Page 33 of Beautifully Conflicted

“Because they… aren’t they like…slow?” Admittedly I’m no expert, but I’ve never heard of an elite athlete being on the spectrum, and as much as it pains me to admit it, Damien’s elite.

“No. They’re actually some of the smartest people in society,” my genius level roommate informs me. “For some, you’d never be able to tell, but others struggle with social boundaries and knowing what’s acceptable and what’s not.”

“I… Um, huh. Still, I feel like I would’ve known that about him. And anyway, I’m not sure the league would let someone on the spectrum play football.”

“Actually, the league might seek them out. Their brains work at twice the speed of the average adult, and they thrive with thinking outside the box. Both of those lead to a unique ability to recognize patterns in places others can’t. If anything, it gives them an advantage in games of strategy, like chess or football.”

“Okay, but… Damien? I’m still not sure he fits in that box. I mean, the man wears a beanie to run. If he was that smart, he’d know he’d die of heat stroke long before his ears would freeze off.” I roll my eyes. Everyone wants to make excuses for him, but I think he’s just an ass with a pretty smile that wins over everyone who sees it.

I won’t be one of those.

“Neurodivergent people tend to have sensory sensitivities too,” Aiden says.

“What do you mean?”

“They dislike loud noises, hate or obsess over textures… sometimes things or people. They either love or hate things. There’s no in between.”

“So he's picky. That doesn’t explain his incessant need to ask me about random shit that doesn’t matter or exist. Explain how that’s not him pushing my buttons.”

“Are you not listening to me?” Aiden tips his head, eyes narrowing. “Their brains don’t shut off, Bennet. Imagine if you were stuck in your head all day with nothing to do but wonder about why scissors were invented.”

“It still doesn’t make sense that he’d be on the spectrum.”

“It’s called a spectrum for a reason. No two people are the same and it can manifest in many ways.” Aiden’s head shifts slowly back and forth. “The girlfriend thing excluded, I really don’t think he understands why you’re mad all the time.”

I give him an exaggerated eye roll. “Believe me, he knows. The guy gives me a condescending wink each time he slings an insult, like he’s proud of it.”

“He doesn’t see social cues the same way you do. It’s probably why he says the first thing that comes to mind, too. You think he’s trying to piss you off, but I think he’s trying to make conversation.”

I take a swig of my beer and point my finger at Aiden. “You haven’t heard some of the shit he’s said. What do dogs dream about? Codependent guys can stay codependent even if one of them is a zombie. He even asked me how I touch myself.” I don’t mention how he asked that while holding my dick next to his, so he could make me come harder.

“That’s exactly my point, although I admit the masturbation one is extreme.” Aiden wrinkles his brow. “What the hell were you doing when he asked that?”

In a panic I blurt, “Putting my cup on.”

“Oh, well in his mind he could probably connect those dots. But you get what I’m saying, right? I think those are things that just pop into his head, not things specifically designed to irritate you.”

If what Aiden’s saying is true, I can sort of follow why Damien’s auniqueconversationalist... “How do you know so much about people on the spectrum?”

“My niece. And I see a lot of similarities between her and Damien.”

Well fuck, that complicates things.

Opening my eyes, I chug the rest of my beer, wishing like hell we’d never had this conversation. Now that I know there’s a possibility Damien isn’t intentionally being an ass, it’ll be a lot harder to treat him like one in return.

***

“What’s your favorite sandwich?” Damien asks as we start our run, which is an extra two miles today thanks to our untimely departure from our last workout. All I can say is thank God I had a few days to cool off after our last encounter. If I got saddled with two additional miles the day after that shower episode, I’d probably deck him for trying to talk to me.

As it is, I glare at him like my eyes alone could reduce him to nothing more than ash. It doesn’t seem to faze him in the least, since he’s back on his typical bullshit, right down to the beanie. That stupid fucking beanie I have a weak spot for.

Why can’t he ever look like a train wreck?

“Can’t you run in silence?”

He pulls that full bottom lip under his tooth before shaking his head. “No.”

“Well, I’m not playing twenty questions with you for the next seven miles.”

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