Ask DNA

by Tymber Dalton

  Through there they continued on to the kitchen, where their father was putting the finishing touches on dinner.

  Chicken piccata, because that was what Davis would expect for tonight and it had been agreed upon in advance.

  Not that Kirby minded. They alternated picking the menu, and Kirby didn’t care. Davis didn’t care on Kirby’s nights, either, a long, hard-won battle that had taken years to finally secure.

  One that Davis also considered a win because it wasn’t like he enjoyed feeling inflexible.

  But they made allowances because they understood what the bulk of Davis’ life was like as he tried to navigate the larger world in a reasonably normal manner. In a manner that didn’t make him an outcast with others or isolate him because he grew tired of trying to make the effort to make others understand him.

  So doing this for him, and in this way, they didn’t mind.

  “Where are you boys going for dinner tomorrow night?” their dad asked once they were at the table and eating.

  Davis glanced at Kirby and deferred to him. This way, Davis wouldn’t be forced into a position of either talking about something he’d agreed not to, or lying.

  “Haven’t decided yet,” Kirby said, which wasn’t even a lie. It was his week to decide, and when it was Kirby’s week, Davis never complained, even if he wasn’t fond of the restaurant.

  Another quirk his brother had that helped balance things out.

  They had a good dinner, pleasant, and their chemist father got to talking with Davis about what he was currently working on. The things Davis could discuss, without violating his corporate NDA for Murality Phosphate.

  Once they were finally on their way home again, with copious amounts of leftovers, Kirby finally relaxed.

  “Thanks, Davis.”

  “For what?”

  “For being so agreeable about all of this. About tomorrow.”

  “I don’t get out enough,” Davis said. “You were right about that.”

  Another shocking statement. That had been a conversation they’d had earlier in the week. “What?”

  “I should try harder. I know it’s not exactly a social situation for me tomorrow, it’s for you. But maybe exposure to a new and strange group of people will allow me the opportunity to broaden my horizons in a way that I can find comfortable. Maybe by watching you, even. I’ve read about treatment modalities that use similar methods to help people overcome…hurdles like that. Perhaps trying it might in some way help me.”

  “That’s…that’s very insightful of you.”

  “I don’t and never have denied you’re more knowledgeable and experienced than me when it comes to personal and social interactions.”

  “You’ve dated before.”

  “Not exactly. I’ve had physical relationships, but I’ve never sustained a long-term relationship of what could be considered quality. My physical interactions have been superficial at best. Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies.”

  Kirby couldn’t really make that claim, though. “I’m not the best relationship expert, bro.”

  “You’ve had more and longer relationships than I have.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that’s a stellar endorsement of my dating skills.”

  “That was a compliment.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, Davis.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Silence for the rest of the way home, other than the radio. Not unexpected, and not uncomfortable.

  When Kirby parked next to Davis’ car in the driveway, he didn’t shut the engine off at first, knowing that once they got inside, Davis would disappear into his room for the rest of the night and would get irritated at any interruptions.

  “You’re really okay going to the class tomorrow?”

  “I said I was. What time do we need to leave?”

  Kirby thought about it and built in his usual time cushion when taking Davis into consideration. “Four.”

  The irony was that Davis knew it, but wouldn’t argue.

  He couldn’t. He understood. Just as he’d developed coping methods for his life, so had those close to him who wanted to be a part of it.

  “What should I wear?”

  “Casual. Jeans and a shirt. Button-up shirt, but a casual one. Whatever you’ll wear for dinner later.”

  “Okay.”

  Kirby shut off the car and they headed inside. Davis immediately made a beeline for his bedroom, where he shut the door behind him.

  It wasn’t likely that Davis would exit his bedroom for the rest of the evening, unless he needed to do laundry. He even kept a small mini-fridge in his room with snacks and beverages.

  When they’d bought the house together four years earlier, Kirby had volunteered that Davis could have the master bedroom. He knew his brother would be more comfortable that way, and it wasn’t worth forcing the man to give that over just so Kirby wouldn’t have to walk a few extra steps to the bathroom.

  Since it was his self-appointed job, Kirby took time to make sure the leftovers were put away in the kitchen fridge, preset the coffeemaker for in the morning, and settled in on the sofa to watch TV. If he let Davis make the coffee, they’d be drinking brown water in the same exact flavor, every damn day. But by pre-empting his brother and declaring it his chore, Kirby had short-circuited that argument for the win.

  Worth. It.

  Kirby had a TV in his room, but when Davis retired for the night, it was almost as good as having the house to himself.

  He’d take advantage of it. He’d had a long, frustrating week at work. He worked for a civil engineering firm, and their latest project had been plagued by permitting delays, last-minute changes by the client, and various other aggravations that made him regret not trying harder at chemistry and landing a lucrative position like Davis had.

  Then again, even though they’d started college at the same time, Davis had already completed his four-year degree dually enrolled in high school, while Kirby was just graduating high school.

  His mom hadn’t wanted Kirby to feel bad that Davis was so much more advanced in his studies, and they’d wanted Davis to have more time to adapt socially and emotionally, so they’d kept Davis in high school with him.

  Yeah, they were both technically geniuses on the IQ scale, but compared to Davis, Kirby was a drooling toddler.

  Although Kirby wouldn’t trade places with Davis for anything. Davis had been labelled everything from being high-functioning autistic to having Asperger’s, depending on whatever the latest favorite theory was. Except most of that was after Davis had grown up, because when they were kids and the obvious differences had been recognized, they didn’t know as much about it back then. The labels didn’t matter anyway, not at this point when Davis was fine with himself, was a fully-functional and self-supporting adult, and in general happy with his life.

  Bottom line was, Davis just wasn’t good at some things, and he was okay with that, but always strove to improve. Like anyone else in the world. Fortunately, their mother had been a teacher and able to work with Davis to make sure he had every available advantage.

  Kirby had long ago gotten over the extra attention Davis received when he realized what the trade-off had been. It just as easily could have been him. No one knew why it happened, why Davis was technically somewhere on the autism spectrum and he…wasn’t. His mom did everything right while pregnant, and there was no history of it in their family. Kirby could waste his time asking god or tarot cards or why their DNA was the way it was, and it still wouldn’t change a damn thing.

  Another reason he didn’t mind living with his brother. Because as much as he helped his brother, over the years, his brother had more than helped him appreciate life and see things in unique ways he would have missed out on. Davis experienced all the emotions Kirby did. He just didn’t express them the same way. And while Kirby could approach a problem from a bunch of different angles, Davis had learned early on, through heavy intervention on their parents’ and teachers’ parts, to
narrow his focus and adapt to a very linear line of attack. If he didn’t, Davis ended up shiny-squirreling off into the weeds, the original issue forgotten in the distance.

  Again, something that Kirby had benefitted from witnessing in action growing up.

  Davis was his brother, and he loved him. Even if the goofy bastard sometimes drove him up the wall.

  Because he knew he sometimes drove Davis up the wall, too.

  That’s just what brothers did.

  Chapter Two

  Once again, a Friday night, and here I am imposing on my friends.

  “I really appreciate you letting me come cry on your shoulder. Again,” Melanie added, sniffling into the tissue her friend Kim had handed her.

  “You’re my friend. It’s what friends do.”

  “It’s just…even I can see this is a pattern.” She stared from Kim to Kim’s…whatever the terms were for them, Kim’s men, Mason and Cole. All three of them wore matching wedding bands. Kim had been Cole’s girlfriend for nearly two years, then somehow they got involved with Mason, who was gay, who ended up married to Cole after Mason was hit by a car…

  Whenever anyone asked, Kim simply explained it as “complicated.”

  Seemed a pretty accurate term for it.

  Trying to figure anything out besides that made Melanie’s brain hurt. First and foremost, Melanie could call them friends, which was the important part.

  “I mean,” Melanie continued, “look at you three. Everything you went through, and hell, I know I don’t even know a fraction of it, and look how happy you guys are together.” She shredded the tissue as Kim gave up and set the whole box in Melanie’s lap. “I wish I had something as good as you guys do, but all I seem to find are freaking losers.”

  “Maybe you need to change your dating pool,” Kim gently suggested.

  “Apparently I’m stuck in a dating cesspool.” Melanie recognized the bitterness in her tone. “What’s wrong with me? I mean, I know romance books aren’t real, okay? But dammit, I’d love a strong, quiet, smart guy who doesn’t mind taking charge every so often without being an asshole about it. One of those nice-guy Alpha types. If I nail one of the things, the other parts are usually lacking. And if it’s the ‘taking charge’ part he’s got down pat, he’s usually a fucking asshole or dumb as a brick.”

  Melanie found the strength to look at her friend. “I mean, I love you guys but I’m envious of what you have. You’ve got two guys who…do that. Take charge. But unless you’ve left something out of the retelling, they’re not assholes. And they’re smart. Not to mention—no offense—they’re good-looking. You’ve got the total hat-trick of hotties times two.”

  Kim glanced at her men before returning her focus to Melanie. “I’m a lucky woman and I won’t deny it. What we have isn’t for everyone, though. It’s not as simple as it looks.”

  Cole and Mason exchanged a glance. “Why don’t you come to dinner with us Saturday night?” Mason asked. “We’ll introduce you to some friends of ours.”

  She blew her nose again. “What kind of friends?”

  “Friends like Cole and Mason,” Kim said. “Kinky friends.”

  “What you’re describing that you want,” Cole started, “is a power exchange dynamic. That’s what the three of us have. Mason and Kim more than myself and Kim, but we have rules and boundaries, and we’re in charge, and she likes that.”

  “Mason is my Master,” Kim said.

  It took her a moment to process that. “Like in that one book? That Fif—”

  “No,” all three of them said before Mason took over. “Well, yes and no. The book is fiction. We actually live it. It sounds like the kind of relationship dynamic you want is what we and many of our friends have.”

  “Isn’t that all spanking and stuff? Because I’m not sure that’s my thing.”

  “Everyone’s different,” Kim assured her. “Mason’s a sadist, but Cole’s discovered he loves being a rope rigger.”

  “Rope rigger?”

  The two men went silent but Kim glanced their way. “Go ahead and show her the pictures from last week.”

  Cole pulled out his phone and scrolled through it for a moment, paused, then seemed to change his mind and picked a different one before turning his phone so Melanie could see it.

  Not letting go of it as he held it, either, she noticed.

  She didn’t even reach for it, not wanting to accidentally swipe to another picture.

  On the screen was Kim, naked and tied in an intricate harness of some sort. “That’s cool. It kind of looks like macrame,” Melanie said after Cole retreated.

  “It is, in a way,” Kim said. “Kinky macrame. We were going to go to a class tomorrow and—”

  “Wait, a class? There’s a class?”

  Mason took over again. “There’s a shibari class tomorrow. They’re going to be doing a couple of different basic ties. If you wanted to come and watch, or even participate, you can.”

  “Participate how?”

  Kim smiled. “Get tied up.”

  “I don’t think I’d want to be naked.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to get naked. Lots of women wear sports bras or yoga pants or whatever. It’s your comfort level.”

  That actually sounded…interesting. “Really?”

  “If you’d like to come with us to the class tomorrow,” Mason said, “you’re welcomed to. You can watch, if you want. Or if you decide you’d like to try something, we can always hook you up with someone we trust.”

  “Will there be other single people there?”

  “That’s hard to say,” Mason said. “Sometimes, sometimes not. But if you’re serious about making some positive changes in your life, and doing things differently than you have been, this is a good starting point.”

  “What’d you call it? The rope stuff.”

  “Shibari.” He spelled it for her. “There’s a private club here and—”

  “Wait, what? A club? Like a sex club?”

  “No, not a sex club. They don’t allow sex there.”

  “Like a kinky community center,” Kim added.

  “Is it expensive?”

  “Not really,” Kim told her. “Tomorrow’s class is open to members or non-members and it’s only ten dollars. If you want to go back with us for a play session later, you’ll have to join and that’s twenty-five.”

  Mel did a quick mental calculation of her bank account. “Oh. That’s not too bad.”

  “Does that mean you want to go with us?” Kim asked.

  She stared at her lap, at the increasingly large pile of sodden tissues growing there. “Yeah,” she said, realizing this moment in her life was her emotional rock bottom. “I’d really like that, thanks.”

  * * * *

  They made Mel stay for dinner and didn’t let her leave until they were sure she wasn’t upset and was okay to drive home.

  Which…sadly, she was. Unfortunately, she’d grown far too used to this emotional state over the past several years.

  Her partner picker was obviously fubared, so what did she have to lose by doing things differently for a change?

  If nothing else, it’d get her out of the apartment for the evening so she wasn’t staring at the TV, or the same old walls.

  Or stalking her now-ex online.

  This time around, with Dane, she’d nailed the strong and handsome parts of the equation, but had managed to totally screw up when it came to smart. To the point that he’d asked to use Facebook on her phone last weekend, and of course she’d let him. The dummy had set his account up on her app so he could just log into it.

  But he didn’t log out.

  And he’d set it up as a one-touch login.

  Which was how, on Monday night, she discovered he’d been talking to a couple of women.

  Patiently letting it play out over the past several days, she saw exactly how much of a player he was.

  Fortunately, she hadn’t had unprotected sex with the asshole, and it didn’t appear that he’d
been sleeping with the other women.

  Yet.

  But it’d been painfully obvious that he’d been moving in that direction with several of them.

  It was with no small measure of satisfaction that she’d taken screenshots of all his conversations before posting them publicly on her profile and tagging all the women in them after sending them private messages with the screenshots included, as well.

  After she’d blocked him, of course, so he couldn’t see them.

  Then she’d sent him text message copies via phone of all the screenshots and told him if he ever darkened her door again she’d cut his balls off.

  Of course last time she checked he still hadn’t deleted that login from her phone and she could still access his account.

  Dumbass.

  He hadn’t called, or contacted her via e-mail or text, and she didn’t expect him to.

  Well, he lasted four weeks.

  That had been the longest relationship she’d had in…years, she was sad to admit.

  I’m pathetic.

  Tonight when she returned home, she would finally delete his account. It wasn’t worth the heartache. He was obviously an asshole, and not even a smart one.

  I’m worth more than this. I’m better than this. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Once home, she stood in the shower and cried some more despite having already shed gallons of tears over the latest asshole in her life.

  What is wrong with me?

  It didn’t seem to matter if she took her time or jumped right into a relationship, if she met the guy at a bar or at a beach clean-up meeting, no matter what she did, she inevitably found herself crying on Kim’s shoulders once it hit the rocks and sank faster than the Titanic on triple fast-forward.

  The common denominator was her.

  Always her.

  She’d picked them, she’d failed to screen them—obviously—for fatal relationship flaws.