Page 80 of Free Heart
He frowns. “You’re saying autistic people are assholes?”
“No.”
“Because I’ve known plenty of assholes in my life—almost all of my foster families for example—andnoneof them were autistic.”
He pauses and tilts his head as he considers. “I think. Probably. Maybe Mr. Anderson.”
“No, I’m saying that when you don’t say or do what’s socially expected of you, there’s a very valid reason for that. You’re not trying to push my buttons, or be obtuse, or ignore my perspective. You’re autistic.” I need him to understand that I’ve done him wrong in my head, and I need him to forgive me for it.
“Okay. Sure, Doc. I’m autistic.” He palms my face and brings me closer. “Andyou’resexy. I spent my whole shower thinking about being in bed with you.”
He kisses my lips lightly. “If I apologize for not telling you that I’m autistic, can we fuck?”
A laugh bursts out, and I let him kiss me again. “That’s what I mean. Right now. What you just said…”
“What about it?”
“When you asked if you can apologize so we can move on, it’s because you think you did something wrong.”
“I did. I didn’t tell you I’m autistic.”
I huff. “Right, but—”
“I want to fuck, and I want you to forget about all that.”
I hesitate. “Wow. You’re really not just being an asshole.”
“I may or may notbean asshole.” He waggles his eyebrows. “But you canusemine tonight if you’re really gentle with my leg.”
“Dan?”
“Yeah?”
“You also always deserved good parents. You know that, right? You deserved a good mom.”
Like mine. Like Peggy Jo. Like I’m sure Edith would have been to him if she hadn’t gotten sick.
He frowns again. “I know.”
“Peggy Jo loves you like you’re her own.”
Dan rubs a hand over his face, leaning away from me, and then sighs. “Yes. And you love me too.”
“I do.”
“But not in the same way as Peggy Jo, thank God.”
With that, Dan carefully shifts to lie on his side, and looks over his shoulder at me. His wide-set eyes are full of hope. “What do you say, Doc? Can we be done with this conversation now? Will you please bang my sweet ass?”
WhatcanI say? He’s ridiculous, and good-hearted, and strong, and he’s a survivor. I love him.
“Yeah. Of course. Let me get the new bottle of lube.”
He relaxes against the mattress, clearly happy to leave the talking behind. He sighs. “That’s my seahorse.”
And that’s my autistic angelfish.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
