because this is lovely and I’m greedy.
“Disagree with me all you like, but here’s what I think would be great, OK?
” He nods. “Number one: look into getting assessed. You might not care about the label, but it could get you easier access to adjustments that make your life better. Plus, having a reason why you are the way you are does help, trust me on that.”
Jacob swallows again, throat bobbing.
“And number two,” I go on, “we are one hundred thousand percent scrupulously honest with each other. About everything. Sex, feelings, whatever. No guessing games. Just plain truth. Deal?”
“Sounds… great,” he says, a little hoarse. “Sounds m-much too great to be real, actually.”
I lean back enough to catch his gaze. “And if you never want to screw me again, that is completely fine. I mean it. I’m just being upfront that I would very much like a repeat performance of Thursday night.” I smirk. “On the sofa. In your bed. In the Foxton Library bathroom. Wherever.”
“Oh, believe me, I do want that,” he says quickly. “I’ve thought of little else. It’s just…” He takes a breath. “Honesty?”
“Honesty,” I confirm.
“I get so scared of getting things wrong when I’m…
having sex… that I usually just…” His cheeks flame.
“I usually can’t come. But with you, I got…
” He squeezes his eyes shut. “So violently turned on that I physically couldn’t stop it.
And I’ve never had that happen before. I was fully prepared to hide at home until your visit was over.
But… Please know I’d have thought about you every single day. ”
I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him properly, breathing in his scent. He smells like fir trees and clean soap and something delicious I can’t define. It’s heady. I file away an image of him in a plaid shirt and Timberlands for later personal use.
“Listen,” I murmur into his chest. “I’m here for another two weeks, give or take.
I’m here for a good time, not a long time.
Let’s make sure we both have fun when we see each other.
However that looks. We take things as they come, build a bunch of great memories, then let them be what they are, nothing more and nothing less. Deal?”
The look on his face when I tip my head back is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Like he’s been shoved off a cliff and landed in a sea of winning lottery tickets.
“Deal,” he says softly.
“Great.” I grin. “Now will you please make me some of those legendary pancakes?”