Neanderthal seeks Human (Knitting in the City)
Page 19
His teeth were clenched, “I’m not proposing that you allow people to treat you like garbage. I’m suggesting that you make an effort to understand their behavior, and the motivations behind it, rather than merely dismissing them because they meet the criteria for one of your shortcuts-”
I couldn’t help the sarcasm that spewed forth even though the words made me cringe as I said them, “Then correct me if I am in error: I imagine the motivation behind being a Wendell is wanting to have sex without being limited by number, variety, and frequency of partners-”
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken, “-and also be open to the possibility that just because someone behaved one way in the past doesn’t mean that’s what they want moving forward.”
“People don’t change.” I said the words thoughtlessly even though I didn’t really mean or believe them and I immediately regretted the statement. After what I knew, after what Quinn confided in me last night about his past and his brother, I wanted to apologize but instead I started chewing on my bottom lip.
His eyes flashed dangerously. He swallowed as he fixed his gaze to a point over my left shoulder. I saw him shift his weight as though he was preparing to walk past me.
“I’m sorry.” I blurted, my hands gripping his wrists in order to hold him in place. His eyes met mine and I took a small step toward him, “You’re right, people can change and motivations matter. I don’t know why I said that. It’s just-” I released his wrists, rubbed my forehead with my fingers and sighed, “It’s just, you have to understand, growing up- my mother- she-” I rolled my eyes, hating that I was going to admit to someone that my mother’s decisions had any impact on who I was as a person and the decisions I made.
Quinn crossed his arms over his chest and titled his head to the side, “You’ve never mentioned your mother.” He said it as though he just realized it.
I gritted my teeth, “I don’t especially enjoy discussing her.”
“Why not?”
I sighed again, “Because she was inconsistent and unreliable and was the female version of a Wendell.”
He openly considered me, his beautiful lips twisting to the side, “A Wendette?”
My mouth curved into a reluctant half smile and I nodded, “She was-” I looked around the room, beyond him, to the window, “She was really beautiful and my dad was just a complete doormat. She would leave for weeks, months with some guy and then return and my dad would forgive her and we would be expected to pretend like everything was ok.”
His hands moved to his hips, “She cheated on your dad?”
I nodded, “Yes. A lot. In fact, it was ridiculous. Toward the end she was gone more than she was at home.”
“Toward the end?”
My eyes moved back to his, “The end being just before she died.” I shifted, suddenly feeling restless, “So, you see, being someone’s slamp holds no appeal for me, nor do I wish to be a doormat. I like things being defined, I dislike surprises, I dislike lack of clear expectations and…” my hands moved to my hips and I straightened my spine, “And if that makes me a little closed minded then I think I’m ok with that.”
We watched each other for a long moment then, abruptly, he moved.
I felt a foreboding sense of vulnerability as he closed the distance between us, literally closed it as in there was no space between our bodies, and I silently contemplated the way my own melted against his without my consent.
He slid his hands up my arms then around my waist, resting them on my hips just above my bottom. Much to my surprise and somewhat embarrassed appreciation, I felt every hard plane of his body including a hard length pressing into my abdomen.
Again I blushed.
Quinn’s head dipped and his mouth captured mine for a devastatingly soft kiss. My anxiety didn’t dissipate; rather, a new emotion wrapped around the burning ball of trepidation and constricted in my chest. I didn’t recognize the feeling; all I knew was it made me want to rip his clothes off.
He lifted his head just slightly, his eyes hooded, “Are you ready for our date?”
I cleared my throat, suppressing the desire to rub myself against him, suddenly desperate for friction. I cleared my throat again, “I thought you didn’t date.”
Quinn’s cheek moved against mine so that his whispered words were hot against my ear, “I’d like to date you.”
“I-” I shivered and my eyes drifted shut. My voice was tight as I asked, “Does that mean you’re taking the slamps out of rotation?”
I felt him smile against my neck as he placed a lingering kiss on my shoulder, “They’re already out of rotation.”
He placed another kiss on my shoulder right next to where the lace met my skin. My body, disloyal body, pressed against him more firmly, and my words came out on a sigh, “When did this happen?”
I felt him shrug, the simple movement caused his chest to rub against mine and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.
“Awhile ago.” He pulled away, one set of fingers lifting from my hip and slowly tracing the edge of my dress from my shoulder, where he kissed me, to my collar bone, to my chest, then up again. It sent goosebumps racing over my skin. My scalp felt tight.
Awhile ago.
My lashes fluttered open and I met his gaze; I was confused, fuzzy headed, wanting to know more about the disappearing slamps but instead lost my locomotive of thought as he slowly smiled at me. The aforementioned fingers playing with the edge of my dress slipped over my shoulder and down my arm, entwining with mine.
He tugged on my hand, “Come on. Let’s go have our picnic.”
CHAPTER 14
We spent all day at the park. Several games of Frisbee may have occurred during which I may have gotten grass stains on my white dress.
To my surprise there was a free blues concert at the Jay Pritzker Pavilion, what many group together with Grant Park; and, after our picnic and Frisbee and walking and talking we decided to stay for the music. We positioned ourselves at the edge of the lawn giving us plenty of space between the other park inhabitants.
Quinn reclined on the blanket, his head resting on my lap as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and I stroked my fingers through his hair. I would have stopped to pinch myself to ensure I wasn’t dreaming or sucked into ‘The Matrix’ type alternate reality but I didn’t want to know. No red pill for me.
Quinn fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake him so we stayed until the end of the last set. I watched him, mesmerized by the lines and angles of his face, by the shape of his lips. They were parted slightly and I successfully fought the urge to kiss them.
The applause woke him from his slumber. He frowned, visibly muddled by his surroundings, and blinked into my face. His eyes, their color and immediate intensity upon recognizing my own, made my chest hurt in a really nice way. I smiled at him.
On impulse I leaned down and brushed my lips against his, intending to give my sleepy beauty a small peck. However, before I could withdraw, Quinn’s hands held me in place; his giant palms on my cheeks, his long fingers stroking my neck.
He deepened the kiss even as he sat upright and leaned over me so that I was slightly reclined, the back of my head against his knee; my fingers curled around his forearms to steady myself. His tongue was warm and soft and worshipful as it gently, maddeningly gently, caressed my own. I was being tasted and savored like one licks ice cream or a fancy dessert. The effect was inebriating.
Some passerby whistled, presumably at us, and I dipped my chin to my chest as I straightened, breaking the kiss and finding I had difficulty breathing. His hands fell away; I peeked at him from beneath my lashes and the protection that my black rimmed glasses afforded. He was in profile, glaring in the direction of the whistler, his stern expression just made him look resolute which made him look powerful which made him look sexy.
I licked my lips, tasting him there, and sought to draw his attention back to me; “Did you sleep well?” My voice was slightly breathless when I spoke.
I must have been kiss-tipsy because I answered with sincerity, “Because they make me feel safe.”
His mouth hooked to the side and he blinked once, “Is that why you wear your hair like that?” He indicated to where my hair rested on the crown of my head in a severe bun; “Do you feel safer if your hair is pulled back?”
“No. I wear my hair in a bun because, if I don’t, then it looks like Medusa snakes.”
Quinn’s trademark slow easy smile eclipsed his features, “It doesn’t look like Medusa snakes.”
“It does. Did you know Medusa also had two sisters? She was a middle child, like me. But Medusa was the only mortal of the three. Most myths have her killed by Perseus. He used a mirrored shield so he wouldn’t have to look at her directly. When she died Pegasus- the winged horse- as well as a sword wielding giant sprang from her body.”
Quinn twisted his mouth to the side and he gently took off my glasses then lay them on the blanket beside us, “That seems unlikely.”
I shrugged, feeling lethargic and somewhat giddy to be sitting on a blanket with him, in the park, at twilight; I also felt a bit exposed now that my glasses had been removed. “Some think she was pregnant by Poseidon at the time. Maybe his sperm was magical, of the horse and giant variety instead of carrying an x or y chromosome.”
I reached for my discarded water, took a long swallow, and considered Quinn over the rim of the plastic bottle. The early evening light was giving way to the darkness of night but I could tell he was still smiling. I was still Quinn-kiss-tipsy enough to feel no mortification when I asked, “If you could have magic sperm, what kind of creatures would you want to create?”
His smile widened; he shook his head looking around at the people packing up, “I don’t know how much good magic sperm would do me without a snake haired girl to put it in.”
Quinn reached for his own water and took a gulp but he choked when I said, “You could use me!”
He abruptly set his drink down, sat back on his heels, and picked up a napkin; his eyes were wide as he coughed. I reached over and patted his back soothingly.
“You should have more water.”
He croaked out, “Thanks.” and watched me wearily as he drank from the bottle.
I sat unabashedly and waited for Quinn to compose himself. At length I asked, “Are you ok? Did it go down the wrong pipe?”
He nodded, his eyes following my movements as he gripped the napkin a little too tight, and prompted, “You were saying something about how I could use you?”
“Oh yes. In this hypothetical situation, you have magic sperm which can make creatures.” I screwed the lid back on my bottle of water, deposited it to the blanket, and began taking my hair down, “and it has already been established that I have Medusa-esque hair.” I shook out the crazy curls and let them fall over my shoulders, back and breasts, “So, now you have your snake-haired-magic-sperm repository. What creatures do we create?”
His expression could only be described as incredulous even as his eyes moved over the mass of my hair with dark intensity. “What did you put in this water?”
“It’s just water. What? Why?”
Quinn sighed. It sounded ragged. He pulled his gaze away from me as though it were painful or strenuous to do so. He stood and offered his hand to me stiffly, pulling me up with ease. “We should go get dinner.”
I tilted my head to the side, considering him, “You’re not going to answer my question?”
He shook his head, not looking at me, gathering up the basket and bottles and blanket; he tucked my glasses in the pocket of his shirt. I chewed on my lip and watched him and I couldn’t help feel like I’d said something wrong. I twisted my fingers nervously, tucking my hair behind my ears and started to help clean up.
As we pulled everything together and he still hadn’t looked at me I began to feel anxious and, therefore, my mind started to wander. I picked up the trash and walked to the waste basket, wondering whether the trash was picked up daily or whether it was every other day, wondering how much trash was generated by the park, wondering if anyone had thought about starting a recycling program in the city parks, wondering how much that would cost the city, wondering-
“Oh!”
I ran smack dab into a someone and immediately tried to take a step back but the someone grabbed my shoulders, not gently, and kept me from moving away. I looked into a rather unpleasant face. It wasn’t an ugly face; in fact it was a rather handsome face, but it was making an unpleasant expression and his eyes were hard and cold.
The stranger was maybe one or two inches taller than me and extremely muscular; his head was shaved bald, his eyes were olive green, his rather angular jaw was flexed, black tattoos wound up from the collar of his shirt around his neck, and his full mouth was curved into a rigid frown.
I managed a small, what I hoped was a, polite smile but he merely stared at me with all the flexibility of steel. I got the distinct impression he didn’t like me. Furthermore I had the distinct impression he wanted to do me harm.
I swallowed, again tried to move away. “Sorry, sorry- I wasn’t looking where I was going-”
Instead of releasing me his grip tightened painfully and he inclined his head forward, whispering, “If you think you’re going to talk yourself out of this-”
“Hey!” Quinn’s voice sounded from my left and I turned to watch him sprint over. His expression was thunderous; in fact, he also looked unpleasant. He looked like he was intent on doing someone a great deal of harm.
Before Quinn reached us the man released my arms, shoved me away, and held his hands up, palms out, as though he surrendered. He shuffled his feet backward. “Hey man, there’s nothing going on here.”
Quinn immediately stepped in front of me but continued to advance on the stranger, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The tone of his voice moved me to intercede, “Quinn- listen- it was nothing. I wasn’t looking where I was going and he-”
“Listen to your girlfriend-”
Quinn crowded the stockier man and leaned over him menacingly; his tone was eerily quiet, “You don’t touch her, you don’t look at her. If I ever see you again it will be the last time anyone sees you.”
I flinched. I didn’t get the impression that Quinn’s words were meant to be metaphorical or contained an ounce of dramatic license. Instinctively I felt the truth in them and I would be lying if I said, at that moment, he didn’t scare me.
The staring contest lasted another few seconds until the bald man shifted uncomfortably and lowered his gaze to the sidewalk. Seemingly satisfied, Quinn walked backwards a few steps then turned and, without looking at me, grabbed my hand and pulled me back to our abandoned picnic basket. My heart was galloping in my chest and I was shaking just a little. Without wanting to or meaning to I glanced over my shoulder.
The bald man was still watching me.
Not us.
He was watching me.
He looked at me like he knew me, like he still wanted to do me harm, like the only thing keeping him from ripping me apart was the very large, angry man at my side. I pulled my eyes away and moved closer to Quinn.
For the third time in as many weeks I had the distinct feeling I was being watched. Only, this time, I knew I was right.
~*~
We didn’t talk as we walked. Quinn held my hand firmly in his, gripping it almost to the point of painful. I carried the basket and the blanket and he held his phone, touching the screen every few minutes then glancing watchfully around the park. Instead of walking back to the garage Quinn took us to South Michigan Avenue next to the Face Fountain. We stood there for less than thirty seconds before a black SUV slowed then stopped in front of us.
Quinn opened the rear passenger door and said, “Get in.”
Too flustered to question him, I climbed into the back seat and placed the basket and blanket on the bench beside me, settling myself in the middle. Quinn came in after me, slammed the door, and I immediately heard the door lock. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cab. I glanced at Quinn, his leg was pressed against mine as he twisted in his seat and peered out the window as though he were looking for someone.
The car started to move and I sought out the identity of our driver. All I could see was the back of his head and the impressive size of his neck. It wasn’t Vincent unless Vincent had grown a foot and a half, digressed in age thirty years, and become an African American overnight. My attention was pulled back to Quinn as he settled his hand on my thigh and squeezed.
He was studying me with a guarded suspicion. I could only look at him with wide eyed confusion. I didn’t understand what had just happened. I didn’t understand why the man in the park looked at me with such a sinister expression. I didn’t understand why Quinn felt the need to go above and beyond with medieval threats. I didn’t understand why we ran out of the park like we were being pursued. I was at a complete loss.
My chin may have wobbled.
Quinn must have caught the movement because he moved his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to his chest. I wasn’t in any danger of crying but I didn’t push his comfort away. It felt good to be wrapped in his arms so I allowed myself to rest there, absorbed by the strength of him. He set his chin on my head and I felt him sigh.
“Do you know that guy?” I asked, my voice sounding remarkably small in the big car.
He stiffened, “No.” his hand slid from my shoulder to my hip, pulling me closer. Then he said, “I don’t know. He looked familiar.”
I lifted my head from his chest so I could look in his eyes, “Is he one of the private clients?”
Quinn shook his head, his eyes flickering briefly to the driver then back to me, “No. Definitely not… No, he looks like someone I used to know...”