Knitting in the City 01 Neanderthal Seeks Human (24 page)

Again, silence stretched. I felt his gaze on me, heard him sigh, then ask, “Will you please look at me?”

I lifted my eyes to his. He didn’t look relieved or annoyed or angry like I feared. Rather, he looked contemplative and uneasy. He paused before speaking, what appeared to be a flash of pain passed behind his eyes but was either imagined or hidden instantly. “I’m not used to this… so you’ll have to give me a little bit of time to… adjust.”

“You can take as much time as you need.” I offered bravely, half-heartedly attempting to pull my fingers from his. The attempt was unsuccessful, he tightened his grip.

“I don’t want-” he sighed heavily, closed his eyes briefly, then met mine again with renewed composure, “I appreciate your honesty.”

I waited, chewed on my bottom lip; when he didn’t continue my eyes widened in confusion, “Wait, what- that’s it?”

He nodded, “Yes. That’s it.”

I drew in a breath, looking around the apartment for what I was missing, “I’m confused.”

“What confuses you?”

“Are we- did you- did you just agree to the label of friendship?”

“No.”

I opened my mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, licked my lips. “Then what label are we going to use?”

His gaze lowered to my mouth; he lifted the hand resting on my elbow to my hair and pushed a mass of curls over my shoulder, his long fingers lingering on my neck, “We aren’t going to use a label.”

I took an unsteady breath; at this point not caring about further embarrassing myself. What was one more minus of mortification when my debt reached in the hundreds of thousands?

“I like labels. I like maps with labels. I like figures with labels and footnotes. I don’t do well not knowing intentions or how to calibrate my expectations.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Quinn!”

He fought admirably against the smile pulling at his lips and didn’t meet my eyes, “You are so beautiful. I really want to kiss you right now.”

His words hit me in my stomach and caused a hot tsunami of awareness to spread to my fingertips, toes, and the tips of my ears. I sighed, “That’s not fair. You’re not being very nice.”

“I’ve told you, I’m not nice.” His gaze seemed to intensify, never leaving my lips, as he leaned infinitesimally closer.

I knew in that moment that if he wanted to kiss me I would not stop him but, damn it, I wasn’t going to sleep with him.

Undies on, undies on, undies on, high ho the dairy-o, I’m going to keep my undies on!

His hand gently cupped my cheek, his long fingers wrapped around my neck and pulled me forward. My eyelashes fluttered and, just before his mouth met mine I said, my words breathless, “You are nice. At least, you’re nice to me.”

He paused, lifted his eyes to mine, made a sound like a growl, then pressed his lips to my forehead. I smiled sadly, both relieved and disappointed.

After a long moment he released me and rubbed his hands over his face, shaking his head as though to clear it. “Damn it.” I heard him sigh.

The water on the stove chose that moment to start boiling, its high pitched whistle cutting through the tension thick room. I slowly stood, feeling a little wobbly on my legs, and hitched my thumb over my shoulder, “Do you want any coffee?”

“Do you have anything stronger?” came his muffled reply.

“I, um, let me check.”

I abruptly turned and escaped to the kitchen, the screeching whistle from the tea kettle sounded like an alarm bell and I was relieved when I took it off the stove. I knew for a fact the only hard liquor we had in the apartment was tequila and I had no intention of drinking tequila with Quinn.

Quinn plus tequila equaled
Quinquelia
and that sounded like something that happens in Mexican jails.

I allowed myself a few moments to linger, to compose my thoughts, before I returned to the living room. Quinn was hovering in the entrance way, glancing at pictures, and I noticed
, with a little twinge of disappointment, that his jacket was on. He moved to the door as I approached; unlocking and opening it he took a step into the hall then turned to face me.

His gaze finally met mine as he straightened the collar of his coat. “I-” he hesitated, his features growing soft as his hands fell to his sides; his eyes gently moved over my face, “I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Oh yeah? About what?” I leaned against the door frame, looking up at him.

“About kissing you.”

I self-consciously licked my lips and hugged myself, turning beet red. It seemed I was doomed to turn various and sundry shades of scarlet whenever he chose to regale me with even moderately suggestive remarks. I tried to speak but my voice was strained and off pitch, “Well, ok, thanks for the heads up. I feel dually warned.”

His signature slow sexy grin spread deliciously over his features causing my heart to flip-flop. I secretly hated him for it. That smile drove me crazy but I suspected he knew that.

He shifted on his feet and rested a hand against the door frame above my head, still smiling down at me, “So, are we still on for tomorrow?”

I shrugged, “Sure,
friend
. Where do you want to go to dinner
?
”

His eyes narrowed at my choice of friendship-label but he spoke as though unfazed. “I thought
, instead of just dinner, we could have lunch and dinner.”

“Um, sure. What time?”

He pushed away from the wall and withdrew his phone, “I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty. Dress for a picnic.”

My eyes widened with surprise, “Oh- ok. What can I bring?”

“Nothing. Just yourself.” He started to back away, pressing the touchscreen of his phone, no longer looking at me.

I took a step into the hall, “Let me bring something. Or at least let me buy dinner. It’s not fair for you-”

He held up his free hand as he turned towards the stairs, giving me a devastating smile, “No keeping score.”

I grumbled but could only listen to him laugh and the sound of his feet on the steps as he departed. Sighing I turned back to the apartment, shut and locked the door, then let my head fall heavily against the thick wooden partition.

A chiming noise I now recognized as the blasted cell phone interrupted my thoughts. I turned to the living room and found the contraption on the coffee table. I glanced at the message. It was a text message. It was from Quinn.

Quote of the day:
“Friendship is like peeing your pants; everyone can see it but only you can feel it.”

~*~

True to his word Quinn called me at precisely eleven-twenty-nine to let me know he was downstairs. I suppressed a surge of nerves, fiddling with my glasses, reminding myself that I frequently spent half days hanging out with other friends. I could spend a half day hanging out with my newest friend. There was nothing worrisome about that. Nothing at all. Nothing in the least.

I chewed on my thumbnail as I hazarded one last look in the mirror, catching Elizabeth’s worried look over my shoulder. She didn’t say anything but I could feel her concern on my behalf.

I admitted that I looked nice, pretty even. She’d helped me wrangle my hair into a braided bun. I was wearing a white silk slip and a gauzy, white summery dress with three-quarter length sleeves and simple cotton lace that gathered just under my ribcage, forearms, and around the square neckline; it ended just below the knee and white flip flops completed the look.

I’d never worn the dress before because it was quite see-through on its own. Elizabeth suggested the addition of the slip. The simple summer dress highlighted my best features- boobs, waist, legs- but was subdued, even a little conservative, and was friend-picnic appropriate.

I pushed my glasses further up my nose, purposefully wearing them instead of contacts, and turned to gather my sweater and my bag; the bag contained two fresh apples and the last of the summer peaches I could find at the market. Elizabeth fretted and twisted her hands, stopping me on my way to the door, “Oh, you should wear something else. You’re so beautiful;
I
want to have sex with you. He’s going to jump you in the car!”

I laughed as she pulled me in for a hug, “Oh
pa-shaw
!”

“Seriously, Janie-” she held me by the shoulders, “if this whole Wendell McHotpants situation has taught you anything it should be to embrace the fact that you are a total hottie and lots of people want to get in your underpants.”

I smacked her hands away and started for the door, “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Me? Oh, I’m going to the gym then I have to go into work to do some charting.” She stretched and yawned. I knew she was on less than six hours of sleep; even so she’d insisted on waking up an hour before it was necessary so she could listen to the story about the Jon and Quinn dinner and the
lets be friends
discussion.

She said she was impressed with how I’d handled the situation and congratulated me for being courageous and honest even though I think she secretly wanted me to give into the temptation to become a short-term slamp to Quinn’s Wendell. She further pointed out that Quinn hadn’t agreed to the friend label.

She pointed it out several times.

But I had to cling to the label because, without it, I felt adrift on a boundless sea of unknowns. So, I bounced down the stairs, feeling excited about seeing my new friend Quinn. Yeah. That was it. My friend. Just my friend.

I exited the building and found him standing on the sidewalk, at the base of my steps. He was leaning against the bottom of the cement stair rail, presumably scanning messages on his cell phone. He was crazy handsome and I quietly sighed. Those were some lucky slamps. I put on my sunglasses.

The sun was brilliant and blinding; it was a perfect September day, maybe one of the last mild days before the beginning of October. He must have heard the door close behind me as he abruptly looked up from his phone to my position at the top of the stairs. He straightened and stood perfectly still.

I dug through my bag as I descended, “I know you said not to bring anything but I picked up some apples and peaches from the Sunday market.” I held out an apple to him, as proof, then tucked it back in my market bag.

He sighed, it sounded pained; “You’re not being very nice.” His voice was low and gravelly. 

I scrunched up my face in response, “Oh come on. I can bring fruit. I’m allowed to bring fruit.” I poked him and he grabbed my hand.

“I’m not talking about the peaches.”

“You don’t like apples? You should. In 2010 they decoded its genome which led to new understandings of disease control and selective breeding in apple production. It really has wider ramifications to all-”

He stopped my mouth with a soft kiss, his hand wrapping around
my waist and pulling me to him. I had the distinct impression I was being tasted in much the same way one would savor a peach. My traitor body immediately responded, again arching and pressing into his, and I kissed him back, tasting him in return. It was not a friend kiss; at least I’d never kissed a friend like that.

Quinn broke the kiss; rested his forehead against mine, and whispered, “Hi.”

I blinked up at him, my heart and my mind competing in an uphill foot-race, and managed a small, “Hi.” in return.

“I changed my mind about kissing you.”

“Well,” I licked my lips, a warm humming sensation was reverberating in my chest, “You did warn me.”

~*~

I didn’t have much to say in the car but found myself frequently tugging at my bottom lip. Quinn was driving; it was another of the black Mercedes and I wondered if it were a company car. The thought troubled me- that he would be using company property for our date.

Or non-date. Or Wendell-slampcapade. Whatever.

I allowed myself to worry about the use of the car as it gave me something on which to focus. He didn’t force any attempt at conversation, seemingly content to drive in silence. And, as confusing as it was, the silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It just was.

When we made it to the vicinity of the park he surprised me by parking in one of the sky-rise private lots. We pulled into the basement and to a numbered space. I shifted in my seat as he cut off the engine and glanced at him from the corner of my eye.

“Are we- do you live here?”

He quickly exited the car, rounding to my side. Before I could pull the latch Quinn opened my door in an unexpected
, but not surprising, display of good manners. He reached out his hand to help me from the vehicle then didn’t return it. Rather, he laced his fingers through mine and tugged me toward the elevator. At this point I realized that I’d become rather accustom to the feel of his hand holding mine.

“Before we have our picnic I want to show you something.”

With no further explanation we waited for, then entered, the elevator. We stood next to each other, holding hands, as the elevator ascended. Everything about the moment struck me as odd, surreal, and I wondered how I’d arrived at this moment.