by Laura Burton
But right now, the raging emotions swirling in my chest take on a life of their own. I press my body up against his and close the gap between us with the most passionate kiss, ever.
The two of us become a tangled, kissing mass.
Every time my brain collects a thought or two, Wyatt’s brazen touches make them scatter again. We’re lost in a symphony of moans and lip smacking. He squeezes me a little too tight and I squeal, then I nibble on his lip and he grunts.
After what can only be a few minutes but feels like an age, we break apart, gasping, our lungs burning for oxygen. I grip his cloak, my breaths coming quick and fast. “Take me home,” I say.
Without a word of disagreement or a moment to even think on it, Wyatt picks me up and carries me across the field. I wrap my arms around his neck, kicking my feet and giggling as a rush of excitement floods my senses.
The drive back to my apartment takes an eternity. Wyatt and I hold hands the whole time, mostly sitting in silence. We exchange glances and steal quick kisses at every red light.
By the time we pull up outside my place, it’s almost midnight. But neither of us mentions the time, or the fact that we both have work in the morning. Wyatt switches off the ignition and releases his seatbelt with a slight growl. As if he’s been starved the entire journey, he reaches over and pulls me in for a lifesaving kiss.
His lips are so soft and velvety, it’s the perfect contrast to the bristles of his stubble grazing my cheeks. He grabs the back of my neck and I’m lost in all the different sensations rippling through my body.
“Come on,” I whisper, giggling against his mouth. He steals another kiss, then reluctantly lets go. We get out of the car, grinning to each other, and as I walk up the path to my front door, Wyatt catches up and places a firm hand on my waist. He holds me the whole time I search through my keys. Feeling the weight of Wyatt’s hands on my body makes me want to tilt my head back and find his lips. But I resist the urge, and unlock the door.
It swings open with a bang and I swivel around to face him. Wyatt finds my hands and our fingers interlock as he captures my mouth again.
I stagger backward, our hands still clasped, and my back slams against the door as Wyatt presses up against me.
If any other guy had kissed me like this, I would beat him over the head with my purse, or kick him where it hurts and run screaming. But when Wyatt pins me to the wall, dragging my hands above my head as he tastes my lips with a balance of aggression and tenderness… I am undone.
None of this feels wrong. And that blows my mind, because I am not the type of woman to have crazy intense make out sessions. But with Wyatt, it’s just as natural and normal as a picnic in the park.
I’m suddenly aware that we’re on show to anyone who might be standing in the street, so I kick the front door shut and plant my hands against Wyatt’s chest.
His heart is pounding so fast; I worry he’s headed for a heart attack. I pull back, forcing us both to take deep breaths. It’s his turn to stagger backward and he falls onto the couch, looking up at me with a mixture of hunger and amusement. I grin back as though the two of us are both in on some kind of secret joke.
If there is one, I have no idea what it is.
Maybe it’s the fact we’re still dressed up as Lord of the Rings characters. Maybe it’s the surreal situation of being in my apartment alone like this when, just yesterday, Wyatt wanted to keep things casual. Wyatt unfastens his cloak and pulls the surcoat over his head, revealing a thin cotton shirt.
My head begins to itch. In the midst of all the excitement, my hair net has shifted.
I don’t think it’s the sexiest move a woman can make in this situation, but I yank off the wig and rip the hair net away, letting my natural hair fall across my face.
Wyatt laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound on earth. Soft, steady, and low, like the chug-a-chug of a train in the distance.
“I want to show you something,” I say, pulling my hair back into a high ponytail.
Wyatt’s face reddens as he eyes me with hunger and anticipation, but I motion for him to follow as I walk across the room.
Wyatt joins me outside the door to my game room and I suck in a nervous breath.
“I’ve never shown this room to anyone before,” I confess, looking at him seriously. Wyatt’s smile drops. “Why? What’s in there? A torture chamber?”
Concern flashes across his face, and I can’t help laughing.
“What? No! This… is my game room.” I throw open the door and hold my breath as Wyatt walks inside.
My sisters tell me the game room is super weird. So I watch Wyatt closely as he takes it all in. He inspects the movie posters on the walls, the mini fridge stocked with energy drinks, and the squishy couch sitting in front of the massive TV and stereo system. And then there’s the closet––still open––revealing the rows of cosplay outfits.
Finally, he glances at the shelves of merchandise and then looks at me.
“This is amazing,” he says, his face beaming. He rushes to the shelves and looks at all the collectibles. “The Millennium Falcon! No way… You’ve got a model replica of the Aston Martin DB5 from James Bond? And look at this photo of the cast of the A Team… It’s signed??”
I fold my arms and lean against the door frame as I watch Wyatt look through everything like a kid in a candy store. His voice goes higher and higher in pitch as he discovers things, and my heart swells as I watch him.
This was a part of me that my sisters made me feel I needed to hide. They had me convinced that no adult male would be attracted to a woman with all of this stuff. And as a result, I felt like I could never truly be myself in the world. It was already hard enough having to mask my anxieties and work on my social awkwardness, but to hide my special interests, too? Until now, I never realized how stifled I’d been.
Wyatt stops and his expression becomes thoughtful. “Is there something wrong?” I ask, dropping my arms and wondering what he’s found to change his mood so suddenly.
“Something’s missing,” he says, his voice concerned. I cross the room to look, frowning. “What?”
He pulls a little box out of his pocket and offers it to me. “I was going to wait a while to give you this, but for some reason, now feels like the perfect time.”
I gasp, looking at the little black box. For a second, I imagine him getting down on one knee.
No. Surely he’s not going to propose!
I mean, we’re only just getting to know each other. I’m not Leila, or Chessy. I can’t get engaged so soon. I’m not the kind of woman to fall in love this fast! How can he think now is the right time to ask me a life changing question, that will require pro/con lists and months of soul searching?
But then he opens the box for me and it’s not an engagement ring after all. It’s something so much better. My smile is so wide my cheeks start to ache.
“The Evenstar?”
Arwen’s necklace. A long silver piece, featuring a massive crystal nestled in a pendant the shape of elegant butterfly wings, with a delicate twist at the bottom. I hadn’t bought it for myself. It just never felt right.
Wyatt takes the necklace out and holds it up for me. I turn around and he lowers it around my neck, then fastens it at the back. The pendant is heavy and cold against my clammy skin. And I brush the silver with my fingertips in awe.
“This is too much,” I whisper, turning around to face him again. Wyatt shakes his head, and he studies the piece on my neck for a moment before meeting mine once more. “No. It’s the perfect gift to show you how I feel about you.”
Then he lowers his lips to mine. It’s our sweetest kiss yet.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wyatt
The next morning, I arrive at work early and float through the halls.
I smile serenely at Ted, the janitor, and greet everyone I go past with a nod and a cheery “Good morning!”
Maybe my feet really aren’t touching the ground, cause my colleagues are all looki
ng at me like I’ve had one too many drinks. Or too much Xanax.
Two things: Lucy loved the necklace, and I still have the taste her on my mouth. Every time I lick my lips, a memory flashes past my mind's eye.
It’s her hands roaming down my back, her thigh pressed against my waist… Her hot breath tickling my neck.
If I close my eyes, I can almost feel her mouth on mine. The tangy-sweet taste of her tongue sent my senses spiraling.
Nothing is going to lower my mood today.
Not a negative financial forecast… Not the shower of rain that appeared out of nowhere… Not even the dull meeting I have at the new company I just took over.
Not a thing. Nothing is going to bring me down now that Lucy is mine.
And now that she’s all mine, I’m never letting her go.
I tap out a quick text message to her.
Can’t wait to see you tonight. Your kisses are addictive.
Before I put my phone away, I see the three dots that tell me she’s typing.
My heart races with anticipation.
When her message pops up, it’s like a shot of adrenaline to read.
Not as addictive as the graze of your stubble on my neck.
I sit in the boardroom, lost in fantasies. I can’t decide between taking Lucy on adventures to all the National parks, dressing up with her to comic con, or just keeping her to myself, wrapped up in a warm blanket as we binge-watch our favorite TV shows.
I start to make a mental list of all the food and experiences I want to share with her.
There’s so much to do. Life suddenly feels too short.
I’ve got half a mind to stop working altogether and tell Lucy to run away with me.
Where would we go? Our very own private island, maybe.
Or just our own little patch of land in New Zealand, where we would live out the rest of our days in Hobbiton.
I sigh, lean back in the boardroom chair and stare out at the view of the city.
This must be what love feels like.
Lucy is already my favorite person.
I want to play with her, and do everything you’re supposed to do with the person you love.
Every time I think about her, I get a rush of goodness-knows-what to my heart and I feel my whole body flood with an intense warmth.
I don’t know how I managed to resist going all the way with her last night. It took every ounce of my self-control to not tear her clothes off and devour the woman in her games room.
Just remembering that she has a game room sets off a stirring in my lower regions. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever known about a woman. And the fact that she was embarrassed about it just blows my mind. She should have mentioned it sooner!
On top of everything else, she’s on the autism spectrum too.
I guess it’s true when they say it’s a spectrum. People are so different. But as soon as she mentioned it, I realized the truth was always there.
I guess that’s why I never felt like a square peg around her.
We understand each other on some subconscious level, in a way that no one else can.
I can’t wait to get to know more of her. I want to know all of her quirks and worries. I want to unwrap everything, all the layers of mystery, and discover who she truly is. And until I do, I’m going to have fun finding out.
For the first time in my life, I feel like just maybe, I can let a woman in.
I have nothing to hide.
Not from her.
My phone vibrates, letting me know I’m late for a meeting. It’s a reminder that Lucy is taking over my brain. I’m never late.
I pick up my coat on the way out of the boardroom and proceed to smile and wave to everyone as I walk out of the building again.
As soon as I’m out on the street, the dreary clouds part and a ray of blinding sunshine settles on me. I’m taking that as a sign.
Today is going to be a good day. There isn’t a thing that can go wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lucy
The next day, I wander into work dazed and sleep deprived. But I don’t care. Wyatt and I spent all night talking about everything and anything. From pop culture and literature to energy bursts and unwritten social rules that make no sense.
Every ten minutes, we’d take a break from conversation to make out on the couch or against my closet door. And after we grabbed a snack, we made out on the tile floor of my kitchen. My cheeks burn at the flashbacks. Neither of us tried to take things any further. Kissing was brand new territory the two of us were comfortable enjoying for the time being. It was all so fresh and new, like walking for the very first time. Neither of us could get enough.
We kissed so much that the bristles of Wyatt’s beard left red marks all over my face, and it took several layers of makeup to cover it all for work.
I make it to my desk before Helen is at the office, and heave a big sigh, thinking about the article I still haven’t written.
I guess, in a strange roundabout way, I did succeed. Wyatt loves me.
He hasn’t said it with words, but the Evenstar necklace––I feel the outline of it through my shirt with a slight smile––speaks for him.
He loves me.
He probably won’t say it for another six months and/or after at least forty dates, until he feels it’s “appropriate.” But I know Wyatt loves me from the warmth in his gaze, the tenderness of his touch, and how attentive he is to me and my needs.
There’s a common misconception that neuro-diverse people don’t feel emotions, and are unable to pick up on the emotions of other people. Maybe that’s true for some––I mean, it’s a spectrum for a reason––but for me, and Wyatt it seems, the total opposite is true.
In fact, I would argue that I feel emotions ten times more intensely than the average neuro-typical person.
Emotions take on a life of their own. Sometimes they’re a raging bull, kicking and screaming. Other times, they’re like a songbird, stirring and whimsical. Sometimes they form a thunderstorm with lightning and flashes of grief and pain.
And by some strange phenomenon even I don’t understand, I feel all of those things simultaneously when I think about Wyatt.
When I’m with him––holding his hand, or resting my head on his chest as he talks to me in the early hours of the morning––I’m as calm as a summer’s day. It’s like all the danger and unrest in the world has been blown away, and all that’s left to feel is peace.
Safe. He makes me feel safe.
I log on to my computer and open up a word document to begin my article. My mind takes me back to the beginning, when I was first handed this challenge.
At first, I thought getting a guy to fall in love with me meant I needed to look and behave a certain way to win his affections. And that’s what I set out to do.
If I hadn't had the makeover, and Wyatt saw me on the subway the next day after we met at the grocery store, would he still have asked me out?
Can a man fall for a woman just as she is? Or do we have to package ourselves up in a way that catches their eye?
I know Wyatt fell in love with me because we have more things in common than I realized. We ended up being compatible.
But how many relationships never begin simply because the guy looks at a girl in her baggy shirt and messy bun, and moves on?
I tap away on my keyboard, losing myself in thoughts and pouring out my soul until I’ve exhausted my reflections. The timing is perfect. I tap the last key just as Helen walks into the office with an air of authority, clearing her throat. I peer over my modesty screen and our eyes meet. She gives me a pointed look and jerks her head to her office. I nod.
I do a quick read of my words, correcting any obvious mistakes. Heavy footsteps fill the air, but I’m too busy proofreading to pay any attention. That is, until Marty leans over my screen. I press print and look at his pale face, wondering why he looks like the sky is falling. “Mr. Croft is here,” he says.
Before I can react, Hel
en pops her head out of her office. “Lucy, can I see you in my office?”
Marty’s eyes widen and he looks at me like I’ve just been given the death penalty. I give him a confident nod and a reassuring, “I’ll be fine.” Then I grab my article from the printer and walk to the office.
By the time I reach her office and close the door behind me, my heart is in my mouth. It’s beating so loud, I half expect to open my mouth and croak like a toad.
“Is that the article?” Helen asks, clearly unaware of my fried nerves. I nod and hand over the paper with a hand so shaky, the paper rattles like the last leaf on a tree blowing in the wind.
Helen swipes it from me and gives me an odd look before she reads it. Then, she motions to the side. “Mr. Croft, this is Lucy Scott. She’s our junior editor, soon to be a columnist.”
I look to my left and freeze, all of the blood draining from my face. Helen continues, oblivious. “Lucy, this here is Mr. Croft, the new owner of Young and Me… and the other magazines we manage.”
Mr. Croft is Wyatt.
We stare at each other in silence for a second, equally stunned.
Wyatt is Wyatt Croft. Now I remember him introducing himself at the family barbecue. I thought the name was familiar at the time.
How did I not put two and two together?
It suddenly makes sense that he knew all those people at Leila’s house. Mr. Croft already owns a whole host of fashion and gossip magazines. He’s probably got Estelle on speed dial.
Wyatt’s face breaks into a beam. “Lucy! It’s you!”
I cast a quick glance at Helen, who is still reading the article, her eyes zooming from left to right. My stomach flips over itself so fast, it’s like someone put a little washing machine in my body.
The article!
Wyatt cannot know about the article. I try to think of a clever way to destroy it, or at least stop him from getting to read it.
