I stare at him in shock, my mouth slightly open. “Does anyone know you do that? I’ve never heard about you donating to schools.”
He shrugs. “I keep all of it private. Even my foundation is under a different name, and the website keeps it all very hush-hush.”
“Your agent is listed as a donor, too. Am I really the only one who has figured it out?”
He nods. “I’m not sure I even realized my agent is listed on the website as a donor. But anyone can donate, so it’s surprising how you put it all together.”
“I like doing research, and I can easily get pulled down a rabbit hole. Plus the comment you made during an interview I found on Google.”
A slow smile spreads on his face. “Were you Googling me? Before we met this year?”
I feel the blush cascade over my skin. “Does it make you think less of me to say yes? In hindsight, I wonder if it’s because I saw something in you that I recognized. I didn’t Google you with the intent of looking at your private life, or seeing what your football stats were. I solely wanted to see if there was a connection between you and Playful Paws.”
“If it were anyone else, I’d be freaked out,” he says, grinning widely. “But knowing you Googled me is actually pretty cool.”
“Why aren’t you freaked? I can imagine that it must feel like an invasion of privacy,” I comment as his hands skate up and down my arm, goosebumps erupting in their wake.
“Because it’s you. And I trust you more than most people,” he says simply.
“Why?” I breathe.
He smiles again, dragging a finger down my hairline from my forehead to behind my ear. “I felt like I could trust you from our first meeting, and I didn’t know why. I knew I wanted to learn more about you. I felt a kinship with you immediately. I guess my brain recognized a like-minded woman, and wanted me to keep you in my life.”
“It’s hard for me to trust people,” I admit. “Once they find out I’m autistic, they typically run for the hills.”
“You tell a lot of people?” Jamie asks, and I nod.
“I’d rather people learn it early on and leave, instead of bolting when we’ve gotten closer. I am who I am. Get used to it, because I’m not going to change,” I say surely. I know my brain works differently than most, but I like who I am. I’d rather have one, or a couple, of really close friends than a huge circle of acquaintances anyway. The only time I hide my autism is when I’m at events with my parents. It’s not because I’m embarrassed or lacking confidence. It’s because they make awful comments about it, and I don’t want to deal with that.
“I only have a couple of people who know,” Jamie confesses, his hands settling on my waist. He squeezes gently, like he’s grounding himself, his thumbs absentmindedly stroking up and down.
“How does it impact your job?” I ask. “We’ve discussed some sensory things, but it must be overwhelming at a football game.”
“I’m usually okay because I know what to expect, and I have a variety of masking techniques I can use to get through the game. I struggle more in the post-game interviews, and when I’m doing any kind of public appearance. I don’t know what it is about athletes, but people assume it’s okay to touch me. I don’t like that. Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean I’m okay with that.”
I’m sitting in his lap. Is he uncomfortable right now, and doesn’t feel confident enough to tell me? He’s said he’ll tell me, but my anxiety is arguing that he might change his mind. “Are you sure it’s okay if I’m in your lap? This is definitely touching you.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, this is fine. Great, in fact. It’s different in a romantic setting. Iwantyou to touch me. And honestly, I love that you haven’t moved.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something for my benefit. I know how important boundaries are. Obviously. Is there anything you’re definitely opposed to? Parts of your body you don’t want me to touch, or areas you’re a little unsure of?”
“I don’t like feet,” he blurts out with a laugh. “I don’t like mine, and I really don’t want to touch other feet. But I also don’t like looking at nasty feet. Is that weird?”
I burst into laughter. “I’m that way with facial hair! I don’t understand how some men let it get so out of control, and it makes me feel itchy when I look at out of control beards or mustaches. How do they eat if hair hangs over their lips? All that rogue hair on their necks, that has to feel just awful!”
Jamie runs a hand over his scruff. “Does this bother you?”
“No,” I answer, shyly. “It’s a great length. Not too long, but long enough that I can feel it. It makes me wonder what …”
His eyes darken almost imperceptibly. “You’re wondering what it’ll feel like on other parts of your body.”
I nod. But I’m not ready to find out yet. How do I explain that? Suddenly, I’m so nervous about taking the next step with Jamie. “But —”
“But you’re not ready for that,” he supplies. “Neither am I, truthfully. I’d like to take you on a date first. Maybe a few dates. Quiet dates, just the two of us.”
My heart drops. “Quiet dates? Is this a way of hiding me? I’ve had that happen before, and I don’t like it, Jamie. I don’t want to be hidden.”
He takes my face in his hands, thumbs stroking my cheeks. “I’m not hiding you. I’m more concerned with me, and what reaction the public will have that might scare you off. It’s exhausting dealing with fans and paparazzi, and I want to shield you from that as much as I can. Be in our own little bubble while we get to know each other better.”
