Page 36 of Tech Bros

This man is going to be so much trouble.

10

DEACON

I’m doing this wrong. This is easily a conversation I could have had with Evan in the kitchen. Literally all I want to tell him is I’m seeing someone, and he may show up from time to time, and oh, by the way—it’s your boss. Our CEO. Don’t act weird.

I’m not sure Evan even knows I’m gay. Millie’s over here so often he probably thinks I’m interested inher. This dinner idea I had was because he seemed disappointed I couldn’t go with him to the new restaurant when he asked the first time. He was having a rough morning on Monday, and I have a lot of guilt about being a shitty roommate in general. I really do want to do better by him as part of the fresh start I’m making.

Living on the spectrum comes with challenges. Some specific ones of mine involve difficulty reading social cues, giving appropriate responses, initiating spontaneous communication, and expressing emotions. Also, I require a lot of stimulation. Nearly constant, which is why my unofficial label is AuDHD. Meaning I’m a mess of contradictory traits. I’ve also been told I’m highly adept at “masking,” which is a constant struggle,but also a habit I don’t think I can stop, despite my therapist’s urging.

No thanks.

I’m weird enough to be around without constantly humming the songs in my head or tapping out the one Bach song I learned on the piano when I was a kid over and over again on every surface my hand comes into contact with. The usual things that bother people with my diagnosis—loud noises, crowds, flashing lights—well, that’s what I used drugs and alcohol for. Being drunk or high lowered the urge to lose my shit. But in order to really cope, I keep busy, and I hyper focus. My interests are equally split between work and sex. With the latter, it’s amazing the kinds of conditions I can ignore if some dude is fucking my throat.

Nothing’ll shut off my differently wired brain like a little fight for survival.

The way Isaac makes me feel is new, though. His good looks are a feast for my eyes. His needs are crystal clear to me in a way that most people’s remain a mystery. I’m not sure if it’s his voice I find particularly soothing or his word choice clicks in nearly the same way my therapist’s does, but I’m comfortable with him in a way I know not to take for granted because that shit is rare for me.

Isaac looks at me like I’m a solution—not a problem.

Not the way Evan is looking at me right now.

He’s waiting for me on the couch when I come out of my bedroom. He’s petting his huge dog on the forehead with rhythmic, repetitive strokes.

Apollo is a great dog. He’s simple, calm, and predictable. He never makes a mess, and he doesn’t bark. He was my biggest concern when Evan moved in, and I admit to having been more focused on how disruptive the dog would be when what I shouldhave been thinking about was how difficult it would be to live with yet another very attractive man.

The dog distracted me.

Ryan was quiet and surly, a little messy in the kitchen, but otherwise kept to himself. He was hot as hell, too. I used to have a lot of fantasies about him. Sex dreams. Embarrassing ones that made me think I wanted him, but he barely noticed me, which I understood, because for a while, he was supposedly straight. It was when he started hooking up with his co-worker—his former stepbrother—that I got really confused.

It was the first time I ever experienced jealousy. At first, I thought it was specific to Ryan, but after a while, I realized it had more to do with the fact that he had someone to fall in love with. Someone who needed him and basically worshiped him. Because what would that be like? It was something that didn’t feel possible for me—until now. Until Isaac.

I’m positive I’m jumping the gun regarding Isaac, but what Idoknow after having been with him is that I want to find that person like Ryan did. Someone who gets me, someone who wants me. Someone to hold and feel and fuck and kiss. One person I can talk to and take care of and please because most of my life I’ve been a disappointment.

The way Evan looks at me when he realizes I’m in the living room is a perfect example. The expression on his face is grim until he forces a weak smile. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

He stands. He’s wearing billowy cargo pants in a light gray and the same skin-tight black sweater he had on when he got home from work. He looks great.

The breath he takes is shaky, the way mine sounds when I’m anxious, and he runs a hand through his hair the way Isaac did earlier in the break room. For as much as he usually talks, his silence as we leave the apartment leaves me guessing.

The second we hit the stairs, we both stiffen when Millie’s door creaks open.

“Evan! Hey.”

She doesn’t sound right.

Evan and I turn around. Millie’s hair is a hot pink tangle on top of her head. She’s wearing pants that remind me of an Amish quilt and a white tank top that shows off the rainbow of tattoos on her skinny arms. She’s a lot on a good day, but I’ve never seen her looking at Evan like this.

She’s usually focused on me, whether I like it or not.

“Hey,” Evan says. “You okay?”

I guess he can tell something’s off, too.

“No. Manon is pregnant.That’swhat’s wrong with her nipples.”