Page 23 of Finding You

“Sit, sweetheart. And breathe.”

He collapsed back down and covered his face with both hands, letting out a trembling breath. “I think something’s wrong with me. I really liked him. We were on the plane, and it wasn’t just that he was nice or told me some terrible dad joke to calm me down. Something about him made me feel good. I didn’t want to walk away from him. I kept thinking, I need to get laid, you know? It’s been so long. But I don’t actually want to get laid. I don’t…that’s…I’ve never cared that much. I mean, I like sex when I have it. It feels good. I think I used to want it more when I was younger, but I don’t even remember what that was like. Then I meet this guy and have these dreams, and I feel…”

“Dallas,” Lane said again.

His jaw snapped shut.

“Your face is really red, and you’re breathing superfast. I need you to try and calm down. Can you do that?”

It was only then Dallas realized his heart felt like it was beating out of his chest. He took more shallow breaths, and eventually, the thudding against his ribs stopped. He swallowed heavily as humiliation crept over him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t you dare.” Lane reached for him, taking his hand in both of his.

“Am I bi?” he asked, his voice a little broken. “I wouldn’t mind if I was. But I don’t even know if this is allowed to count. I don’t know if I like him like that.”

Lane hummed in thought as he stroked his thumbs over the top of Dallas’s hand. “Is this how you always feel?”

“Like…all the time?”

Lane chuckled very quietly. “No. I meant when it comes to someone you might want to date. Is this how you feel about women?”

Dallas blinked rapidly. The question didn’t make sense to him. Not entirely. “I’m talking about wanting to fuck someone. Dating’s totally different.” That feeling left butterflies in his stomach. Holding hands, eating a quiet dinner, being able to put his arms around someone? It wasn’t until he started to think about the expectations of what came after the date that he got all…muddled. “I think I might be broken,” he admitted very quietly.

“I think,” Lane said, squeezing Dallas’s hand even harder, “you might be asexual.”

Dallas burst into a short peal of laughter. “Trust me, I’m not. I have a kid. I’ve had sex. I like sex when I have it.”

Lane’s smile was very small, but he didn’t look angry at Dallas’s immediate rejection. “Look, I’m old, and I’m only just learning about a lot of things. But one of my employees recently came out to me as asexual, and I started looking into it. Like everything, it’s a spectrum. I can’t tell you that you are or you aren’t. That’s all on you to figure out. But it might be something you want to read up on.”

Dallas wasn’t old. He was in his early thirties. He’d grown up with those words being used. But that couldn’t possibly be him.

Could it?

He felt like the world was tipping over on its side. He didn’t have time for this, damn it. His life was complicated enough without some sexuality crisis. Why was nothing ever easy for him?

“You’re breathing really fast again,” Lane said. He reached over and laid his hand over Dallas’s. “I’m so sorry I upset you.”

Dallas clenched his jaw and shook his head. “It’s not your fault.” He licked his lips and took a calming breath. It wasn’t helping much, but the world stopped spinning a little too fast. “I don’t want this.”

Lane gave him a long, steady look. “What were you looking for today when you asked me to talk?”

Dallas squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know.” The reality of that hit him like a ton of bricks. “I wanted to know why I was okay with Kylen lying about me being his boyfriend. Why…why I kind of liked it.”

“None of us will be able to answer that for you. Sometimes things don’t make sense until they do.”

Dallas hated that answer, even if he knew it was the right one. He turned his hand over and squeezed Lane’s fingers before pulling away. “I’m sorry I’m so messy.”

“We’re all messy,” Lane answered him with a laugh. “And not everything has to fit neat and tidy into little boxes either. You don’t have to be anything except happy with who you are. Some people like labels. Some people are content without them. You just have to figure out what kind of person you are.”

He hated that too. Dallas was the kind of man who liked strict rules and strict routines. He wanted to know what was expected of him so he could live up to that. He hated ambiguity and change. He hated when things were opaque.

He hated not knowing where he fit or what shape he was supposed to be in. But he understood why he was the only one who could figure out the answers.

“I should take off,” he said, sounding as miserable as he felt.

“Did I make it worse?”

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