Knitting in the City 01 Neanderthal Seeks Human (23 page)

Never needed to.

Was I ok with that? What was a manwhore really? Was it such a bad thing if all the practice with slamps meant he was good in bed? If we ever slept together did I need to cover myself in cling wrap and Lysol to protect against his plethora of contracted STD’s? Did he have any STD’s? Were we going to sleep together? If he had unlimited access to veteran slamps, was he even interested in sleeping with me, novice that I was? Did I want to sleep with a Wendell especially after finding out about the multiple-slamps-in-waiting? Was I going to become one of his slamps?

I was pretty sure I didn’t want to become one of Quinn Sullivan’s many slamps.

As an aside, I noted that ‘One of Many Slamps’ would make a good band name or, at the very least, album name.

“Janie?”

My eyelashes fluttered and I looked around the sidewalk unseeingly, “Uh, yeah?”

“You and Jon… why did you split?” I noted his voice was quieter, almost coaxing. We started up the staircase for the el.

I responded without thinking, “I’m not really sure what the real reason was for our split but I’m pretty sure the catalyst was him cheating on me.”

“He-” Quinn stopped on the stairs and pulled on my hand until I met his gaze, “He cheated on
you
?”

I nodded, “Yes. But, to be fair, he said he was drunk and it only happened once.”

Quinn’s eyes were wide with what looked like disbelief, “I can’t believe
he
cheated on
you
.”

“Yes, well… I think I have some insight as to why but I’m still processing the possibilities.” I pulled my hand from his and tucked my hair behind my ears; I started up the stairs again so I wouldn’t have to look directly at him when I spoke, “But there were already other issues before that. For one, he is wealthy.” We reached the landing and passed our transit cards through the gate.

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up at my statement; he asked, “What does that have to do it?”

“For one thing, our priorities never seemed to align. He could
, and did, spend money on whatever he wanted. I was- and am- always careful with all my purchases. Second, I always felt like I had a handicap: like I was perpetually taking advantage of him or like I owed him if I accepted whatever it was: money, gifts, help. If I didn’t accept his help it would lead to bad feelings and uncomfortable discussions where I always felt like I was the problem.” My mind began to focus on our current conversation rather than the conversation of two minutes ago. I decided I would work through my slamp issues at some point later. “I’m determined to stay within one standard deviation upward of my own socioeconomic sphere.”

Our train arrived and he waited to speak until it slowed to a stop. Quinn’s expression straddled the triple border of bewilderment, determination, and alarm. “So-” he huffed, his gaze pinning me with its sudden intensity; I was surprised also by the argumentative tone in his voice, “Would you ever date someone who made less than you?” he ushered me on to the el and to a seat by the sliding door, his arm went behind me along my back and against the window.

I nodded immediately, “Oh yes. Absolutely. I don’t have a problem with that. Really, my concern is being with the type of person who has enough wealth to decide- on a whim- to take off from real life and travel around where ever and expect that I’ll be able to do the same simply because he has the means to fund it. Or who buys me extravagant gifts- like a car or expensive jewelry.”

I felt a sudden shiver, like someone was watching me.
I turned my head and surveyed the train. I looked from left to right and found only a smattering of what seemed to be college students. It was the same inexplicable sensation that I’d experienced in the club weeks ago.

“What is so wrong with that? If you’re with someone why can’t
he buy you things? Take you places?”

I brought my attention back to Quinn
, it took my mind a moment to sort through his words and their meaning, my attention still sharpened to the perception that someone was intently scrutinizing my movements.

I licked my lips, shaking my head slightly to clear it
, “I want to be financially independent. I didn’t like having to constantly justify or explain that. One time Jon bought me a car- a really nice car- and he couldn’t understand that it wasn’t appropriate.”

“Why wasn’t it appropriate?”

I ignored the persistent impression that I was being watched, deciding it was my randomly overactive imagination, and pursed my lips in response to Quinn’s question, “You know why.”

“No. I really don’t. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.” He echoed my words from earlier, his expression strangely stiff.

I huffed, “Because how can I possibly reciprocate? What do I have to offer?”

“Yourself.”

I wrinkled my nose, “That makes it seem like I’m selling myself.”

Quinn tilted his head to the side, openly studying me, then asked, “Now who is keeping score?”

I opened my mouth to respond, closed it, swallowed, then said, “It’s not the same thing and I can’t believe you’re taking his side in this.”

“It is exactly the same thing.” he countered. “If no one is keeping score in a relationship then it doesn’t matter, does it? I should be able to give you whatever I want without having to worry about you feeling guilty or like you need to reciprocate.”

I frowned, studying him, really trying to absorb his logic and words. Finally I responded, “Reluctantly, I admit that you have a somewhat valid point. But-” I added before a look of triumph could completely claim his features, “it’ll take me a while to process and potentially adjust to this perspective.”

Quinn’s gaze moved over my face and a small smile curved over his lips, “I promise not to keep score with you if you promise not to keep score with me.”

I gave him a long, sideways stare. I considered his proposal. It seemed fair. I nodded just once and stuck out my hand, “Fine. Deal.”

A slow smile
, and genuine look of victory, brightened his expression; his eyes were mischievous as ever as he shook my hand and said, “What should I buy you first?”

I poked him in the rib.

When we arrived at my building we were still engaged in easy conversation so it didn’t actually occur to me to bid Quinn goodnight at the door. We spoke about his upcoming business trip to New York planned for later that week which, of course, brought up the fact that Gotham City is based on New York City. We then talked about our favorite cities, both real and fictional. 

However, once we were climbing the stairs to the small apartment I shared with Elizabeth, I began to feel a little flutter of nervousness at the passive invitation I’d offered.

Quinn was coming upstairs. We were going upstairs together.

I felt I should warn him that the place was small and belongings were haphazardly strewn about and not at all organized. I wanted to explain that I was currently sleeping on the Ikea pull out couch-slash-futon in the center of the living space but didn’t know how to bring it up.

I also wanted to tell him that I wasn’t going to be his slamp and that, even though mind-blowing sex with him sounded very tempting, I was pretty certain I wanted a non-Wendell even if the sex would be just mind-lukewarming. Scarlet heat started to consume my face a little more with each step upwards and our conversation lulled as I approached my door.

“So.” I stopped abruptly in front of the door, turned to face him, and gave him a tight lipped smile. He leisurely leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms in front of his chest as his eyes blazed an unhurried trail over my face.

“So.” He repeated. He looked calm and confident and confoundingly sexy.

“So…” I sighed, pulling my gaze away from his and glancing at the keys in my hands, “Listen, I- I had fun tonight. You- you’re good to talk to and I had a nice time but I would like to pay you back for my dinner.”

His hands came up between us, “Janie- no keeping score, remember?”

“Yes, but- it wasn’t a date and I know it wasn’t a date and I understand that you don’t date and I’d like to be friends with you and I-”

“You want to be friends with me?” His voice sounded a little dark, perplexed.

“Yes.” I lifted my eyes to his briefly. His expression matched his tone
. I sighed, “Listen- you should…um, you should come in so we can talk about-” I swallowed, turning to the door and unlocking it with slightly shaking hands. The earlier scarlet heat turned into an inferno as I struggled with the lock. “-so we can talk about labels and Wendell and dinner and slamps and- oh thank God.” The door opened and I launched myself inside calling behind me, “Come in- come in, I’ll make some coffee.”

I flipped on the light in the hall then proceeded to turn on every light on my way to the kitchen. I heard hesitant footsteps behind me and the closing of the door. I rushed through the process of boiling water and scooping the already ground beans into the French press. When everything was prepared I walked to the couch
, my bed, and noticed that Quinn’s jacket was laying on it. The sight did strange things to my stomach and, I’m not going to lie, my lady bits. They may have clenched.

I hurriedly took my jacket off, almost sweating by this point, and tossed it on top of his. He was walking slowly around the small space, glancing at the bookshelves which contained my comic books and Elizabeth’s record collection. He took out a Backstreet Boys LP and turned to me with a questioning frown.

I laughed lightly, “Oh, that’s Elizabeth’s. I live with my friend Elizabeth, you met her at that bar the night you… um, well this is her place and I’m just crashing here- actually on the couch- until we find a new place big enough for both of us.”

His eyes drifted to the couch as he replaced the record. I tucked my hair behind my ears and cleared my throat. It was strange having him in the apartment.

Admittedly, I was just a transient visitor and the décor and style represented nothing of me; even so, I felt like he didn’t belong here, in my life. It was like he was surrounded by an otherworldly glow which filled the diminutive space and cast everything, but him, in shadow. Including me. He was too big, too handsome, too graceful. He didn’t fit in our small inadequate world.

The thought made me sad and I firmed my bottom lip with resolve. His eyes met mine just at that moment and he frowned at my expression. Holding my gaze he crossed to me and I crossed my arms over my chest. He seemed to hesitate at the movement but, nevertheless, continued his approach stopping just two feet from me.

Silence stretched as his gaze moved over my face; at length he spoke, “Who is Wendell?”

I blinked, startled. “Wendell?”

“You said you wanted to talk about labels, dinner, and Wendell.”

“Oh, yes. Wendell.” I turned, picked up our jackets and placed them on the arm of the futon; then I sat with my legs tucked under me and my arm along the back of the couch, “Please- have a seat.”

He sat, one of his legs under him so that our knees touched and his arm covered mine, his large hand rested on my elbow and I focused on my breathing.

“So, Wendell?”

I nodded, biting my lip, not really sure how to have this conversation without putting all my oddities on display. But, as usual, the mouth started moving before the brain send up a warning flare,

“You are Wendell. Or, rather, you are a Wendell and I can’t be a slamp so, what I’d like to do talk to you about dinner and labels.”

One of his eyebrows rose and I felt him stiffen; his mouth opened as though he were going to interrupt me but I, having said this much, gathered my courage and continued with loud urgency,

“The thing is, I like you. I like you a lot and I’ve really only known you for a few short weeks-
less than a month- but you are very likeable. I’d like to be your friend because I appreciate your honesty about being a Wendell and, therefore, I would like to have dinner with you- not a date- but think the label applied should be friendship and not Wendell-slash-slamp because I don’t think I’m up for that but understand if you aren’t interested in being my friend especially since you’re already juggling a heavy load of slamps… then, I’d be disappointed but would understand.”

I felt him relax slightly through my tirade; then tense; then relax. His eyes were watchful. He leaned closer, dipping his head, as he asked, “Ok, first, what is a Wendell?”

“A Wendell is a guy-” I gestured to him, “in this situation you are the Wendell- a guy who is very… nice… looking and also very…” I couldn’t look at him so I picked a spot on my skirt and studied it, “very adept and/or talented in certain areas which are related to adult… bedroom activities and who also has a large selection of female companionship for the aforementioned adult bedroom activities from which to choose on any given occasion.”

My eyes flickered to his face and found him watching me with a confounded smile, obviously enjoying my discomfort. He cleared his throat, “Janie, just say it.”

I sighed and suddenly wanted to hold his hand, likely because I was pretty sure it would be the last time.

I entwined my fingers with his and squeezed. “Fine. Quinn-” I looked at him straight in the eye and immediately felt my resolve weaken, “a Wendell is a man who is extremely good looking and who is great in bed. Wendells do not have exclusive relationships- i.e. they do not date- but rather hook up with many women at once. I have no judgment for Wendells- in fact I applaud their stamina and ability to provide excellent service to so many women at once. It seems like a very efficient and generous use of resources. However,” I took a deep breath and swallowed, looking down at our fingers like a coward, “however equitable of an arrangement, I am not interested in non-dating a Wendell. Since you are, in fact, a Wendell I think that I would be more comfortable if you and I could agree to the label of friends, not kissing friends or Wendell-slamp friends… just regular friends
.”