Page 67 of Two For the Show
But what if she’s got enough misfits?
“She knows you’re autistic, Dex,” Dario says quietly. “I mentioned it in passing. She didn’t even react. She doesn’t care about that kind of thing.”
Am I glad she knows, or upset that Dario told her?
“Before or after we had sex?” If it was after, did she feel like she was being taken advantage of?
If it was before, does that mean she doesn’t care?
“Before,” he confirms. “I think that’s the last thing youneed to worry about. Focus your energy on planning an incredible date and showing her that you’re not the standoffish asshole you made her think you are. Show her that Dexter Reynolds isKnot WhatsheExpected.” He’s got a smarmy grin on his face, proud of himself for that joke.
I knew he wouldn’t let that go.
This is stupid.
This is stupid.
She’s going to hate it.
Before I have the chance to turn around and leave, back out of my plan, the door to Alex’s trailer opens up. She’s wearing a pair of fuzzy plaid pants and a black thermal long-sleeved shirt. Her hair is messy and frizzy, a dark halo around her face.
“Dexter?” She looks surprised to see me. “What’s up?”
“Uh.” I pull the pint of ice cream from behind my back and hold up the bottle of white wine. “Can I come in?”
For a moment, the shocked look on her face makes me worry she’s going to reject me.
But she doesn’t.
Of course she doesn’t. She’s too nice to do that.
She steps back and holds the door open for me. “Absolutely. I was just watching some television.”
“Knot What You Expected?” I ask, kicking off my shoes at her door.
She grins widely as she leads me to her couch. “Of course. Did you see that season four dropped last week?”
I set the ice cream and wine down on the small coffeetable in front of her sofa before perching myself on the edge of the couch. “I did, but I haven’t started it yet.”
“Oh, I’m only on episode two, let’s restart it!” She grabs the remote but pauses. “Wait. Sorry. You’re obviously here for a reason. I didn’t mean to steamroll you.”
I am here for a reason, but honestly, watching TV together is safer than what I want to do.
What I need to do.
“Do you have any glasses?” I point at the wine bottle. “I mean, I should’ve asked first. Do you drink wine?”
“I’m not much of a drinker, honestly, but I can have a glass or two,” she says, bustling into her kitchen and grabbing two lowball glasses. “No wine glasses though. Let me see if I can find a corkscrew.”
“No need. It has a screw off.” My face heats, because only cheap wine has screw off caps, and of course I got cheap stuff because I don’t know shit about wine and grabbed the first bottle I saw.
“Oh, even better!” She says, closing the drawer she was digging through. When she joins me on the couch again, she has two spoons as well as the glasses. “I’m assuming you mean to share that pint of cookie dough ice cream with me. Otherwise, you should know that it’s rude to taunt an Omega with sweets.”
My smile has to look uncomfortable. I feel so goddamn awkward that it’s hard to focus on anything else. However, Alex is intuitive and quickly picks up on my discomfort.
“Dexter, you don’t need to force yourself to be something you’re not around me. We don’t have to do a formal date. There is no rush for us to bond, okay? We know what we are to one another. We’ll get there.”
Her sweet scent washes over me, relaxing my shoulders and soothing some of the panic coursing through me.
