by Reid, Penny
“I like labels. I like maps with labels. I like figures with labels, and I like footnotes. I don’t do well not knowing someone’s intentions or how to calibrate my expectations accordingly.”
“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 that spread to my fingertips, toes, and the tips of my ears. “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, high ho the dairy-o, I’m going to keep my undies on!
His hand gently cupped my cheek and his long fingers wrapped around my neck and pulled me forward. My eyelashes fluttered, and just before his mouth met mine, I said breathlessly, “You are nice. At least, you’re nice to me.”
He paused, lifted his eyes to mine, made a sound like a growl, and 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,” he muttered.
The water on the stove chose that moment to start boiling, its high-pitched whistle cutting through the thick tension in the room. I felt a little wobbly in my legs when I stood, and I hitched my thumb over my shoulder as I asked, “Do you want any coffee?”
“Do you have anything stronger?”
“I, um, let me check.”
I turned abruptly and escaped to the kitchen as the teakettle screeched its alarm, and I was relieved when I took it off the stove. I knew for a fact that 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 and compose my thoughts before I returned to the living room. Quinn was hovering in the entranceway, 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; he unlocked and opened it, walked a step into the hall. He turned to face me.
His gaze finally met mine as he straightened the collar of his coat. “I…” He hesitated; his features grew soft as his hands fell to his sides and his eyes gently moved over my face. After a moment, he said quietly, “I reserve the right to change my mind.”
“Oh yeah? About what?” I leaned against the doorframe, 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 make even moderately suggestive remarks. When I finally spoke, my voice was strained and off-pitch. “Well, ok, thanks for the heads-up. I feel duly 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 doorframe 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 veiled sarcasm, 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 bring yourself.” He backed 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 to—”
He held up his free hand as he turned toward the stairs and gave me a devastating smile. “No keeping score.”
I grumbled, but could only hear his 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 precisely at 11:29 a.m. to let me know he was downstairs. I suppressed a surge of nerves and fiddled 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. Elizabeth had 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. A touch of simple cotton lace 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, and legs—but was subdued, even a little conservative, and was friend-picnic appropriate.
I pushed my glasses farther 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!”
“Oh, please!” I laughed as she pulled me in for a hug.
“Seriously, Janie,” she said, and 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 running 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 “let’s be friends” discussion.
She said she was impressed with how I’d handled the situation, and she congratulated me for being courageous and honest even though I think she secretly wanted me to give in to 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.
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 sighed quietly. Those were some lucky
slamps. I put on my sunglasses.
The sun was brilliant and blinding. It was a perfect September day, and possibly one of the last mild days before the beginning of October. He must have heard the door close behind me because he looked up abruptly from his phone to where I stood 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 into my bag.
He groaned, and it sounded somewhat 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 the apple genome, which led to new understandings of disease control and selective breeding in apple production. It really has wider ramifications…”
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 traitorous body immediately responded by 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.
At length, after we’d thoroughly tasted each other, Quinn broke the kiss, rested his forehead against mine, and whispered, “Hi.”
I blinked up at him; my heart and my mind were competing in an uphill footrace, but I managed a small “hi” in return.
“I changed my mind about kissing you.”
“Well,” I said, “You did warn me.” A warm humming sensation was reverberating in my chest.
* * *
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 black Mercedes, and I wondered if it were a company car. The thought that he would be using company property for our date troubled me.
Or maybe it’s ok because it’s our non-date…our 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 and seemed content to drive in silence. 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 a numbered space in the basement. I shifted in my seat and glanced at him from the corner of my eye as he cut off the engine.
“Are we at your…do you live here?”
He quickly exited the car and rounded it 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 accustomed 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 the elevator. Once inside, we stood next to each other holding hands as the elevator ascended. Everything about the moment struck me as odd, surreal even, and I wondered how I’d arrived at this moment.
I rewound my thoughts and reviewed how I got here: It all really started that night, weeks ago, at the bar and the Saturday morning after. Fast-forward to last Wednesday when he bumped into me at Smith’s. Then Thursday followed and the cell phone incident. Friday day was good, normal, but then it wasn’t normal, but it was still good, and he kissed me, three times. Saturday was both clarifying and confusing, which brought me to Sunday and another kiss, and this moment: holding hands in the elevator.
Despite my best efforts, I was now adrift in an unlabeled ocean of unknowns and trying to find my sea legs with no map, diagram, or figure with footnotes. I felt distinctly terrified and excited…but mostly terrified.
Despite all my brain rewinding, the elevator trip was actually very short. The doors slid open to a long, plain white hallway with four doors. Plastic sheeting covered the marbled floor, and it smelled heavily of paint. Quinn placed his hand on the base of my spine and ushered me to the end of the hall. He withdrew a set of keys and unlocked the door, and giving me a small but expectant smile, he motioned me in.
I crossed the threshold with hesitation and stepped onto an ash-colored hardwood floor. I glanced around at what I now recognized as a very, very nice apartment. It was unfurnished, so the wood panels fanned out uninterrupted and crisscrossed with the horizontal spears of light emanating from three large floor-to-ceiling windows off the living room, which overlooked Millennium Park. I walked slowly into the large living space, toward the windows, and noted the height of the cathedral ceiling as I turned to take it all in. My footfalls were loud and reverberating. The walls were painted a plain white, as were the crown molding and baseboards.
“The kitchen is over here.” Quinn’s voice echoed from my side; I followed where he led to a spacious, blue-gray marbled kitchen. All the appliances were stainless steel—double oven, gas range, dishwasher, giant fridge—except the sink, which was white porcelain and huge. This kitchen was meant for cooking.
The kitchen looked a little sad without small appliances, cookbooks, and food littering the countertops, like a kid waiting to be chosen for a dodge ball team.
After giving me a minute to survey the space, he placed his palm on my back and gently led me to a hallway with two bedrooms beyond. They were very similar in size, and both had en suite bathrooms. The main difference was that the slightly larger of the two also had a view of the park, and the bathroom contained a cistern-sized Jacuzzi bathtub.
My eyes widened when I saw the tub. It was an impressive tub. I don’t think I’ll ever quite get over the sight of that tub and the images it conjured of taking a bath with seventeen of my closest friends. I literally could have held knit-night in the tub.
Quinn seemed to sense I needed some time to absorb the enormity of the tub, so he waited for me in the master bedroom. When I emerged, I gave the tub one last longing look then turned my attention to Quinn.
Tub plus Quinn equaled Quinntub or Tubinn. I decided Tubinn sounded more alluring; I let that thought wash over me: Tubinn with Quinn.
I didn’t even try to fight the blush that followed.
“Hey.” He was sitting on an inset window seat; I noted it could be used for storage.
“Hey,” I responded, letting out a slow breath, trying to find a subject other than Tubinn to discuss.
“What do you think?” he prompted, motioning with a tilt of his head for me to join him on the wooden seat.
“It’s really nice…” I walked to him slowly, still surveying the room. “Are you thinking of renting it?”
“No, not me; I was thinking it might be nice for you and Elizabeth.”
I came to a full stop about four feet from where he sat. “What?”
“You mentioned the two of you were looking for a larger place—you and Elizabeth.”
“Yeah, something larger, not…” I lifted my arms around me in a movement I suspected looked like slow motion flapping. “…not Richie Rich McMansion huge.”
His grin was immediate. “It’s not that big.”
I tilted my head at him in the way I often saw him employ, hands moving to my hips. “I am fairly certain it is well outside of our price range.”
He also tilted his head. “See, that’s the thing, this floor and the four beneath it belong to Cypher Systems. They were specifically purchased for employees.”
“You mean… you mean the company owns these apartments?”
He nodded.
“But why would the boss want to buy apartments for his staff?”
He shrugged. “It was actually Betty
’s idea. She and her husband are downsizing; they want to move out of their house now that all their kids are gone, and she talked to me about helping her find a place near work so she wouldn’t have to commute.”
“Oh.” I thought about that. “And the boss just decided to purchase five floors in a skyscraper overlooking Millennium Park?”
“If you think about it, it makes sense.” He stood up, took a step, grabbed my hands in his, and brought us both back to the window seat. “It’s a nice perk for employees. This is a nice place to live, near the Loop and the rest of downtown, and the park. Cypher’s main business is security. Having employees spread out all over Chicago makes it difficult to ensure everyone’s safety. If everyone were to live here, then it’s close to work, and it’s easier to keep tabs on people.”
“You think the boss wants to keep tabs on people?”
“Yes and no; not in the way you mean.”
“In what way, then?” I was frowning.
He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and studied the floor for a tense moment before speaking. “You don’t work much with the private accounts.”
I blinked at this assertion, wondering where he was going with this seemingly random statement. “Yeah…so?”
“I can’t explain what I mean in much detail.”
I searched this statement and came to a speedy conclusion. “Does this have something to do with the non-disclosure agreements?”
“Something like that.”
“Are they…the private clients…are they bad guys?”
He gave me an assessing sideways glance as a whisper of a smile brightened his features. “No, not exactly bad guys; just powerful.”
“Hm.” I began tugging at my bottom lip again as my eyes wandered over the apartment without seeing. Without meaning to speak the words aloud, I said, “Are you moving into one of the new apartments?”
He hesitated then said, “No, not one of the new apartments.”
“Oh.” I looked at the door leading to the bathroom. “Do you know how much the rent would be?”
