Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“You know how it is,” Lane said. “We’re flexible when it’s on our terms.”
I laughed. Too true.
“What about your flexibility, huh?” He nodded at me. “You ready to move to Denver?”
Way to kill the party mood.
My stomach knotted with unease like the flip of a switch. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” I mumbled around a piece of chicken. “I have to be ready. I’m the dipshit who secretly wished Marcus wouldn’t get the job.”
I felt so guilty. And torn. Because another part of me was angry and upset.
“That makes two of us,” Lane answered honestly. “I’ve been trying to mind my business, but when you called last week and said he got the job, I kinda reached my limit.”
I knitted my brows together and picked some chicken off a bone. “Limit for what?”
“For what Marcus can get away with.” He said it like it was obvious. “I know I’m not on the lifestyle level as you are with kink, but it can’t fucking be right that he gets to decide whether or not you’re gonna move halfway across the country. You have your whole life here, Corey. Your family and friends and…everything.”
I dropped my gaze to the plate on my lap and felt another rock of unease rumbling around in my stomach. My guard wasn’t as lowered right now, which allowed for doubts and questions to settle in. It happened here and there, more frequently lately. But then I saw Marcus and sank into my Little mind-set, and the world was beautiful again. Well, to a degree, at least. Enough so that my hurt faded and my doubts took a hike. He made things sound better. Like, how we’d spend our evenings in front of the fire with cocoa and marshmallows in Denver. One of the houses we’d looked at even had one of those big stone fireplaces.
Snowy mountains in the distance, lots of playtime, exploring our new home state on the weekends, just the two of us…
Lane set his plate on the coffee table and grabbed a wipe to get the grease off his fingers. “You don’t feel like he’s…I don’t know, taking advantage of you?”
That was the thing. I did feel that way at times, but I was wrong. It was wrong of me to think selfishly. As Marcus had told me repeatedly, he’d given up so much for me. Since I tended to miss obvious things, cues, invisible boundaries, and intentions, he was kind enough to remind me.
He’d actually been thinking about moving west around the same time we met. He was originally from Salt Lake City and wanted to be closer to his family. But he’d stayed because he’d fallen in love with me.
“I think I’m the one taking advantage of him,” I admitted. “He’s sacrificed so much—and before you argue, I know this for a fact because he’s told me. I’m not making it up. You know how difficult I can be.”
Lane blinked. “Excuse me?”
Oh, come on!
“You know,” I grated out. “Like, when I get anxiety because I realize too late that my brain’s overwhelmed with impressions. Or how I say the wrong things sometimes because I don’t think before I speak. My food issues, all the things I can’t eat—my sensitivity to certain sounds…” I could go on and on.
It was a blessing and a curse to be autistic and social at the same time. A blessing because I could seem normal and neurotypical like the rest of them. I had no problems making friends, and my lack of verbal filter just crammed me into the same category as other guys who were called brazen and outspoken. But I could only fool people for so long. All the things that set me apart from the norm made themselves known eventually, and that was where the curse came in. Friends and others became shocked when I suddenly suffered an anxiety attack in the middle of the classroom. And yeah, that came straight from a memory of high school.
It was also a curse because I did not fucking know my own limits. And Marcus helped me. He pulled me away from crowds when he noticed I’d had too much.
Lane didn’t seem to agree with me. He observed me in silence for a beat before he spoke again. “Corey, when you list all your difficulties, of course you’re gonna come off as someone who’s hard to live with. But that doesn’t reflect reality, does it? You haven’t had a real anxiety attack in over a year—”
“Because Marcus helps me,” I interrupted.
He tossed me an impatient look. “You and I have helped each other with the same fucking problem countless times, but you don’t hear me telling you I sacrifice too much to be there for you. Furthermore—so you’re obsessed with chicken. Who gives a shit? I’m not saying living with you—or me, for that matter—won’t come with challenges, but the second a partner uses them against you, you should fucking walk. It’s like you’re just this burden, when we all know you’re anything but. You have two previous Doms still singing your praises at OT because of how much you love to serve and be there for your Owner.”