“What about sex?” The sex they’d had was hotter than hell, but to be honest, had Kirby not been there for the cuddling part and to help explain, she might have thought Davis was an asshole.
“If I’m sexually attracted to someone who is sexually attracted to me, and they want to sleep with me, I explain to them things like I’ve explained them to you. I’m honest about myself so they understand that I probably won’t react like they’re used to. If things progress, the pleasure of the process allows me to compartmentalize. I mean, I want to have relationships with people I’m attracted to. There’s a lot of stereotypes out there that people who are on the autism spectrum can’t have relationships. And technically, I’ve never been diagnosed as that, even though conventional wisdom would say that I fit the diagnosis. Certainly, if someone is severely developmentally disabled, perhaps their relationships are impaired. But I’m not, obviously. Most people on the spectrum are not. It’s not that we don’t feel, because we do. But we express and process our emotions differently. Many people who are neuroatypical, not just on the autism spectrum, have fulfilling social and personal lives. Just like neurotypical people.”
“So is physical touch painful for you?”
“Sometimes it can be. It’s a sensory processing thing. My mother did a lot of work with me as a child that helped with that. But the reason I have ten of the same shirt or pants in different colors, or several shoes of the same kind, is for that very reason. If I find an article of clothing that’s comfortable, then I buy it in multiples. Even extras to keep back when something wears out. That has nothing to do with patterns or liking things the same. It’s because I want to wear something that won’t…bother me. I need to focus on my work, and not if the seam on the shoulder of my shirt is irritating my skin.”
“That makes perfect sense. I never thought of that before.”
“Don’t women joke that if they find shoes they like and that are comfortable, they buy them in all the colors?”
“Touché.”
They’d stopped walking, and he’d started pointing out constellations. She would have stood there all night with him, listening to him, watching his face as he became animated about the topic.
Then she remembered they were on a date. “Will you teach me how to touch you in ways that don’t make you uncomfortable?”
He didn’t look down at her at first. Finally, he did, but his gaze focused on her forehead.
“I’d like that,” he quietly said.
There was a vulnerability in his tone that nearly broke her heart.
“When you’ve slept with other women in the past, did you do that?”
“Not usually. I would make them come first, several times if possible, then I’d come. Usually through intercourse, sometimes through oral sex. Rarely a hand job because a physical relationship didn’t usually last that long to get to the point where I’d teach her how.”
“Do you masturbate?”
The hint of a smile curved his lips. “I have an eidetic memory. Are you asking in general, or would you like a detailed recounting of the dates and circumstances?”
She fought the urge to laugh in case he took it the wrong way even though she suspected that’d been Davis joking. “In general.”
“I masturbate. My physical needs aren’t any different than any other average man my age. How that goal is achieved is a little more complicated when it’s not involving masturbation.”
“Friday night when we were together and I was on top of you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No. There were a few things I was uncomfortable with.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean for you to apologize.” He hesitated. “When you were stroking my chest. I prefer firm, non-stroking contact there.”
“Show me, please?”
“You mean over my shirt?”
Now she smiled. “Yes.”
He placed her hands about where they’d been that night, then pressed down firmly. “Like that.” Now his gaze was fixed fully on hers, meeting hers.
He used stronger pressure than she would have imagined comfortable. “That doesn’t hurt?”
“Not like that. I like strong hugs that I’m prepared for from people I enjoy that from.”
“Strong hugs?”
He pulled her arms around him, one around his waist and the other higher, and did the same, embracing her. It was a hard, squeezing, nearly desperate-feeling hug.
And she liked it.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
“Yes. It feels good.”
“Kirby doesn’t have these kinds of reactions,” he said. “I suppose in a way that’s a benefit for you.”
“It is.”
When Davis ended the embrace, he once again reached for and took her hand in his as they walked back toward her car. “Can we sit and talk for a while before we go back to my place?”
“I would love that.”
If he wanted to talk to her all night, she’d sit and listen.
Just the fact that he’d opened up to her, let her in, was huge.
And he loved her.
Chapter Thirteen
Kirby was home when they returned a couple of hours later, Mel was happy to see.
“Would you like to come in?” Davis asked.
“I’d like that, thank you.”
“I don’t mind if you want to spend time with Kirby.”
“Did you have a good time tonight?”
He leaned in, his hand cupping her cheek as he stared into her eyes. “I had a great time with you tonight. Thank you.” Then he kissed her.
It felt like after their talk, and Davis’ confession to her about how he felt, something had slipped slightly, falling into place.
They went inside and after saying good night to her, Davis headed to his bedroom.
Kirby led her into his bedroom and closed the door, turning on the TV to help cover the sound of them talking. “Well?”
She grinned, nodding. “He told me he loves me.”
Kirby let out a silent scream of joy, punching at the air before picking her up and swinging her around, making her squeal.
They froze when Davis knocked on Kirby’s door. “May I come in?”
She nodded.
“Sure, buddy,” Kirby said, reaching for the remote control to turn down the TV volume.
Davis walked in. “Would you both be okay if I planned a day for me and Mel this Saturday?”
They hadn’t made any plans at all yet. She exchanged a glance with Kirby before walking over to Davis. “I’d love that, thank you.”
“I’m fine with it,” Kirby said.
“Thank you.” Davis started to turn, hesitated, then leaned in and kissed her. “And thank you for waiting until I said it first.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Sir.”
He gave her a little half-smile before turning and leaving, closing the door behind him.
She turned back to Kirby, eyes wide. He wore a silly grin and stalked over to her, grabbed her, picked her up, and spun her around again before falling onto the bed with her.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too, Sir.”
“That’ll get confusing.”
“Would you prefer Grand Poobah or something?”
“Getting awfully mouthy for someone who’s starting to like being tied down and spanked.”
She grinned. “Yes, Sir.” She sat up, yawning. “Sorry. I need to get home. It’s late.”
“You going to be okay to drive?”
“Yeah. Don’t try to talk me into staying. I hate mornings, and I’d rather stay up late than get up early.”
“Ah. Understood.”
He walked her out to her car and as she drove away, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw him standing there, watching her.
Love.
She had not one guy, but two guys who loved her.
Now if she could just not screw it up.
* * * *
Kirby either didn’t know what Davis had in store, or had been successfully sworn to secrecy, because he wasn’t saying anything and denied any knowledge of his plans. All she knew was Davis had told her to dress comfortably, shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers, and to wear a hat and bring sunscreen, and to bring clothes to change into later, along with shower supplies.
She’d also expected Davis to possibly run late despite him telling her he’d pick her up at noon. Kirby had warned her that Davis had two modes—rigidly on time, or shiny-squirrel completion distracted if he took on another task before leaving.
Davis arrived at 11:59.
Good thing I’m ready to go!
She opened the door, her hopes starting to climb despite trying to talk herself out of that.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked by way of greeting.
Any other person, she would have considered that rude. For Davis, it was practically warm and snuggly. “Yes.” She grabbed her purse and backpack with spare clothes in it, as he’d instructed, and quickly locked the door behind her to follow him down to his car.
No kiss hello at the door, but it was like he remembered that once in the car, leaning in to kiss her.
He was adorably awkward like this, so much so that it was difficult to remember the guy could blow her mind in bed.
“So where are we going?” she asked. “Or is it a secret?”
“You’ll see.” He reached over and took her left hand, placing it on his bare thigh, past the hem of his shorts, patting it before putting his hand on the wheel again.
He might as well have said something deliciously dirty to her, because that was nearly as good as foreplay.
She didn’t stroke his leg like she might with Kirby, didn’t move her hand around. She kept it right there, where he’d placed it, hoping it didn’t bother him.
They headed south and east away from Sarasota, and before long she started to see signs for the Myakka River State Park. Not wanting to say anything and spoil the surprise, she waited until they’d reached the park entrance and they were waiting at the end of a line of four cars to pay the entry fee.
“I’ve never been here before.”
“I come out here a lot. Sometimes on my way home from work, just to be alone.”
She did the mental route calculations in her head. “That must take you out of your way.”
“I don’t mind. Sometimes I come in the back way. Or if I go in early, I leave early. It depends on my workload.”
She left it at that, one more piece of the Davis puzzle exposed and ready to snap into place very shortly.
After he’d paid the entrance fee for them, he drove along a meandering road that led through the park and past a large parking area overlooking a lake, where he finally parked. The park seemed busy, a lot of cars and people around, including pedestrians and people riding bicycles.
“I brought us lunch,” he said after he shut the car off. “I brought bottles of water because I wasn’t sure what you might want to drink and thought that would be best.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
They got out and she locked her purse and bag in the trunk. He’d brought a small cooler, as well as a backpack of his own, the contents he didn’t volunteer as he shouldered it. He locked the car and, after putting on his own hat, he carried the cooler and led the way toward a nearby trail that followed along the lake’s edge.
After walking for about fifteen minutes, they’d passed a few people, but it was obvious he was familiar with where he was going.
Eventually, he stopped in a shaded area just off the trail, which overlooked the river and north end of the large lake area. That’s when he set down the cooler and unshouldered his backpack. From it, he withdrew a sheet for them to sit on, as well as two pairs of binoculars, a Florida-specific wildlife and bird book, and insect repellant.
“Sometimes the mosquitoes are bad,” he said as he sat and handed her one of the pairs of binoculars.
She wasn’t sure what the point was to this outing, but he had her intrigued as she settled in next to him, close but not touching.
Turned out she didn’t have to wait long. In a low tone, he started explaining the history of the park and pointing things out to her in between turns looking through the binoculars. Not only did he seem to know every type of bird they saw—of which there were a lot—he knew the complete history of the park.
Including, she was sure, details probably not included in the basic brochure they’d been given.
He knew the migratory patterns of the bird species usually seen there in winter months, how the water table fluctuated depending on the time of year, and literally every plant species she could see from where they sat.
It didn’t sound dry, either. From the tone of his voice, she knew this was something he felt passionate about, and it fascinated her as much as the knowledge he related to her. They watched alligators slowly meandering along the water’s edge and turtles sunning themselves on the banks. She saw more types of birds than she thought she’d ever seen before at one time other than at a zoo or pet store, including some native species she’d heard about but had never seen in person in the wild, like roseate spoonbills.
“As we get into winter and the backcountry trails dry out, I’ll take you hiking through there. You can see deer and sometimes even bears.”
“Bears?”
“They didn’t used to be as common, but they’re making a comeback. There’s a canopy walk, too, but it’s closed right now for renovations. It should be open in a couple of weeks. When we leave, we can go through the visitor’s center, if you want to look at the exhibits. They have boat and tram tours, too, but I didn’t want to do those today. They’re less crowded during the week in the spring and fall when the snowbirds aren’t here and when school is in session.”
That’s when he turned to look at her, his sweet brown eyes meeting her gaze.
And holding it.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, meaning it. “I’m having a good time.”
He didn’t look away. “You said you wanted to learn things that were important to me. This place is important to me. It’s a piece of Old Florida. It’s a piece of history. It’s also an important ecological feature not just for wildlife, but also for the watershed in the area. A lot of people come to Florida for Disney and the beaches, but they never see this.”
“How did you get interested in it?”
“We took a field trip here once in elementary school. It was on a weekday and it was so quiet out here, it felt peaceful. I begged my parents to bring us back. Once I got my driver’s license I started coming out here any chance I got. I could close my eyes and imagine it a hundred years ago when it was free-range cattle land. Or even farther back in history, when Native Americans lived in the region.”
He was still staring into her eyes and it felt like her soul wanted to crawl inside him. “I work for Murality because I enjoy the lab part of my job and it pays me well. I don’t enjoy what they do to the environment, though. Some people will argue they’re vital, because agriculture needs phosphate for fertilizer. Except that agriculture got along fine before this, and a lot of what’s mined here in the past couple of decades has ended up shipped over to China.”
A bird made a noise not far away, and they both turned to look, but didn’t spot the culprit.
“Some of the active mining areas look like moonscapes,” he quietly said. “I hate when I have to go on-site to the mining ops. I hate it. It physically hurts me to look at the land stripped bare like that.”
“I thought they had to reclaim it once they were done mining?”
He met her gaze again. “They do. And the requirements are growing stricter all the time. Requiring more than a one-to-o
ne ratio of reclamation, in some cases. We’re really lucky we haven’t had an accident like Mosaic did with that sinkhole under their gypsum stack. I have a feeling it’s only a matter of time before something like that happens to us. The rock under this state isn’t like up north where you have bedrock. It’s limerock, like a sponge, and parts of it get eaten away. As the water table rises and falls, it creates sinkholes. You can never predict where one will form.”
“Could you find another job?”
He slowly nodded. “I’ve been thinking more and more about that.”
“Do you have a retirement plan with them?”
“It kicks in at twenty years. If I can stay there two more years, I can start looking for another position somewhere and still have my retirement fund. Unfortunately, my specialty is the phosphate industry. While I’ve let headhunters court me in the past, they always came back with similar jobs at that kind of pay. If I’m going to put myself through that kind of a drastic change, I want it to be in a different specialty. Maybe something more fulfilling. Satisfying.”
She’d been lucky she was at her job. It wasn’t the best paying job in the world, but it was steady employment and she’d worked for them since high school.
He opened the cooler and pulled out two cold bottles of water, opening and handing her one before he opened his own. “Don’t get dehydrated.”
She offered him a smile. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat, yes.”
He withdrew two turkey and cheese subs, both carefully double-wrapped in zipper-top plastic baggies, and several individual packs of mayo and mustard. One of the subs, he’d written M on the outside of the bag with a black marker. That one he handed to her.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want on yours, so I left it plain. I hope I brought the right condiments for you.”
“That’s great, thank you.”
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